BeJot

With a bit of concern, I open the lid of the small black jar. The contents have survived the 1500km from Lithuania at minus 25 degrees unscathed. I breathe a sigh of relief.
The golden cream looks like semi-liquid honey. It has a light citrus, fresh scent. Applying it to the skin is a particularly sensual experience. Rarely do I like the carrier substance as much as here. Nothing bothers, nothing is sticky. On the contrary, the velvety, soft consistency seems to melt with body heat.
In my mind, associations bubble up chaotically: ointment - anointing - royal anointing - chrism - healing … I close my eyes and enjoy the citrusy spice on my wrist. Herbal, sometimes a bit dusty, warm, the scent draws me into a world that is foreign to me. What did the cypresses look like 4000 years ago? How was the oil extracted, processed? I have not yet been to Egypt. I have also only engaged a little with the culture…
I push the thoughts aside. The scent quietly spreads on my wrist. It becomes warmer, softer. Alongside the resinous needles, I perceive wood. Old wood. Processed into furniture.
Again, my brain races off, searching for images from ancient Egypt. How did pharaohs live? With what kind of furniture? Tutankhamun may have known this perfume. By his time, the formula was already a few hundred years old. What a crazy thought!!
Laimė Kiškūnė, the perfumer from Unda Prisca, has researched the ancient art of perfumery for many years. As she describes on her homepage, she has embarked on a quest for historical perfume formulas with the help of philosophy, philology, botany, and archaeology. The perfume Cyprinum is mentioned in the texts of Dioscorides, Pliny the Elder, and Theophrastus, and was found in the sarcophagi of the Ptolemies in Egypt. Fragments of the formula and descriptions of the manufacturing technology can also be found in the research of Egyptologists and archaeologists from the 20th century. Cyprinum is considered the oldest known perfume, with its nearly 4000 years of history.
I am surprised at how much I like the scent, as I had suspected it would be too foreign, too exotic. Instead, I find the cypress citrus that I love so much. With many intertwined facets, the scent accompanies me throughout the day. Sometimes herbal, spicy, sometimes woody, resinous, then again balsamically soft. It feels as if the scent has crawled under my skin and spread everywhere there. I find it hard to say how long I perceive the scent on my skin. Is it eight or ten hours? Or is it ultimately just the memory of this wonderful olfactory experience?

Fascinating that we have the opportunity today to embark on this olfactory journey through time. Just like that. Because a woman like Laimė has researched with great curiosity and perseverance and ultimately channeled her knowledge into this small black jar. And because I was able to meet her and her friendly colleague Alge at the Polaris Olfactive Week.

Back then, when the skin of the soul was thin because the skin of the hands burned, when tar was meant to repair not only the wounds of the streets but also the wounds between the fingers.
Back then, when the skin of the soul was thin because glances turned away, because noses wrinkled, because hands withdrew, because tar not only smelled bad, but also looked bad, in the pores and cracks of the hands.
Back then, when the skin of the soul was thin because birch tar unexpectedly reopened the old wounds in the perfume…
I had no idea how healing was possible, how birch tar could be a balm for the wounded soul.
Today, I know it.
Hyde - the dark monster - the healing perfume

Freshly bathed.
Snuggled up in the warm bathrobe.
Blanket pulled over my head.
Click!
The flashlight shines on the letters and colorful pictures that still smell brand new.
Before I read the first page, I flip through all the pages in front of my nose with my thumb again and again. That little breeze that blows the scent of new stories towards me! The sound of the pages rushing past my nose like in a flipbook. How much I love that! My little reading nook is filled with this scent.
Again and again…
and now the story can begin.

You haven't been here for a long time. I've settled into my life without you. I enjoy the walks through the large wild garden with its herbs and flowers. The sun is not yet at its zenith. The air is already warm, the grass under my bare feet still cool and fresh. My steps slow down. This spot is so familiar to me. Here under the open sky. In the middle of the wild meadow. I miss you. Slowly, I sink to my knees. Just like back then. The grass is still there. The gentle breeze too. My face touches the earth. I close my eyes. There you are! I smell your skin. Completely still. For a long time.
-
I perceive the Nōrtean fragrances as delicate and quiet. However, this one starts off a bit stronger, bitter, herbal, green.
The fresh air remains, even as it slowly warms up. After two hours, it transforms for me again and becomes very alluring, in the truest sense skin-close.

Just a tiny drop on the back of my hand… Nothing more… And a wind sweeps me away, swirling me around. So foreign and yet so alluring that my heart almost becomes dizzy. What is this? An incredible pull wants to draw me in, through my own skin. The tension of wanting to go in and not being able to is almost unbearable. Every breath is a wave through my whole body. My nose, cold like a dog's, repeatedly touches the back of my hand. If I were a dog, I would be jumping around wildly, not knowing where to put my energy, my feelings. So I remain still and watch as the waves in my body slowly calm down, the foreignness coming closer to me. It embraces me, familiar, secure, and at the same time unattainable. Primal trust and primal force. I feel ancient and youthful all at once… everything in one, everything at the same time. Outside, everything can be wild, tumultuous, and excited, but inside me, it is calm. A deep, tranquil lake. I dive in, into the dark water. I swim downstream through a jungle, between large green leaves and resinous woods. Everything is new and foreign and beautiful. I come ashore. Warm reddish-brown air dries my skin. I tuck foreign lightly scented flowers into my hair. My long garment, a fabric strip of brightly colored, light cotton, flutters in the wind. There he is again, the familiar stranger. I stand on the shore with my gaze towards the village square. Laughing people welcome me. It smells of bright joy, of freshly carved wood rubbed with citrus oil. It is the instruments played by a few men and women. Laughing, dancing, enjoying the foreignness, I have arrived.
Many hours later, I can still feel the gentle wind as it warmly caresses my body and soul.

Shelter - Back to Vrindavan:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sSqGgGU9Yn4