What Is Ceremonial Cacao? A Samoan Perspective on Vā, Koko and Connection

What Is Ceremonial Cacao? A Samoan Perspective on Vā, Koko and Connection

I get asked this question almost every time I’m at an in-store tasting. ..“Is this ceremonial cacao?”  I also receive calls here at Living Koko from people asking if our drinking cacao is “ceremonial grade.”

It is a beautiful question, but one that is not easy to answer.

My response comes from the perspective of an Indigenous Samoan woman who has seen our koko shared in homes, villages, celebrations, moments of grief, acts of service and everyday life. Always with reverence. Always with respect. Not because someone announced that a ceremony was about to begin, but because this is simply our way of being.

When we try to explain Indigenous knowledge through an overseas lens, something can be lost. The complexity can disappear, but so can the beautiful simplicity of it all.  So when someone asks me whether our cacao is ceremonial, I often respond with a question of my own.

“What does ceremonial cacao mean to you?”

Interestingly, almost every person pauses. Many have not reflected on this.

Many have listened to a podcast or attended a wellness retreat. They have heard about ceremonial cacao’s magnesium, antioxidants, flavanols or its ability to support heart opening, presence and wellbeing. They know it is different from commercial chocolate, but when asked what actually makes it “ceremonial,” the answer is often difficult to put into words.

And I understand why, because perhaps we have been asking the wrong question.

Instead of asking, “What is ceremonial cacao?” perhaps we could ask,

“How do we enter into right relationship with cacao?”

If we are speaking purely about the product itself, the answer is quite straightforward. Traditional cacao is one ingredient.

The cacao bean is fermented, dried, roasted and stone-ground into a rich paste. That paste is then formed into blocks that can be grated or chopped, or, as we offer at Living Koko, prepared in a grated form ready to share.

There is no internationally recognised certification known as “ceremonial grade cacao.” The term is not regulated like organic or fair trade. Different growers, makers and communities may use it differently.

But ceremony has never lived inside a certification. 😉

 

Beyond the Cup: Understanding Vā

Within our Samoan worldview, ceremony was never simply about preparing a cup of koko. It is, and always has been, about the .

is often translated as “the space between,” but that translation barely scratches the surface. Vā is not an empty space. It is the sacred relationship that connects all living things. It is the relationship between tagata (people) and fanua (land), between la’au (trees and plants), moana (the ocean), fetu (stars/cosmos), our ancestors and each other.

Vā reminds us that we do not stand above nature. We belong within it.

The relationship with cacao begins long before the bean is harvested. It begins with understanding the land so intimately that there is little need for words. You observe the winds, the rains, the changing seasons and the movement of the fetu. You learn to notice the soil, the insects, the birds and the rhythms that tell you when to act and when to simply wait.

The cacao tree is never alone.

It grows in relationship with the vegetation surrounding it. Each plant contributes something: shade, nourishment, protection, pollination or balance. To care for cacao is to care for the entire ecosystem that sustains it.

There is an unspoken conversation between tagata and fanua – between people and the land. As caretakers listen before we take. We give back as much as we receive. This reciprocity is what sustains both the land and ourselves.

Our ancestors also understood that the fetu were teachers. The stars, the moon, the winds and the seasons were not separate from daily life; they were woven into it. Knowledge was carried through careful observation, story, song, movement and practice over countless generations.

This understanding of was never reserved for special occasions…It was lived every day.

 

So, Is Living Koko Ceremonial Cacao?

If you are asking whether our cacao is a whole cacao product made with respect for the bean and without unnecessary processing, then yes.

If you are asking whether it comes from relationships with farmers, families, culture and land that have been nurtured over generations, then absolutely.

But if the question is whether ceremony somehow exists inside the cacao itself, I would gently offer another perspective.

The ceremony is not contained within the product.

The ceremony lives within relationships.

It lives in the hands that plant the tree.

The patience of those who tend it.

The wisdom that understands the land.

The gratitude offered before the harvest.

The respect shown to the people who grew it.

The intention carried by the person preparing the cup.

The presence of those who gather to share it.

The cup simply becomes a meeting place for those relationships.

So…For me, the most important question is no longer,

“Is this ceremonial cacao?”

It is,

“How are we honouring this cacao?”

Are we acknowledging the farmers?

Are we recognising the land that nourished it?

Are we approaching it with gratitude instead of consumption?

Are we entering into ?

Long before cacao became part of modern wellness culture, it already carried stories.

Stories of our lands, Stories of our people, Stories of our resilience, Stories of our reciprocity.

Perhaps that is what ceremony has always been – Not something we create – But something we remember.

Every cup of cacao is an invitation to remember our place within the living relationships that sustain us – to the fanua, to the fetu, to one another, and to the generations who have cared for this knowledge before us.

For us at Living Koko, that is what we honour every time we share our koko.

Wintering: What the Cold Season Can Teach Us About Slowing Down

Wintering: What the Cold Season Can Teach Us About Slowing Down

There is a quiet wisdom that arrives with winter.

The days shorten. The mornings ask us to linger a little longer beneath the blankets. Trees release their leaves. Animals retreat to rest. The earth itself appears to pause….Yet so often, we resist.

We continue to move at the pace of summer, pushing through exhaustion, filling every hour, believing productivity is the measure of a life well lived. When winter comes, we often treat it as something to survive rather than something to embrace.

But what if winter wasn’t asking us to work harder? – What if it was inviting us to become quieter?

I spent last weekend with my headphones on, not because I wanted music non-stop, it was actually to cut out the ongoing noise in the house. It let everyone know I was out of bounds lol, I just wanted my own company…and hoped no one took it personally.

The idea of wintering is not about doing nothing. It is about honouring the natural seasons of life. Just as the land needs time to replenish before new growth appears, people also need seasons of restoration and I needed deep rest with only the capacity for my own thoughts.

For many Indigenous cultures across the Pacific, life has always followed the rhythms of nature rather than the demands of the clock. There is an understanding that community, food, movement, storytelling and ceremony each have their season. Rest is not laziness—it is preparation.

Gathering around warm food, sharing stories, singing together and caring for one another have long been ways of moving through the colder months. Connection itself becomes medicine. But after the first half of this year I just needed to tune into my own thoughts and what I needed.

 I had no more space to give other…so tuning out was tuning in and helping creating space.

Space to breathe.

Space to listen.

Space to reconnect with ourselves and with each other.

In a world that celebrates speed, choosing slowness can feel almost rebellious.

Slowness allows us to notice the warmth of the mug in our hands.

To watch the steam rise.

To hear the rain outside.

To truly taste what we are consuming instead of rushing to the next task.

 

These small rituals have become my anchors. Sometimes we don’t need the candles, the incense, just the moment to give ourselves permission.

Research increasingly supports what many traditional cultures have always understood: slowing down can help regulate our nervous system, reduce stress and deepen our sense of wellbeing. While winter encourages us inward, it also offers an opportunity to restore the energy that constant busyness quietly takes away.

Perhaps this winter doesn’t need another productivity challenge.

Perhaps it needs a new evening ritual to invites the calm warmth into your home.

When I finish work…I light a candle, make a cup of koko, wrap myself in a blanket and read a chapter of a book. This weekend it was “The Process of Breaking Open” by Janelle Bridges. 

I’d read a chapter and then pottered around reflecting on the questions she was asking in each. This brought so much gratitude and depth into my weekend and in the simple silence I understand that Winter doesn’t ask us to bloom, it asks us to build strong roots because when spring arrives growth comes naturally – not because we forced it but because we allowed ourselves the time to restore.

This season, give yourself permission to winter.

Slow down.

Gather with those you love.

Nourish your body.

Honour your spirit…put on those headphones lol

And remember that sometimes the most meaningful growth happens beneath the surface, where no one else can see it.

At Living Koko, we believe wellness isn’t found in doing more. Sometimes, it’s found in slowing down enough to remember who we are.

The Easter Moon: Before Chocolate, Before Commerce

The Easter Moon: Before Chocolate, Before Commerce

Long before Easter eggs filled baskets, before chocolate shops lined streets, and long before calendars locked the date in place, Easter was something else entirely. It was written in the sky, in the rhythm of the moon, in the pulse of the earth.

Easter Follows the Moon

The date of Easter is not fixed…it follows the first Sunday after the first full moon following the March equinox. This full moon, called the Paschal Moon, has been a guide for centuries. Farmers planted by its light, communities gathered under its glow, and cultures celebrated the cycles of life and renewal. The moon became a marker of rhythm, a silent teacher of patience, growth, and reflection.

Before Easter Was a Name

The English word “Easter” likely comes from Eostre, the Anglo-Saxon goddess of dawn, fertility, and spring. Her symbols were hares and eggs, creatures that carry life, abundance, and the unstoppable rhythm of the seasons. Across Europe, decorated eggs were not chocolate—they were sacred, symbols of protection, fertility, and blessings. Hares were honoured for their swift movement, their ability to appear and disappear like life itself, and for their link to lunar cycles.

Before commerce and confectionery, these symbols were stories of survival, hope, and renewal, told by the land, the skies, and the people who lived in harmony with them.

Cycles, Reflection, and Renewal

Easter has always been about cycles: the ending of winter, the promise of spring, the turn of the sun, and the rise of the moon. Communities, whether in Europe, the Pacific, or beyond, honoured these cycles in different ways, but the heart of the season was the same—reflection, gratitude, and the promise of growth.

Christianity and the Lunar Calendar

When Christianity began to formalise its sacred calendar, it did not abandon these rhythms of the sky. Instead, it adopted them.

The dating of Easter was intentionally tied to the moon. In 325 AD, at the Council of Nicaea, church leaders established that Easter would be celebrated on the first Sunday after the first full moon following the March equinox. This linked the resurrection of Christ not to a fixed date, but to a cosmic rhythm – aligning it with Passover, which itself follows a lunar calendar.

Rather than separating faith from nature, early Christianity embedded its holiest celebration within the turning of the heavens. The full moon became a marker of resurrection. Light overcoming darkness. Life emerging from stillness.

From Spring Festival to Sacred Season

As Christianity spread across Europe, it encountered existing spring festivals. Instead of erasing them entirely, many seasonal symbols were absorbed and reinterpreted.

Eggs, once symbols of fertility and new life, became representations of Christ’s tomb – sealed, then opened. During Lent, eggs were traditionally forbidden; when Easter arrived, they were blessed and eaten in celebration. Hares, already associated with spring and the moon, lingered in folklore and eventually evolved into the Easter Bunny.

What had once been agricultural and seasonal symbolism became layered with theological meaning. Renewal was no longer only about crops and sunlight, but about resurrection and spiritual rebirth.

A Sacred Layering

Easter, then, is not one story. It is layered.

It carries lunar timing. Agricultural hope. Pagan spring symbolism. Jewish Passover chronology. Christian resurrection theology.

It is ancient sky knowledge woven into liturgy.

And that is why it still moves people.

A Pacific View: Seasons Without Winter

In much of the Pacific, the rhythm of the year is not marked by harsh winters and sudden springs. Instead, it turns gently between wet and dry, planting and harvest, calm seas and restless tides.

In Samoa and across Polynesia, life has long followed the moon. The lunar calendar guided fishing, planting, canoe journeys, and ceremony. Certain phases were better for planting taro. Others for gathering shellfish. The full moon illuminated reef edges and village pathways. It was practical … but it was also sacred.

The moon was not decoration. It was instruction.

Seasonal change in the Pacific is less about thawing earth and more about cycles of abundance and restraint. There are times of plenty, and times of patience. Times to harvest cacao pods heavy on the branch, and times to prune, ferment, and wait.

And waiting is holy work.

In this way, Easter’s lunar timing makes quiet sense. Even without snow or daffodils, the moon still governs renewal. The equinox still marks balance. The full moon still signals completion and illumination.

For Pacific cultures, renewal is not a dramatic breaking open after winter. It is a steady returning. A remembering. A trust that the tides will shift again.

Just as cacao trees rest and fruit in rhythm, so do we.

Our Easter Moon Symbol

Our Easter Moon Symbol

At the heart of our Easter Moon Bar is a symbol — not just a mark, but a story. Inspired by the Paschal Moon, the first full moon after the equinox that has guided Easter observance for centuries, our symbol captures the quiet power of lunar light and renewal. It speaks to emergence and growth, to the cycle of the seasons and the wisdom of ancient rites that honoured the sky long before calendars and clocks. This is why our bars aren’t simply shaped like an egg — they’re forged under a moon that has carried meaning across cultures, from dawn‑goddess lore to the rhythms of Pacific agriculture.

More than decoration, the symbol on your Easter Moon Bar embodies a ritual of transformation. It reflects the fertile energy of the egg — a universal emblem of life breaking open — and the delicate glow of the full moon that decides the date of Easter itself. Each curve and line draws you into reflection: on beginnings and endings, on what you carry and what you release, on the shared cycles of earth and sky. Rooted in story and shaped with reverence, this symbol invites you to savour not just chocolate, but a moment of connection and intention as the season shifts.

Collective Calm

Collective Calm

A Pacific collaboration grounded in resilience

The fire in Samoa was a real and confronting event. But as is often the case, the physical fire was only part of the story. What followed were the less visible pressures — stress on growers, disruption to supply, emotional strain within community, and the broader uncertainty that continues to affect Pacific producers navigating climate, economic shifts, and global market volatility.

What we never speak about is how recovery never happens in one single moment. It unfolds over time. And during that period, it became clear that we needed to think differently about how we work and how we strengthen the system around us.

Living Koko PNG Cacao

A Collective Response from the Pacific

Collective Calm did not begin as a product concept. It began as a series of conversations.

Farmers and partners in Papua New Guinea and Vanuatu reached out with a clear intention: to collaborate in a way that strengthened Pacific-grown cacao as a whole. The goal wasn’t to replace Samoa, nor to dilute its presence, but to work alongside one another with shared values and long-term thinking.

What united us was alignment around a few core principles:

  • Protecting sovereignty within local food systems

  • Ensuring growers retain agency and fair participation

  • Building resilience through cooperation, not competition

  • Keeping value within Pacific communities

Collective Calm is the outcome of that alignment.

Why a Blend?

Blending beans from Papua New Guinea, Vanuatu, and Samoa creates both practical and philosophical resilience.

Practically, it reduces vulnerability to single-origin disruption. Climate events, infrastructure challenges, and market pressures are realities across the Pacific. A multi-origin blend allows continuity without compromising integrity.

Philosophically, it reflects how Pacific cultures have always operated — through networks of exchange, shared knowledge, and mutual support across islands.

Each origin contributes its distinct character:

  • Papua New Guinea offers depth and body.

  • Vanuatu brings smoothness and balance.

  • Samoa adds brightness and lift.

Together, they create a ceremonial grade cacao that is steady, rounded, and grounded.

An Honest Reflection

The months following the fire in Samoa were not just about rebuilding supply. They prompted deeper questions:

How do we avoid fragile systems?
How do we ensure producers are not isolated when crisis hits?
How do we grow without compromising local autonomy?

Collective Calm is one practical answer. It is not symbolic. It is structural.

It represents growers choosing to stand alongside one another. It represents collaboration that maintains sovereignty rather than centralising control. And it reflects our commitment to long-term relationships across the Pacific.

What This Means for You

When you prepare Collective Calm, you are drinking cacao grown and stewarded by Pacific farmers who have chosen partnership over extraction. You are supporting a model that values resilience, cooperation, and community-held systems.

This blend is steady by design. It carries depth without intensity and clarity without overstimulation — making it ideal for ceremony, daily ritual, and shared spaces where grounding matters.

Collective Calm is not just about calm as a feeling. It’s about calm as stability. As structure. As collective strength built across oceans.

And it’s a reminder that when challenges arise, the Pacific responds — together.

A Letter from Lolopō Phoebe

A Letter from Lolopō Phoebe

Dear Living Koko community,

This is a hard letter to write.

From the beginning, Living Koko has been about more than chocolate. It has been about honouring the lands and hands that grow our cacao, respecting the ocean that connects us, and holding fast to traditions of care, culture and community. Every bar, every cup of drinking cacao, every tea leaf has carried that story.

But today, I need to share another story—the one of what it takes to keep a small, ethical business alive in the world we’re in.

On 1 September, our prices will increase.

This decision doesn’t come lightly. For months, we’ve been absorbing the rising costs of:

  • Ethical Cacao: Prices have climbed sharply on the global market, and because we will not compromise on fair pay for our farmers, we cannot look for “cheaper” beans.

  • Sustainable Packaging: The materials we use to stay zero-waste and kind to the earth are more expensive than ever.

  • Taxes & Levies: Small businesses like ours are carrying a heavier load from new government charges.

We’ve carried these costs as long as we could, because we know how much every dollar matters in our community. But to continue offering you cacao that is vegan, ethical, zero-waste, and slave-free, we must now share that weight.

Many of you have asked us: “Why is your ceremonial grade cacao priced lower than other brands?”

The answer is simple—we are a very small team. Behind the scenes it’s literally just two of us, side by side in the factory each day, working hard to craft, pack, and send your cacao with care. It’s also this same tiny team creating our marketing, sharing our stories, and running events—with the support of our wider Koko Crew when they can step in.

Because of this, and because we source our beans directly from our farmers—our family, our community—we’ve been able to keep our prices lower. When you speak to us, you are speaking directly to those connected to the land, honouring our heritage and the people who have grown cacao for generations.

We also made a conscious choice: to keep our ceremonial grade more inclusive, accessible to a wider community who might otherwise be excluded from these deeply grounding practices.

I feel sadness in writing this, because I know price rises touch everyone. But I also feel something else—gratitude.

Gratitude that you have walked this path with us. Gratitude that you choose to support not just chocolate, but a movement. Every time you buy from Living Koko, you are investing in Pacific Island farmers, in cultural traditions, and in a way of doing business that puts people and the planet before profit.

We remain committed to transparency, to care, and to joy. And we remain here, creating with love.

Thank you for standing with us through every shift and challenge. Your support doesn’t just keep us going—it keeps this vision alive for future generations.

With love and respect,
Phoebe Preuss
Founder, Living Koko