In some cultures, in some faiths, scent is used to create a sacred, holy space.
Golden censers swung from side to side, pendulous, down to the altar. White sage burned by some of the Indigenous people of this land. Sticks of incense sending lines of smoke rising in eastern temples.
The right scent, a great cloud of unknowing, can fill the space so full of holiness that no evil may enter. We think of smoke and mist as obscuring, but in these spaces, sacred scented smoke purifies. It clears away the wrong and sets the table for the righteous. It cleanses, it cleans, it resets. Scent can be holy, in the right setting. Scent can lift us to Heaven on its shoulders. Scent can invite the Divine.
But I have no ornate censers, and I save the white sage for those who understand its true spiritual value, and incense sticks make my nose itch.
Instead, I have a crockpot.
Within, it holds the bones and skin of a chicken, or a turkey, or sometimes a duck or a wild rabbit. Boiled for one whole day and night with herbs and a dash of vinegar it fills the house with the scent of goodness, of nourishment.
A great cloud of unknowing, the fragrance of home.
And in the morning, those bones have transformed, collapsed. They become soft. They give up their secrets to the broth. The herbs have vanished into tiny flecks. The fat rises like clouds, like mist atop the sea.
For days, the holy scent of broth and bone lingers, pleasant and rich. Long after the liquid has been strained, the solids returned to the earth or crushed into the dog’s bowl for a seasonal treat. Long after the broth has been jarred, labeled, and frozen for the cold days, the harsh days.
The scent lingers. It cleanses. It cleans. It resets. It reminds us of the goodness of home, the softness of bone when it releases its secrets.
Later, we will thaw the broth and its scent will fill the house once more, alchemized into nourishment, bone to bone and skin to skin, keeping us filled and whole until the spring returns.
This great cloud of unknowing, clarity and mystery married in scent, is holy. This crockpot censer clears the path, removes the wrong, and sets the table for righteousness.
Soup and Spirit, smoke and soul.
Our home, a tiny cathedral.
Thank you for reading!
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Wonderful insight! There’s a lesson here for all of us: we can experience the Sacred in the everyday if we simply take the time to really stop and look. Beautiful!
I love this: “...the softness of bone when it releases its secrets.”