Stuff of Life

Healing takes on a lot of forms, as does self love.
When I need to take care of myself, I look towards the myths and lore of spice and incense making.  I pour over my literature on the history of cosmetics in glamour, in ensnarement, in beautification and allure.  I start making powders and philters, sands and spices, things that make mouth water and the skin crawl.  It smells like opium and orris. It feels like oil and candle wax.  It sounds like Brown Sugar by D'Angelo when the cinnamon and clove hits the tongue, Brubeck Take Five when the oil gets sizzling, and something Fragile, Nine Inch Nails when the senses get drugged by the combination of mind-altering blends warming over coals.  
Inhale here, and there, and it's inside of you crawling.  Everything is heavy and everything is calm.  Focus is eerie and the breath gets shallow.  You're not alone in the kitchen or the house.  There's some sort of manic party, frenetic dancers, static all around the periphery and noise and sensation.  But there's always that focus.  The eye goes narrow and that's where the power of creation lies.
It's an assault on the senses when you do it right, that's what a teacher once taught me. We should relish the excess and revel in all that tactile tangibility, the stuff of life.

We all cope in our own ways.  I prefer my own brand of medicine; art and spirituality
Gifts for my friends: Herbal mint-family tea, iced
hibiscus tea, milk and dry honey baths with roses.


  1. I love the way you write. I felt there there was spiced honey in my mouth when I read this!


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