Indian sandalwood
Tagetes
Australian sandalwood
Henna
Indian patchouli
Jasmine sambac absolute
Malayan oud
Pink lotus absolute
Camphor
Cardamom
Champaca absolute
Cinnamon
Gandhi root
Indian night-blooming jasmine
Indian rose otto
Indonesian patchouli
Kaffir lime
Lemon grass
Oud
Bitter orange
Kahili ginger
Vanilla
Cedar
Indian amber
Indian vetiver
Lavender
BeJot
96 Reviews
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BeJot
Helpful Review
15
Sometimes, images come to my mind
I close my eyes and let the images pass by me, which Dr. Bengal conjures in my inner temple.
At first, there are only colors, dark brown, dark green, a little yellow.
Then it tastes spicy, herbal, bitter.
In the next image, something is burning. What is burning, I do not know. …
Suddenly, an image appears unexpectedly, which is very familiar to me from the early 70s. It is the last stanza of Reinhard Mey's song "Sometimes, images come to my mind"...
Someone puts the LP on inside me. It crackles and pops familiar. Guitar. And then this stanza… Tears roll down…
In this song, in this scent, I find everything:
The shame of not belonging,
The admiration for the greatness of others, who seemingly have everything, can do everything
Finding my way in my little world
The unearned privilege of being born here
The familiar togetherness
The happiness, despite everything, with everything…
"Sometimes, images come to my mind
Of a piece of bread in mutilated hands
Of an old woman, who alone
Pulls them out from crumbling walls
Of burned faces, buried in hands
Sometimes I am ashamed of having been ashamed
I wanted to tell you this, are you still listening to me?
No, you are already asleep, you must be tired from the day
I turn off the light, and I cover you warmer
Sometimes I am ashamed, despite everything, to be so happy"
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=h87QhohzdRE
Dear Can and dear Floyd, I thank you for these images, the music, the scent that I carry within me today.
At first, there are only colors, dark brown, dark green, a little yellow.
Then it tastes spicy, herbal, bitter.
In the next image, something is burning. What is burning, I do not know. …
Suddenly, an image appears unexpectedly, which is very familiar to me from the early 70s. It is the last stanza of Reinhard Mey's song "Sometimes, images come to my mind"...
Someone puts the LP on inside me. It crackles and pops familiar. Guitar. And then this stanza… Tears roll down…
In this song, in this scent, I find everything:
The shame of not belonging,
The admiration for the greatness of others, who seemingly have everything, can do everything
Finding my way in my little world
The unearned privilege of being born here
The familiar togetherness
The happiness, despite everything, with everything…
"Sometimes, images come to my mind
Of a piece of bread in mutilated hands
Of an old woman, who alone
Pulls them out from crumbling walls
Of burned faces, buried in hands
Sometimes I am ashamed of having been ashamed
I wanted to tell you this, are you still listening to me?
No, you are already asleep, you must be tired from the day
I turn off the light, and I cover you warmer
Sometimes I am ashamed, despite everything, to be so happy"
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=h87QhohzdRE
Dear Can and dear Floyd, I thank you for these images, the music, the scent that I carry within me today.
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