So, I’m new to Hellenism, and I was reading about it, and I saw some information on khernips. The site said that they were recommended but not necessary, and that just washing your hands and face would do, which is what I’ve been doing. Recently, though, I’ve felt the need to use khernips. I feel the need to be more pure when I pray/give an offering. I’ve seen some recipes, but they almost all have ingredients I can’t exactly get very easily. I’m a minor who lives with my family that’d most probably (almost definitely) throw me out if I came out to them as a Hellenist. I have no debit or credit card, and I can’t go places alone, so I can’t easily buy the things these recipes require. Are there any recipes for khernips that I can possibly use even with my restricted resources? I don’t think I have a Verbena plant nor a Laurel one. I don’t have incense in the house as my grandmother sees them and items of witchcraft, (She hates witchcraft with a burning passion) and what herbs would I even use? How would I get them? I know this is something I need to do, but I have no idea how to do it without seeming suspicious. Does anyone have any suggestions?

I'm getting into incense, currently I have a lot of leftovers from my mom's foray into reiki. But they burn fairly quickly so I end up wanting to use more ;-:
And I like those, so I probably don't really mind synthetic. I mean all my cologne is probably synthetic too lol. However, a few YouTube videos in and I find out that the main ingredients for lots of incense are critically endangered or resin from long-lived trees. And the process to make it is fairly labor intensive.
Since it's not my culture or religion based, for myself incense is more for aesthetics and because I like it. So I don't want to carelessly contribute to overconsumption or prevent someone who uses it for spiritual practices from getting the real deal...
But a lot of incense is fairly cheap, does that mean they are not using the real deal and/or using automated machinery? If so, I wouldn't mind buying in that case. Tho I think my mom got hers from a local spiritualist shop rather than online... Is it better to buy in person?

I've seen a lot of situations recently where people think the term “niche” represents a company that only makes perfumes. This isn’t correct and I think a more nuanced discussion is needed, especially since the term is thrown around so much. I’ve expanded on the actual definitions below, but here are some cliff notes:

1. Niche simply means that the fragrance has a small target audience. This can either be through availability (highly limited edition, a small indie distributor), unique smell, or to a lesser degree an extremely high price.
2. The opposite of “niche” is not “designer”, it is “mainstream”. The term designer fragrance is typically meant to indicate a fashion house that produces fragrances. Think Dior, Chanel, Prada, etc. This is where there exists a grey area in nomenclature and the limits of these terms begin to reveal themselves.

Diving into this grey area- take Commes de Garcons. A fashion design brand that has created many unique fragrances. Things like “garage” and “tar” and its clash series such as “radish x vetiver” are very niche fragrances that only a select type of person would be interested in. They are technically “designer”, yet definitely not mainstream. In my opinion, these two terms are often used interchangeably because big design houses take up most of the space in places like Ulta, Sephora, and most malls that offer mainstream perfumes.
Further, houses like Dior and Chanel are best called “designer” brands but labeling the entire fragrance output as either mainstream or niche isn’t useful. Chanel may release a stinky animalic incense fragrance priced at $450 that’s only sold at one of its boutiques. This could very easily be called a niche fragrance. Calling it a high end luxury fragrance is another possibility. The point being that unique, polarizing scents still come out of high end design houses and they defy easy categorization.
The point of all this is that the term niche and designer are essentially just not that useful in describing a perfume. They don't describe the quality of the ingredients, they don't necessarily describe the smell, and they leave open many other questions about the product in question. Because the term also describes the overall size of the target audience, a growing fragrance market and increasingly popular brands may shift the balance of what that actually means. Stores like Le Labo are almost ubiquitous in large cities now, although some of their scent profiles and prices are still somewhat unique and out of reach compared to something more mainstream like Dior Homme or Versace Eros. Because of that the definition seems to have become more rigid and easily applied at the expense of its real meaning. One of the other problems is that describing a brand in terms of what type of product they make also says nothing inherently useful.
Now, onto the actual definitions that some people may cite to support this “single producer” idea:
noun - a specialized segment of the market for a particular kind of product or service
Note that this is meant to represent a segment of the market- not the company itself. In context you would say "A niche exists for people who love animalic notes." or "I am going to exploit this niche and produce products that service it". If you take a company, and your only way to describe that company is to say "they only produce perfumes" you are saying exactly nothing about the niche they fill in the fragrance market as a whole. They could be trying to capture a large segment of that market through mainstream scent profiles distributed through Sephora, or they could be focusing on novel ideas like the brand Scents of Wood.
adjective - denoting products, services, or interests that appeal to a small, specialized section of the population
This is the version most people use in discussions. Consider the fact that it again says nothing at all about the amount of products a company produces- it describes a quality of the products themselves. For instance, a single company can produce products that simultaneously appeal to a very small segment of the fragrance community, while also selling products that appeal to a very small segment of the incense community. Or maybe they also sell hand-crafted wooden moccasins lined with rare peruvian wool that cost $600 each. Just because they cater to two niche markets, does not exclude either of the products they make from being "niche". In this way the company has found two niches to cater to.

The garage door shut with a groan behind us, closing us in the gloom of the single bulb hanging over the car.
Mother took a drag off her cigarette and sighed as she exhaled, the smoke filled the cabin of the Ford and stung my eyes.
“You really disappointed me today, Julianne," she tapped her cigarette in the ashtray below the dash, "you embarrassed me in front of the other mothers at the Ice Cream Social, shoveling down seconds and thirds like a pig. I thought I raised you better than that.”
She took another drag, daintily holding the cigarette between her perfectly manicured fingers.
“I'm going to have to tell your brother about this," she continued, “he'll have to come up with a punishment fit for a pig."
I felt my stomach drop. My kid brother, Thomas, was only six, but could be exceptionally cruel. Mother seemed to encourage him and was deferring to him more and more frequently for how the house was run, especially concerning my upbringing.
"Mother, please, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to embarrass you. I'm sorry I was a pig and ate so much ice cream. I promise I won't do it again, I'll never eat any ice cream again," I was pleading with stone, unyielding.
“Hush your mouth. Go to your room and wait for Thomas," she put out the cigarette and got out of the car, I had no choice but to follow.
It felt like walking to the gallows as I stepped inside the house and headed towards the stairs to go to my room. Thomas had grown fond recently of physical punishment, he obviously delighted in Mother whipping me with a belt or, recently, Mother had allowed him to start beating me with a wooden spoon. He would squeal and giggle like a normal child watching bubbles in the wind while I screamed. I was dreading whatever was going to happen tonight, I chastised myself for eating that ice cream, I should have known she would show up. My sins were always laid bare.
Down the hall, I could hear Thomas watching television in the den. I only got to watch TV for half an hour on Saturday morning and new episodes of Happy Days with Mother and Thomas. Thomas got to watch all the TV he wanted. He could listen to the radio and turntable as much as he wanted, as loud as he wanted. Thomas had an entire room just for his toys.
I entered my bedroom, it was a space I occupied, but it didn't feel like mine. Mother kept it spartan, white walls and white bedspread. A crucifix over the bed and a painting of Jesus over the door. I had my desk and chair and a dresser with some of the porcelain dolls Daddy gave me before he died that Mother let me keep. That was it.
I placed my book bag down and sat on my bed, waiting for Thomas. It was a while, sitting there with nothing but my own thoughts and staring at the open door. I felt humiliated, I was almost thirteen and my entire life was dictated by my brother. Mother kept the house in constant lockdown to keep Thomas a secret. No outsiders were allowed in. I couldn't have friends because she was afraid I would mention him or sneak a friend in to gawk at my brother and tease him for being different.
I would never make fun of him, I was terrified of him. Terrified of what he was and what he was becoming.
Eventually I heard his heavy footsteps coming up the stairs and I felt my heart start beating faster and my palms began to sweat. I kneaded my skirt in my hands, trying to calm myself and dry my palms. His slow arrhythmic footsteps came down the hall and I watched him as he entered the room.
I couldn't help but internally recoil at his appearance, even though I'd known him since he was born, I could never adjust to how unnatural he appeared. Thomas had been born at home and had never seen a doctor, but he was obviously unwell.
He was six years old and was barely over two feet tall, but very squat and wide. His skin was thick and gray, the whites of his beady eyes were yellow and his hair was wispy and white like an old man's, spreading out like a halo around his gargoyle face. A slight odor of decomposition hung about him, it reminded me faintly of garbage cans on a hot summer day. I hated when Mother made me help him with a bath, his skin felt like old brittle leather that flaked onto my clothes in gray flecks. His body was dense like concrete, I could barely lift him into the tub. Picking him up forced his hair into my face where that smell of rot would fill my nose, causing me to gag, silently, so as not to offend him and draw any ire from him or Mother.
Today, Thomas was wearing bib overalls with a red and green striped sweater underneath, reminding me of a grotesque doll.
“Mama says you acted like a piggy today at the ice cream social,” he spoke up to me in his unsettlingly high pitched, yet raspy voice, like a child that smoked as much as Mother, "you need to come down for dinner right now for your punishment for embarrassing Mama."
He turned and walked back down the stairs and I had no choice but to follow his toddling form downstairs to the dining table. We entered the kitchen and the table was placed with two settings. Mother was already seated and Thomas clambered up into his booster seat at his normal spot next to Mother. She took a drag off her cigarette and motioned vaguely to the floor without even looking at me.
Neatly situated on the linoleum was my dinner, not on a plate, but directly on the floor. A pork chop, scoop of mashed potatoes, and a small pile of peas. No utensils, either.
Thomas giggled with glee upon seeing my face.
“You have Mama's permission now to eat like a piggy, now. No hands! Piggies just use their face!” He stood up in his chair and reached out for Mother’s ash tray and flung it out over my meal, peppering my dinner with cigarette ash and butts.
"Oops! Piggies don't mind trash though, do they, Mama?” he giggled and the sound filled me with rage.
"No, they don't,” Mother replied coolly while maneuvering her ashtray back in place and carefully putting out her cigarette before saying prayer.
As angry as I was, I got down on my hands and knees and did my best at eating what I could without using my hands. I knew if I refused, it would be far worse. The whole meal, Thomas made pig noises and would reach down and poke me with his fork, making comments about what a fat piggy I was and how he wished he could roast and eat me. I doubted Mother would even object if he actually did kill me and eat me.
Gagging my way through another bite of ashy pork chop, I felt a warm splat over my head and heard Thomas giggling. I reached up and felt he had dumped mashed potatoes into my hair.
Choking down tears, I asked Mother if I could clean the floor and bathe. She rolled her eyes and excused me to clear the table for them as well while she changed Thomas into his pajamas. Picking him up, she walked out of the room and Thomas stuck his putrid little purple tongue out at me before they made it out the kitchen door.
I silently cried while I cleared the table and washed the dinner dishes. Tears splashed down as I mopped up the mess from my food on the floor. I hated how awful Thomas was. I hated how they treated me. Ever since Daddy died and Thomas showed up, I was their punching bag. I missed Daddy so much.
Mother was kinder then, too. She was still severe, but Dad kept her tempered. After he died, there was a change that came over her. I was only six, so I didn't remember her too much from before, but I did remember her gushing on and on when she was pregnant with Thomas. How the baby was a gift from Our Heavenly Father, that it was going to complete our broken family.
My sixth birthday happened right after Daddy died and I remember sitting on the patio crying while the house was full of people after the funeral, normally he would have gotten me a new doll and a chocolate bar, instead I was forgotten. No doll. No chocolate. Just funeral potatoes and a house full of cigarette smoke from the adults.
Nobody remembered. The closest thing I got was my dad's sister, Aunt Judy, sitting next to me on the patio step for a few minutes of comfortable silence before giving my shoulder a reassuring squeeze. I don't think she knew her brother was memorialized on my birthday. Next year, Thomas was born the day before my birthday, so it was completely eclipsed as Mother had just birthed her new love into the world…
I stopped mid mop as a lightbulb finally went off. I had never put much thought into the dates before.
Thomas was born a full year after Daddy died. He couldn't be his dad. Who was Thomas’ actual father?
Washing mashed potatoes out of my hair that evening, I ran over and over the timeline. No matter how I parsed it out, Thomas was only my half brother. Going to bed that night, I kept myself awake, going over and over again to make sure. I couldn't remember any men being around at that time, but that didn't mean much. Adults can easily hide things from children. Tension began throbbing through my head and I felt queasy. Mother had always known all of my secrets, able to sniff them out like a bloodhound out or using Thomas to spy. Now I had one of Mother's secrets and I didn't know what to do with it.
First I wanted to confirm it, but it would mean snooping, which was difficult in a house that was rarely left empty. I would have to try finding Mother's calendar book or journal to see if she mentioned any dates or men.
But when could I attempt such a daring maneuver? Thomas hardly left the house. As proud as Mother was of him, she was very cognizant and protective of his differences and didn't want to draw attention to herself or Thomas like that. Mother herself had few social engagements throughout the week and mostly stayed home to watch her golden child.
I finally decided I would take the risk and fake sick on Tuesday, grocery day, so I could stay home from school while she went shopping. All Thomas did all day was watch TV downstairs, so that should give me about an hour to look through her room for clues. I decided to tuck my head down, try to behave as best as I could to avoid their wrath, and wait for Tuesday.
That weekend limped along agonizingly slow. Thomas was in a fine mood and was constantly seeking out a reason to poke me, punch me, slap me… he'd laugh while calling me a piggy with his off-putting wide mouth. I tried to mostly stay in my room and it seemed like neither of them cared.
School on Monday was a relief, but my anxiety ramped up. The consequences would be dire if Mother caught on that I was faking sick to stay home. I didn't even want to imagine how off the leash she'd let my half-brother become in his punishment for that level of insubordination.
I stayed up all night, my stomach was in knots, but I was committed to my plan. Throughout the night, I screamed as hard as I could into my pillow. Screamed until my throat was raw and I could barely talk. It felt cathartic in a way. When it was close to school time, I put on my heaviest flannel pajamas and began doing jumping jacks until my face was flushed and my scalp was soaked with sweat.
Looking in the bathroom mirror before heading down to talk to Mother, I thought I looked pretty convincing, my skin was flushed and sweaty, my eyes had circles under them from lack of sleep, and my voice croaked like a frog.
Heading downstairs, Mother was already feeding Thomas breakfast. I hesitantly stepped into the kitchen and stood there awkwardly for a second, pawing with my pajamas to keep my nerves steady until she noticed my presence and looked up.
“Why aren't you dressed, Julianne?"
"I don't feel well. My throat hurts and my tummy hurts.” My voice graveled out more than I was expecting, I really had hurt my throat.
She strode over to me and placed a cool hand on my sweaty brow.
"You do feel warm. Take an aspirin from the medicine cabinet and go lay back down. I'll check on you later," with that she turned back and walked over to Thomas, who was frozen in place, glaring at me over a forkful of scrambled eggs. The sharp glint of malice in his beady eyes made me shiver before I shuffled out of the kitchen.
I laid in bed, trying my best to look miserable until I eventually heard the faint sound of the television playing in the den as Thomas settled in for his normal daytime routine and the garage door opened as Mother headed to the grocery store. I bounded out of bed and watched the car back out of our driveway and head up the street.
My heart began to pound as I tiptoed down the hall to Mother's bedroom, a place I rarely even caught a glimpse of, let alone entered. I very slowly opened the door, taking great care to not make any noise to alert Thomas downstairs that I was out of bed.
Creeping into the butter yellow room, I could feel my heartbeat pounding in my skull, this was the naughtiest thing I had ever done by far. I stepped onto the rug to help disguise my footsteps and slowly made my way past the brass bed and towards her desk. My hands shook as I opened the top drawer, I pawed through rapidly and found nothing. I checked the next drawer down and again found nothing of interest, just stationary and envelopes.
Finally, the bottom drawer was what I was looking for, a stack of journals from the past decade. I flipped through, trying to find entries relevant to when Daddy died and who Mother slept with afterwards.
I've never fully recovered from what I read.
July 6, 1968
Edgar died today. Car accident. I cannot believe this is real. My light, my life, my anchor... Dr. Benson gave me a sedative at the hospital and I feel so tired. So very, very tired. Why has my Lord forsaken me so?
July 9, 1968
I feel like I am in a very bad dream, I feel numb and disconnected. All the consolation and pity from everyone makes me feel sick. After the memorial, it took everything in me to not break dishes and to scream at everyone to get out of my house. Julianne was moping about crying and I wanted to throw her out, too.
If I hadn't seen my dear Edgar's body in the hospital and held his urn in my own hands, I wouldn't believe he was really gone. I still don't entirely believe it.
I have prayed to God every night asking him to show me why he took my husband from me and I have gotten no answer.
I skimmed over the next few months, as it was more or less similar sentiments repeated night after night. I finally got to an entry that caught my eye.
September 17, 1968
My battle with my faith has been fraught the past few months, but Hallelujah! I feel I can see the Lord again in all his glory and might, for he has given me a way to reconnect to my Edgar!
I was thinking about the night Julianne was born, right in this very home, it was a difficult birth and she struggled to breathe at first. Ingrid, my midwife, made a comment to me that if the baby had failed to wake up on her own, that Ingrid had ways to make sure she would have made it.
I remember asking if it was a medical methodology and she made it clear to me that in certain circumstances, it was a mystical property she used to bring the air of life into a struggling baby's lungs. She gently alluded to being a practicing member of the dark arts. At the time, I felt quite scandalized to have someone like that in my God fearing home. Now I see her as the answer to my prayers! My angel!
On a whim, I called her and asked if she still practiced such techniques. She hesitantly confirmed that she did. I asked, if she could turn breath into the lungs of a child without, could she turn breath into a child that did not exist? Could she magick into existence another child of my beloved Edgar? She told me she had to do some research and she'd be back in touch.
Ingrid just called back after a few hours and said there was a spell she found, but it was dangerous and might have unpleasant results. I said, yes, of course! I trust my Lord and I believe he sent this woman of blessed magick to me for this purpose.
She says we will have to do it soon, in a few days during the new moon. She has a potion to brew, but it is happening! Praise God!
September 23, 1968
The ceremony was last night, and Ingrid believes it was a success, but we will have to wait. It did not take long, only an hour or two. Ingrid lit my bedroom with many beeswax candles and she had me drink a thick and bitter tea that caused me to become quite relaxed and foggy.
From my inner thigh, she cut me and collected my blood in a chalice, with which she mixed quite a lot of Edgar's ashes and other ingredients which I could not glean from my supine position and groggy wits. Ingrid began to chant, calling upon a higher power, as I pleaded with my Lord to let this work. To give me any piece of my Edgar back. She came to the bed and worked the paste between my legs into my womanly chamber, which was very uncomfortable, but manageable with the numbing effects of the tea.
She continued to sit with me and chant, her hand placed over my womb, until she decided at which time it was complete. She left and I fell into a deep sleep. When I woke up this morning, I felt quite uncomfortable, my body ached and when I used the restroom, a yellow fluid like pus poured out of me, but no sign of any ashes or blood, which gives me hope it was absorbed into my womb.
November 3, 1968
Praise be to our Lord, Ingrid just confirmed for me that I am with child, I had been hoping so, I had not gotten my cycle in October, but I wasn't sure if that was because of the discharge like pus that was still coming. She told me that was common with this spell and a side effect that would stop after the baby came.
I feel like I am floating on air, for the first time since Edgar left, I feel-
I suddenly became very aware of the feeling of eyes on the back of my head. I had become too engrossed in what was written before me and I had lost track of my surroundings. Very slowly, I turned around and my heart began pounding again as I saw Thomas standing in the doorway holding his wooden spoon in one hand. How had I not heard him?
He pointed at me with his empty hand and screamed, just a pure guttural screech from somewhere deep inside his disgusting little body. He charged at me from across the room, his horrible feet thumping solidly along the rug. He began beating my legs ruthlessly with the spoon, causing my legs to buckle. I crashed down to my knees in front of him, and he began lashing at my face, pulling my hair with one hand while wailing away at my head with the spoon.
I had dropped the journal I was holding and was desperately trying to get a hand on the spoon or push him away. All I could hear was him screaming. My arms flailed and I reached around on Mother's desk and grabbed onto the first thing I found and sank it into Thomas’ neck.
The end of Mother's gold letter opener protruded under his jaw. He went silent and he looked at me with utter shock. He dropped the spoon and collapsed on the ground, clutching at his neck as his thick black blood oozed out from his wound, letting out a stupendous odor of rot that filled the room. He didn't really say anything or make any noise. He just twitched for a moment and I saw his eyes glaze over.
In shock, I stood over his little body for a moment and I watched as he seemed to mummify in just a few minutes, like an ash person from Pompeii dressed in jeans and a flannel shirt. Even his blood that looked like shiny oil a second ago became like potting soil on Mother's rug. Reaching out to touch his hand, it crumbled away like sand.
Panic ran through me like a rabbit caught in a snare. Not knowing what to do, I ran. I ran down the hall, changed my clothes, put an extra change of clothes in my backpack and the last doll Daddy had ever given me and I ran. Mother would absolutely never forgive me and I was genuinely afraid she would kill me in retaliation for taking her beloved Thomas away from her. Her precious gift from God. My feet flew over the pavement and took me away from that house.
I called my Aunt Judy from a payphone outside the five & dime, and told her Mother had kicked me out and asked if I could stay with her. She had always had a strained relationship with my mother and it didn't take much convincing that she had kicked out her “only” child. Only Mother, Ingrid, and I ever knew about Thomas.
She gave me a home and took care of me. She never beat me or humiliated me. Even with her love, I was far from okay. For years I would close my eyes and hear Thomas scream, then the sudden silence. I'd see him fumbling at his neck and turning to ash. But I would also remember all the ways he would hurt me and how bad he was becoming. I could never talk to anyone about it, especially not the silent relief I felt I refused to admit to myself. Over time, however, Thomas' screams became a whisper and his silence faded into dust in my mind.
I moved on with my life. I went to college and became a photojournalist, getting to travel the world and watch history unfold. By choice, I never married, but was quite blessed with many beautiful friendships for companionship over the decades. I found balance in my life and a sense of happiness, if not peace. I never could quite stomach mashed potatoes again, though, they always taste ashy to me.
Mother never made any attempts to reach out to me or find me, at least that I'm aware of. Ten years ago, I was contacted by a hospital and they said my mother had been admitted earlier after falling and was about to pass, so she must have kept some tabs on me to know my phone number for her emergency contacts. Apparently she had collapsed in the driveway and a neighbor called an ambulance. I got there and her only words to me were, “take care of him," as she placed a locket in my hand. I opened the locket, Jesus was on one side, Thomas on the other. I didn't say anything to her, just held her frail old hand with nicotine stained nails until she passed in the night. My mother was gone and I felt nothing except a vague sense of relief.
When I got to her house, it was like a time capsule. Other than a newer television, it was just like it was when I'd fled so many years ago. The smell of tobacco smoke hung like incense in the air. It felt oppressive, like a tomb.
I wandered the house in a bit of a daze. The one place I didn't want to go was upstairs. I didn't want to see my old room, or Thomas' room, or Mother's. Putting it off, I went to fix myself some supper, realizing I hadn't eaten in almost a day. I took a pause when I opened the fridge and saw a baby bottle on a shelf. Silently praying she had been babysitting for a neighbor, I fixed myself some toast with sardines and sat eating in the den watching TV. It had been almost forty years and it still felt rebellious not eating at the table and watching TV without permission.
My eyes grew heavy and I finally mustered up the gumption to head upstairs to go to bed. The stairs creaked in a familiar way under my feet and I was taken back to the feeling of dread hearing either Mother or Thomas climbing up. My old room was at the top of the stairs, I saw the door was nailed shut and had rambling quotes about Judas copied from the Bible in my mother's handwriting taped to the door. I sighed gently and turned from the door to head down the hallway, deciding Mother's room was probably the best place to sleep.
I passed by Thomas’ toy room and I heard a murmur from the room. I stopped, curiosity got the best of me and I entered. In Thomas' old toy room was a crib with joyful clown sheets. Dread swelled up inside me as I heard more murmurs and saw the sheets move. Approaching slowly, I peaked under the sheet and gasped.
Tucked inside was what looked like a baby gargoyle, gray and papery looking. Pus leaked out of its milky, bulbous eyes. I pulled back the blanket and saw it had no legs and its arms bent back, like wings on a bird. It was wearing just a cloth diaper, overflowing with tarry looking stool that took my breath away with its pungency, it smelled like Thomas’ blood, but somehow worse. My heart broke for this poor creature, Lord only knows how many years it has been in this crib suffering from its unholy existence.
So this is who Mother had wanted me to take care of…
Not knowing what else to do, I gently scooped him up. Like Thomas, he was shockingly heavy for how small his body was. Placing him on the changing table, I cleaned him and rewrapped his bottom in a clean diaper cloth. It was difficult, he fussed tremendously, crying and flopping around as much as his flipper-like arms would allow. I tried wiping off his oozing eyes and he snapped his mouth, which I saw was full of disturbingly square yellow teeth, trying to bite me. I carried him to the kitchen and rocked him while I heated up his bottle and he became furious with me, almost barking like a dog when my hand would get near his face.
He settled a bit as he fed, but he would still sometimes suddenly spit out the bottle and attempt to bite me. I laid him back in his crib, this abomination in a clown sheet, and I walked down the hall to Mother's room letting out a long sigh.
Combing through my mother's journals in the early hours of the morning, it looked like she tried the ceremony again shortly after Thomas died, but she either lacked Ingrid’s help or didn't have enough of my father's ashes left. Something went terribly wrong. She was vaguer than she had been about Thomas’ conception, but I suspect she had used some of Thomas' remains. The resulting birth she named Isaac.
Mother's journals told a sad tale of her and Isaac's suffering. She never mentioned me, but lamented the loss of Thomas and Dad relentlessly. She was hyper protective of Isaac, as that was all she had left. If her world had been small before, it became microscopic after he entered her life, requiring nearly constant care. According to Mother, he was blind and colicky, sometimes going years at a time without sleeping through the night. She had breast fed him for years, but she had to stop after he grew teeth and began biting her intentionally and feeding on her blood.
I spent a lot of time over the next few days pondering what to do. I had to get her estate in order, she had left me the house, in an obvious attempt to get me to continue caretaking for Isaac, but I didn't want it. I had my own cozy home an hour away from here, filled with happy memories and my possessions acquired traveling the world. Mother's home had a heavy energy I couldn't shake. Her and Thomas were both gone, but the memories of the scoldings and beatings hung in every corner, like cobwebs that would never sweep away.
So, I fed Isaac and kept him clean and tried to keep him company, although he seemed to hate me passionately. I took care of him, all the while thinking about what I was going to do. After a week, I felt resolute in what had to be done.
Gathering up all of Mother's journals in a tote, I made my way to Isaac and picked him up and carried everything to the living room.
The ancient logs in the fireplace meant for display ignited instantly. One by one, I fed the journals into the fire, burning away years of my mother's consuming sorrow. Isaac fussed and moaned next to me the entire time. When the last pages shimmered away into lacy ash, I took a throw pillow off the couch and gently cradled Isaac in my other arm. It didn't take long before he stopped struggling and I felt his little body relax after decades of suffering.
I gently wrapped up a bundle in a clown sheet and placed it in the fire. It burned furiously, like the paper in my mother's journals, and was soon gone. Nothing but ashes and embers.
“Don't worry, Mother,” I said purely for my own sake, "I took care of Isaac for you."
And finally, I felt at peace.

Recently matched with Chinese fella on hinge. First date went great; he expressed that he really likes me, and wants to spend more time. Regularly offers and insists on helping me with things (painting walls for example) or heavy cleaning. He's very attentive with texting, always checking in.
He spent probably $100 on supplies and ingredients for hotpot. Prepared and cooked everything for me. Gave me traditional tea, cookies another time, incense sticks before that.
He's very good looking, cool; comes from a wealthy lifestyle. His friends in China are voice actors, painters, singers. He's effortlessly stylish. He’s also practising Buddhist
Is this a normal amount of effort for Chinese man courting a western woman? I've never had a guy cook me a huge, $100 meal on the third date. Or gush about how he deleted the app, how happy he is that he met me, how he hopes things will progress...
Could this be legit interest - or he has ulterior motives? I'm assuming he's manipulating me for something. Imposter syndrome, or good instinct?
Usually, when men are attracted to me, they make strong eye contact. Soften their voice. Gaze at me and smile all the time. They compliment my selfies, ask for more, send their own. I can feel the vibe; they're attracted to me.
This guy doesn't make eye contact in any special way, doesn't comment on my selfies. Doesn't compliment my outfit or looks in person. Is that also normal for Chinese men? I don't feel like he's attracted to me. But he frequently declares how much he likes me and wants to visit.
For the record, I have dark haieyes, tan complected, Native American background. Shr hair, tomboy vibe. Not exotic to Asian culture h blonde hair, light eyes would be.

Suggling work, family, and personal time, the modern woman rarely has a moment to spare. Yet, the desire for radiant skin, healthy hair, and a sense of inner well-being remains strong. Enter Ayurveda, the ancient Indian system of holistic medicine, offering a treasure trove of natural beauty solutions that seamlessly integrate into your busy life.
Ayurveda: More Than Just Products
Unlike conventional ayurvedic beauty products trends that focus mainly on outward appearance, Ayurveda takes a holistic approach. It recognizes the connection between your mind, body, and spirit, and how this balance reflects in your beauty. By understanding your unique dosha (body type), you can create a personalized routine that nourishes your skin, hair, and overall well-being.
The Ayurvedic Beauty Toolkit for the Modern Woman:

• Dinacharya (Daily Routine): Start your day with self-care practices like tongue scraping and warm water with lemon to cleanse and energize.
• Dosha-Specific Skincare: Learn your dosha (Vata, Pitta, or Kapha) to choose the right cleansers, moisturizers, and facial oils.
• The Power of Herbs: Embrace natural ingredients like turmeric (anti-inflammatory), neem (purifying), and sandalwood (cooling) for targeted benefits.
• DIY Magic: Whip up quick face masks with ingredients like honey, yogurt, and gram flour for a healthy glow.
• Ayurvedic Hair Care: Nourish your hair with warm oil massages using coconut or bhringraj oil to promote growth and shine.
• Diet for Beauty: Eat a balanced, seasonal diet rich in fruits, vegetables, and whole grains to nourish your skin from within.
• De-Stress for Inner Radiance: Make time for practices like meditation and yoga to manage stress and promote relaxation, which reflects on your skin.

Modern Twists on Ancient Wisdom:
Ayurvedic beauty doesn't require a complete overhaul of your life. Look for pre-made dosha-specific products to save time. Short, guided meditations are readily available online for a quick stress-buster.
Embrace the Journey
Ayurvedic beauty is about self-discovery and creating a routine that feels good. It's not about achieving some unattainable ideal, but rather about celebrating your unique beauty and fostering inner and outer well-being. So, take a deep breath, light some incense, and embark on your journey to radiant, Ayurvedic beauty!

Top: Calabrian bergamot, Water Notes, Grapefruit, Fig Leaf
Mid:Ambroxan, Black Pepper, Patchouli, Violet Leaf, Papyrus
Base:Incense, Musk, Tonka Bean ,Saffron
AQUA, ALCOHOL DENAT, PARFUM, PEG-40 HYDROGENATED CASTOR OIL,
ETHYLHEXYL METHOXYCINNAMATE, BUTYL METHOXYDIBENZOYLMETHANE,
ETHYLHEXYL SALICYLATE, LINALOOL, LIMONENE, COUMARIN, CITRONELLOL,
ALPHA- ISOMETHYL IONONE, CITRAL
Ingredients CAS %
Dipropylene glycol 25265-71-8 28,8
Minimal odour - used as a solvent
Iso E Super IFF 54464-57-2 15
Velvety, woody, dry, ambergris, old-wood, lemony. Extremely diffusive
Bergamot oil 8007-75-8 10
Citrus, Fruity, Bergamot Oil
Galaxolide 50 DEP 1222-05-5 7,4
Musk, sweet, fresh, powdery, clean. Fixative
Dihydromyrcenol 18479-58-8 5
Fresh, clean, lime, lavender, bergamot, bitter, citrus, coriander, cologne
Hedione or Kharismal or Paradisone 24851-98-7 5
Fresh, floral-jasmine, sweet, clean. Diffusive and fixative
Ethylene brassylate 105-95-3 4
Musk, powdery, sweet, floral, ambrette-like with woody, spicy and vanilla nuances
Ambrox or Ambroxan 6790-58-5 3
Amber, Ambergris, animalic, very diffusive , excellent fixative and exalting agent
Tropional or Helional 1205-17-0 1,8
Fresh, watery, green, floral-cyclamen, ozone, hay, new-mown-hay. Diffusive.
Habanolide 111879-80-2 1,6
Musk, sweet, powdery, hot-iron
? Cedramber 19870-74-7 1,5
Woody, cedarwood, amber. Very diffusive
Verdox 88-41-5 1,5
fruity woody apple green apple herbal / Powerful, fresh, fruity, apple, woody.
Florol 63500-71-0 1,4
Fresh, clean, natural, floral-muguet, mild
Sandalore Givaudan 65113-99-7 1,3
Sandalwood, warm, sweet
Cashmeran 33704-61-9 1,15
Musk-like, spicy, floral, fruity, rich, musty
Coumarin 91-64-5 1
Sweet, hay, tonka, new-mown-hay
Frankincense (Boswellia carteri) oil 8030-55-5 1
Incense, warm-balsamic, woody, fresh-lemony
Methyl pamplemousse (Givaudan) 67674-46-8 1
grapefruit peel, fresh-herbal, green-fruity; citrusy, vetiveryl acetate, ionone
Bacdanol 28219-61-6 0,9
Powerful, true sandalwood note. Provides excellent long lasting floral support. Extremely
diffusive and very cost effective. Non-discoloring.
Citronellol 106-22-9 0,85
Floral-rose, fresh, sweet, green, waxy, leather
Patchouli (Pogostemon cablin oil) 8014-09-3 0,7
patchouli, earthy, amber. Diffusive
Hivernal Neo 10% DPG dilution!!! 300371-33-9 0,7
aldehyde-mineral, light, green nuances
Vertofix 32388-55-9 0,7
woody, vetiver, amber, leather, musk, cedar
Ethyl Linalool 10339-55-6 0,5
Fresh, floral, herbal-coriander, rosewood, wet, green, bergamot, lavender
? Amberwood F (Symrise) 58567-11-6 0,5
woody-amber, smooth, delicate, velvety
Liffarome (IFF) 10% DPG dilution!!! 67633-96-9 0,5
Green, Floral, Violet, Fruity
A natural smelling violet green, pear, grass odour. Effective in trace amounts..
Isoraldeine 127-51-5 0,5
Floral-orris and violet, powdery, woody
beta-Damascenone 10% DPG dilution!!! 23696-85-7 0,4
sweet, fruity-apple, floral-rose,natural, raspberry, spicy. Diffusive
delta-Damascone 10% DPG dilution!!! 57378-68-4 0,4
Fruity-plum, apple, sweet-rose, natural, cassis, tobacco
Allyl Cyclohexyl Propionate 2705-87-5 0,35
sweet, pineapple, tropical fruit, sweets, waxy. Very substantive
Polysantol (Firmenich) 107898-54-4 0,2
Sandalwood, rich, Amber. Diffusive and substantive
Ambrettolide 28645-51-4 0,2
Musk, ambrette, fruity-berry. Radiant and excellent fixative
Cypriol oil (cyperus scariosus) oil 68916-60-9 0,2
woody, vetiver, earthy, leathery, rich, multidimensional
Black Pepper (Piper Nigrum) oil 8006-82-4 0,2
Spicy-pepper, fresh, dry-woody, warm
Sandalwood (Santalum album) oil 8006-87-9 0,15
sandalwood, warm, creamy, rich, sweet, spicy, woody
Precyclemone B 52474-60-9 0,15
fresh, ozone-aldehyde, clean, smooth, floral nuances
Allyl Amyl Glycolate 67634-00-8 0,15
Fruity, pineapple note with aspects of apple and galbanum. Substantive, powerful
Anethol 4180-23-8 0,1
anise, licorice, fresh
Melonal 1% DPG dilution!!! 106-72-9 0,1
fruity-aldehyde, green, fresh, cool, uplifting, chlorine nuances
Safranal 1% dilution in DPG!!! 116-26-7 0,1
fresh herbal phenolic metallic rosemary tobacco spicy / Woody, spicy, phenolic,
camphoreous, medicinal and powdery with an herbal undernote / Spicy, saffron,floral,
puissant / herbal-spicy, somewhat floral; reminiscent of crocus flower; typical of saffron
Total 100

I have just gotten a Vulpix from the incense given this week and to be honest, even without using the raenonx calculator, I could tell that it is bad. It has the sub skills (in order of level): Skill Trigger S, Skill Trigger M, Inventory Up M, Ingredient Finder S and Skill Level Up S with the Naive nature (EXP gains +, Main Skill chance -).
The problem is that I am usually a Slumbering type (I have only gotten Snoozing type a few times in the nine months that I have played) so I know that I won't have another Vulpix any time soon unless the devs decide to keep Vulpix incense as a thing. I probably won't invest a fire-stone or any candies into this Vulpix. I am thinking of swapping out one of my Entei week team members for a Vulpix just for the diversity. My current fire team is Quilava, Charmeleon, Arcanine, Flareon and Charizard. Probably gonna swap out the Charmeleon since it wasn't close to evolving any time soon.
So what do you think, is swapping out for the bad Vulpix for diversity worse than just keeping my current team?

Some of the olds here will remember this, but for those who may not have lived though it...
There was a time when Canada had a variety of grocery stores and chains, of which Loblaw was one that wasn’t really that distinct from any other.
Something big happened around 1980, and it was driven by one man who worked in Loblaws marketing, a man by the name of Dave Nichols.
This was a guy who actually gave a damn. He cared about the products and the prices and the quality and the value.
He single-handledly elevated the concept of what white label and household grocery products should be. He was the force behind “no name” products, and the distinctive brand appearance that would go on to be the image of “Real Canadian Super Store” warehouse style grocery buildings.
This guy cared about how every bit of food tasted, and about setting prices that were lower and more fair.
He invented President’s Choice and countless products that are still beloved today. Memories of Szechwan sauce. Decadent cookies. And hundreds more.
You can’t overstate the impact that the emergence of Real Canadian Super Stores had on Canada. It was a noticeably more affordable grocery store. Some niceties were cut, but the savings were real. Stores and operations were built to achieve economies of scale, with savings zealously passed on to consumers. Stores had photo studios and roller skating shelf stockers. aggressive price beating and return policies. Expanded hours. Jaw dropping prices.
And the savings also came without compromise because of how he personally curated and crafted competitive foods.
He pressed his teams to jam the best ingredients in, and to stuff the packages with higher quantities and better value.
He wrote newsletters, first called “Dave’s Report” and then “Insider’s Report” where he raved about the best products and values he could find.
He traveled the streets and the world looking for entrepreneurial farmers and chefs and food inventors. He’d invest in them and bring their products to market through the Super Stores, at great prices.
Ask your parents. This guy was a force of nature in the grocery world. And Loblaws became a trusted name for value and quality under his watch.
He’s the one who made the Weston family into billionaires. They know it too, as they helped Dave Nichols when he experienced health problems late in life.
His ethic was pervasive in Loblaws, until it wasn’t (more on that below)
His mission of bringing top quality at the lowest possible prices inspired Loblaws to create a oligopoly-busting national bank. Against fierce opposition and disinformation, Loblaws obtained bank certification and started offering products with zero fees, saving accounts that paid real interest, borrowing at low rates. These were all things that the corrupt big five banks had always said were impossible and they hid behind that myth for decades. If you have a no-fee account of any kind today, Loblaws made that possible. The Loblaws bank included the first true value credit cards and the best loyalty program in Canadian history. It debunked so much of the complacent discouragement from legacy industries.
Alas, when the old generation was usurped by Galen Jr, that was the start of the 20 year decline that we’re seeing culminated in this boycott and national disgrace.
Nepo baby Galen tried copying Dave Nichols. He re-introduced a digital “Insider’s Report”. But it reeked of fakeness. It had none of the authenticity because, unlike Dave, Galen wasn’t really passionate about the food, or the people, or the value. He was drawn just to the narcissism of it all. It was so clearly not genuine. Canadians can sniff that out.
Galen’s version of Insider’s Report was just bog standard marketing dreck. He didn’t seek out cool products. He sought to slash ingredients and quality while boosting profits.
Same with the banking and loyalty programs. Craven executives forgot the mission and purpose behind them and decided to figure out how to chisel more money, how to cut more corners, and eventually, with a hundred cuts, they’ve been turned into insignificant and pointless also-rans.
And as we have seen, the grocery business has spent the last couple decades abandoning Dave Nichols’ pursuit for value and turning into a sea of wealth seeking and price jacking.
So for those who’ve bothered reading all this, and who may not have lived through these eras, hopefully this gives you some perspective on why even the older generations are so incensed about Loblaws. It’s because we saw and lived through how their good reputation was earned, and how it has been exploited and dragged in recent years. We’ve seen the fall. It comes from knowing that there is a better and more ethical way of doing business, but only if those in charge are actually committed to such ideals.

Ethiopian cuisine is a culinary experience like no other, with its rich flavors, unique ingredients, and deep-rooted traditions of Ethiopian Food. At the heart of this gastronomic journey lies injera, the iconic sourdough flatbread that serves as the foundation for many Ethiopian dishes.
Injera is a fermented bread made from teff flour, a tiny, nutrient-dense grain native to the Ethiopian highlands. The batter is carefully prepared and left to ferment for several days, resulting in a spongy, slightly sour flatbread with a distinctive taste and texture. Injera is not just a bread; it is a culinary canvas upon which a myriad of stews, vegetables, and meats are artfully arranged.
One of the most beloved dishes to accompany injera is wat, a rich and flavorful stew that comes in various varieties. Doro wat, a classic chicken stew, is a true national treasure, featuring succulent pieces of chicken simmered in a vibrant blend of berbere (a spice mixture made from chili peppers, garlic, ginger, and other aromatic spices), onions, and spiced butter (niter kibbeh). The depth of flavors in a well-prepared doro wat is truly remarkable, with each bite revealing new layers of complexity. Vegetarians are not left out in Ethiopian cuisine, as shiro wat, a vegan stew made from chickpeas or lentils, is a beloved staple. This hearty dish is flavored with berbere, garlic, and other aromatic spices, creating a rich and satisfying meal when paired with injera.
For those seeking a unique and flavorful meat dish, kitfo is a must-try. This traditional delicacy features finely chopped raw beef mixed with niter kibbeh (spiced butter) and mitmita (a fiery chili powder blend). The flavors are bold and intense, with each bite delivering a burst of heat and richness that lingers on the palate.
Complementing these savory dishes are vibrant vegetable offerings, such as gomen (collard greens simmered with spices) and atkilt (a mix of cabbage, potatoes, and carrots). These colorful sides provide a refreshing contrast to the heartier stews and meats, creating a well-balanced and flavorful meal.

Ethiopian Coffee the Best taste Ever

No Ethiopian meal would be complete without the inclusion of Best Ethiopian coffee, a celebrated part of the country's culture. Ethiopia is widely regarded as the birthplace of coffee, and the coffee ceremony is a cherished tradition that brings people together. Freshly roasted coffee beans are skillfully roasted over a small charcoal stove, filling the air with an intoxicating aroma. The coffee is then brewed in a traditional clay jebena pot and served in small cups, accompanied by popcorn, incense, and often, a sprinkle of salt or sugar.
Beyond its incredible flavors, Ethiopian cuisine is also renowned for its health benefits. Many dishes are naturally gluten-free, thanks to the use of teff flour in injera and other staples. Teff is a highly nutritious grain, packed with fiber, protein, and essential minerals like iron, calcium, and zinc. The liberal use of spices like berbere, garlic, and ginger not only adds depth of flavor but also provides antioxidants and anti-inflammatory properties.

Is Ethiopian Food Healthy ?

Additionally, the variety of lentils, legumes, and vegetables incorporated into Ethiopian dishes ensures a diverse array of nutrients and plant-based proteins. The heavy use of spiced butter (niter kibbeh) in many dishes provides a rich source of healthy fats, contributing to the overall satisfaction and fullness after a meal.
Ethiopian food is a true celebration of flavor, tradition, and nutrition. From the iconic injera to the vibrant array of stews, meats, and vegetable dishes, each bite offers a journey through the rich culinary heritage of this ancient land. The inclusion of coffee, celebrated for both its flavor and cultural significance, further elevates the dining experience. With its emphasis on wholesome, flavorful ingredients and time-honored cooking techniques, Ethiopian cuisine is not only delicious but also a nourishing and health-conscious choice for food lovers worldwide.

Here's a very spicy incense mix that I got from one of my friends... I haven't tried it myself but I am told that it is a very special mix. When I make it, I can post pictures and review it if you want to see it.
Also: Incense: Let me know what you think of these recipes. Do you want to see more of them?
Unless otherwise noted, all ingredients are powders and in tablespoons.
Ingredients you need:

1. Heat treated wild honey - 3 to 4 depending on consistency
2. Nutmeg - 2
3. Mace - 1/2
4. True Cinnamon - 1
5. White Turmeric - 2
6. Black Cardamom - 1
7. Dried Ginger - 1
8. Greater Galangal - 1
9. Costus root - 2
10. Carob Bean - 2
11. Calamus root - 1
12. Blue Lotus - 4
13. White Dammar - 2
14. Guggul - 1/2
15. Sandalwood - 2 [OR Substitute: Javvadhu - 1]
16. Blue Lotus essential oil - 3 drops (optional)
17. Sandalwood essential oil - 2 drops (optional)

Make sure the ingredients are finely powdered.
Cone version:

• Take 1/2 teaspoon of Makko, add nutmeg, sprinkle with water and start kneading.
• Add a pinch of Makko, add mace and knead. Sprinkle with water as required.
• Continue to do the same for the all the ingredients. The ratio of Makko and ingredients in total be 1(Makko) : 3(ingredients).
• Once you have a thoroughly kneaded dough, press the dough mix into incense cone moulds and make a hole at the bottom using a round tube or the pinkie - if you're using backflow incense holders.
• Place inside warm oven for 30 mins to dry. Later, place in warm sun until the cones are hard.
• Light it and enjoy.

Neri-Koh version:

• Heat treat wild honey by immersing a jar of it in in simmering hot water and slowly stirring it until it thaws and bubbles. Let it cool.
• Mix the ingredients in a bowl. Dip your finger in olive oil or wear surgical gloves.
• Slowly add honey and keep kneading until it becomes a wet, elastic dough.
• Pinch and roll into small balls. Place on baking paper, fold and press.
• Place inside warm oven for 15 mins.
• Fold and put it away in a cool dry place until the balls are semi-moist.
• Place on coal with mica and enjoy

I am told that this is a spicy and floral mix. Recommend first trying in small quantities first in case you don't like it. Maybe, instead of tablespoons, start with teaspoons.
IF you cannot source Sandalwood powder OR Javvadhu, you can substitute with powdered vanilla bean. They change the profile of the incense, but I find that Vanilla's sweetness works for me. Likewise, Joss powder works as a substitute for Makko.

Reading through the internet about Indian incense stick ingredients has been a disheartening experience. To be fair, most of the confusion is caused by the cavalier attitude of incense makers in India who apply names in a slapdash manner. Perhaps, it's also fuelled by the desire to preserve trade secrets, I speculate.
Nothing has been more confusing when it comes to ingredients than Halmaddi and Mattipal. As someone with a large circle of friends and family members involved in spice, herb and incense trade, I can lay this topic to rest once and for all.
Ailanthus Triphysa Halmaddi
Halmaddi is a sticky, gooey resin extracted from Ailanthus Triphysa. Malabarica is simply a geographical signifier - NOT the proper scientific name. A.Triphysa is esteemed for it's light, white, porous, yet strong wood. It continues to be used widely in boat making and match sticks. Being extremely light to carry, it was also used to make sword handles and sheaths for spearheads alongside India's export of the famed Wootz steel.
Incidentally, A Triphysa is tapped for its resin. The resin is sticky and gooey and looks questionably brown in colour and of uniform consistency. When tapped, it is pale white, and slowly thickens to brown resin. Historically, Halmaddi was used to bind the ingredients of the incense into a single cohesive mix and cut them into burnable units. These are called Gheela Dhoop.
Overtime, extractors used crude methods on young trees that weren't mature enough to recover from the sudden loss of sap. Sap is like the blood of the tree. In 1990, Indian government put a moratorium on resin extraction and at the same time boosted conservation efforts. Over time, the combined strategy paid off and the ban on extraction was lifted.
To this day, Halmaddi extraction on large government-controlled plantations is leased to the highest bidder and carefully monitored by the government of India. Not so in Myanmar and Sri Lanka, which also have the tree natively. The drip feeding of Halmaddi is why it is so costly. It has also acquired a somewhat unwarranted legendary status among people who enjoy Indian incense - as if it is the be all and end all of Indian incense making.
Here's the truth: Halmaddi is neutral in scent. The terpenes in the resin give it a petrol-like odour and burns unpleasantly when placed on coal. But mixed with other resins, spices, herbs and oils, it binds them together and "fixes" their molecules: meaning, the molecules don't get disintegrated and released until they're burned. This extends the shelf life of incense mixes AND the duration of the burning.
Honey can do the same. Joss and Makko powder can do the same. Operculum Onycha and benzoin can do the same. Hence why they're used in Japanese and Greek incense making, which don't know Halmaddi.
Ficus Religiosa Mattipal
Now, the other ingredient in Indian incense. Ficus Religiosa is a highly esteemed tree in Indian culture. It is one of the rare trees that releases oxygen throughout the day, releasing up to 2400 kilos of oxygen per day. Buddha is said to have attained enlightenment under the tree. Hence called Bodhi (Awakening) tree.
Bodhi tree parts are used medicinally for a variety of ailments in traditional Siddha and Ayurveda. I won't go into them as this is not the place.
The leaf is also crushed along with bits of bark and tiny twigs and mixed with the milk-like tree exudate. This is called Mattipal.
Mattipal smells earthy, mouldy, floral and figgy. When burnt on it's own, it produces heavy smoke and a somewhat choking earthy and kerosene like fragrance. Not pleasant at all. But when mixed with other resins, herbs, spices and oils, it actually adds a subtle hint of flower and fig (after all, it is a fig tree!). The scent is not loud. It is a subtle scent. Traditionally prepared Dasangam has Sacred Fig Mattipal.
How do I know it is not Halmaddi resin? Because Dasangam is a powder. And Mattipal is a powder. Dasangam has other tree barks too: Arjuna and Cedar tree bark (depending on which recipe you use). So, it goes with the logic of the recipe that Mattipal would also include powdery tree bark, and not gooey resin.
I also checked with several different manufacturers, suppliers and vendors in my circle of family and friends. Guess what? They all confirmed Mattipal is Bodhi Tree sap and bark and NOT A.Triphysa resin. I attach the screenshot from our conversations.
Here's the quickest way to confirm whether you're getting A.Triphysa or F.Religiosa: Cost. Halmaddi resin is costly because it is not widely and freely available as yet. Mattipal is freely and easily available, and does not cost much.
Another way to tell: If you can get it from a herbal medicine shop, it is probably F. Religiosa and not A.Triphysa.
https://imgur.com/gallery/95QFFAM - Chat with supplier.
https://imgur.com/gallery/fxeMalX - Images of the actual thing.
PLEASE STOP SPREADING MORE MISINFORMATION.
Hope we can settle this once and for all!

Dasangam, a ten part recipe (hence the name: Dasa: ten + Anga: Parts) is one of the oldest and most revered incense recipes in many Indian homes. While I don't know exactly where it comes from [probably some obscure text] I do know that a recipe has been in my family for several generations, faithfully preserved and passed down since the time of my great-grandparents.
I cannot verify this, but my dad seems to think this is one of the variations that comes closest to the original recipe.
And it's easy enough to make. Here are the ingredients you need:

1. Benzoin Siam* - 50 gm
2. Zeodary White Turmeric - 20 gm
3. Henna seeds and leaves - 20 gm
4. Clove - 10 gm
5. Nutmeg - 10 gm
6. White Mustard - 10 gm
7. Green and Black Cardamom - 10 gm each
8. Natural Camphor - 5 gm
9. White Dammar - 20 gm
10. Fragrant sandalwood powder - 20 gm
11. Mattipal powder - 20 gm

*Traditionally, Indian Loban is used. But I figured out that this must have been a corruption of the recipe because Loban is Benzoin adulterated with Dammar. Since Damar is already a part of the recipe, it makes sense that the Benzoin here must be the pure kind, Siam Benzoin.
Grind all the ingredients separately into very fine powder and mix in a large bowl.
You can buy white turmeric, sandalwood and nutmeg as powders.
Gently dry roast clove, henna seeds, green and black cardamom separately to bring out their smell and let them cool down completely before grinding them.
If you cannot source Mattipal, substitute with either vetiver powder or cedar powder. Both provide a wonderful refreshing note and are used in many variations of Dasangam.
Once everything is powdered and mixed, add a small scoop of fine cow ghee. Mix thoroughly and pass through a fine sieve. Break up clumps with hand.
You have traditional Dasangam. Press into a cone and delight yourself.
Always mask up when powdering things.
NOTE: Although, the recipe has more than 10 ingredients, my family seems to count cardamom, black and green, as one.