Eight people embark on a great journey on foot. We do not know where they came from, nor where they are headed. They travel to escape a foretold catastrophe. In this resilient, stubborn, and circular movement, they carve out space for imagination and wonder, like a faded circus with melancholic performers, yet full of hope. And they sing.
They sing to ward off evil, to bring relief. They sing because the cicadas sing. They sing like Gal Costa on the album Cantar, released in 1974 at the height of Brazil’s military dictatorship. A song that is a cry for freedom, in times of war, religious intolerance, and violence — times in which societies and their States rehearse a return to authoritarian policies, of silencing and death. They sing as an act of resistance. They sing even if the circus is left without a tent, even if the sea floods the cities, even if humanity forgets how to love.
According to Greek mythology, on the star Tau Ceti (in the constellation of the whale), twelve light-years from Earth, exists a miraculous remedy capable of curing humans of sadness. Perhaps that is where they are going.