Warm Balsam
A resinous warmth rises first — thick, sweet, ancient. Like honey left in a wooden bowl for a thousand years.
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Pradawny towarzysz kadzidła. Gdy kadzidło unosi, mirra uziemia. Gdy oczyszcza, mirra trzyma. Zbierana z dzikich drzew Commiphora myrrha w Jemenie i przewożona przez granice, które przekracza niewielu żywic.
Balsamiczna. Ziemista. Trochę gorzka. Dym mirry pozostaje nisko i blisko.
Gdy kadzidło otwiera niebo, mirra trzyma Twoje stopy na ziemi.
Piękna sama w sobie. Transcendentna spalana z kadzidłem.
Nigdy nie zabraknie. Otrzymuj mirrę w preferowanej częstotliwości i oszczędzaj 20% na każdej dostawie. Anuluj w dowolnym momencie.
Do palenia (sakralny dym):
Do płukania jamy ustnej (zdrowie jamy ustnej)
Ta mirra pochodzi z dzikich drzew Commiphora myrrha w Jemenie — krainie, gdzie konflikty sprawiły, że sacrum stało się rzadkie.
Każda partia jest ręcznie sortowana przez lokalne rodziny, które pielęgnują te pradawne praktyki zbiorów.
Pozyskujemy bezpośrednio od rodzin zbieraczy, zapewniając uczciwe wynagrodzenie i wspierając społeczności, które chronią te drzewa od pokoleń.
Wysyłka: Zamówienia wysyłamy w ciągu 1 dnia roboczego z naszego magazynu w Polsce lub Kalifornii, w zależności od tego, który jest bliżej Ciebie. Darmowa wysyłka przy zamówieniach powyżej 340 zł. Wysyłamy na cały świat.
Zwroty: Oferujemy 30-dniową gwarancję satysfakcji. Jeśli mirra nie spełni Twoich oczekiwań, zwróć nieużywaną żywicę za pełny zwrot, nawet po otwarciu.
You've done the work. The meditation. The rituals. But something still feels unsteady. Like you're floating just above your own life.
You walk into a room and feel what everyone else is feeling. You leave conversations drained. You carry weight that isn't yours. Your edges have become porous.
You're productive, present, even successful. But underneath it all, something feels loose. Like you're hovering just above your own life, waiting to land.
You've forgotten what it feels like to be in yourself. To feel your feet on the floor and know: this is home.
The body needs something the mind cannot give. You need weight. Warmth. An ancient medicine that speaks to the part of you that existed before words.
Nature didn't design you to float. It designed you to root.
From floating to grounded. From scattered to held.
What happens when you burn Mother Myrrh? It's not just a scent. It's an anchor.
Within moments of lighting Mother Myrrh, the air thickens. Not heavy. Held. The smoke stays low, settles close, wraps around you like something ancient remembering your name.
Light one piece as the sun goes down. Let the smoke pool around you. Feel your shoulders drop. Feel your breath slow. The day ends here.
"Palę kadzidło rano, by oczyścić. Palę mirrę wieczorem, by wylądować. To stało się klamrą mojego dnia. Bez tego czuję, jakbym wciąż unosiła się, gdy idę spać."
You live in your head. Myrrh brings you back down. Its compounds have been used for millennia to reconnect the scattered. Not through force, but through warmth. The body remembers what the mind forgets.
"Mirra to sposób, w jaki wracam do siebie po trzymaniu przestrzeni dla innych. To już nie jest opcjonalne. To lekarstwo!"
The word myrrh means "bitter." It was the resin of grief, of transitions, of release. When something needs to move through you and out of you, myrrh holds the door open.
"Paliłam to każdej nocy przez miesiąc po śmierci mojej matki. Nie potrafię tego wyjaśnić — ale pomogło mi płakać, gdy tego potrzebowałam, i przestać, gdy byłam gotowa. Jakby to wiedziało."
Where frankincense lifts and brightens, myrrh descends. Warm. Earthy. A little bitter. Three notes that unfold as the smoke settles close.
A resinous warmth rises first — thick, sweet, ancient. Like honey left in a wooden bowl for a thousand years.
The name myrrh means "bitter." As it burns, you'll taste it in the air — rich, medicinal, grounding. The earth beneath the temple.
The finish lingers low. Hints of dried plum, dark wood, a whisper of sweetness underneath. The smoke stays close. It doesn't rise — it holds.
One rare resin. Three transformative rituals.
Rooted in 6,000 years of wisdom.
Pick the ritual that calls to you:
Light charcoal outdoors. Wait until it glows grey with fine ash. Set your intention.
Place a single tear on the coal. Watch the white jade smoke spiral upward instantly.
Close your eyes. Breathe deeply. Let the Boswellic scent ground your nervous system.
Add one small piece to warm water. Stir gently until the water begins to cloud.
Cover and rest. The water turns amber and cloudy as the resin releases its medicine.
Swish for 30 seconds, then spit. Ancient oral care for gums, breath, and mouth wounds. Do not swallow.
Frankincense lifts. Myrrh holds. This is the resin for what needs to move through you — grief, weight, the things you've been carrying too long.
The word myrrh means "bitter." It was the resin of transitions, of endings. When something is ready to leave — grief, resentment, a version of yourself you've outgrown — myrrh holds the door open.
For 5,000 years, myrrh has been the resin of the body. Gums. Wounds. Skin. Where frankincense clears the mind, myrrh heals what's broken. Inside and out.
Frankincense smoke rises. Myrrh smoke stays low. It wraps around you. It doesn't lift you out of your body — it brings you back in. For people who live in their heads, this is the way home.
Frankincense opens the sky
Myrrh keeps your feet on the earth
Pure Yemeni myrrh from wild Commiphora trees. Hand-harvested, carried across borders few resins cross, and prepared with intention.
Light the resin when you need to come home to yourself. Before bed. After a hard day. When you've been carrying too much. Within 30 days, the scent becomes a shortcut back to your body.
Scent meets intention.
Light the resin. Sit. Let the smoke settle low around you. You're teaching your nervous system that this specific scent means it's time to land.
Your body remembers first.
Something shifts. The moment the smoke pools around you, your shoulders drop before you've even noticed. What once took effort now happens on its own.
One breath brings you back.
Now you don't need the full ritual. Light the resin when the world feels heavy or you've lost yourself in your head. One breath and your body knows exactly where to go.
This is scent as grounding technology.
Your body, waiting in the smoke.
For centuries, Myrrh has been reserved for sultans and spiritual masters.
Today, most Myrrh is mass-harvested African resin. Stripped of its soul. Not ours.
The top 1% of Yemen's harvest — the same purity once reserved for sultans and sacred ceremony.
Gathered from centuries-old Commiphora myrrha in Yemen's mountains — tapped once yearly to preserve potency.
Safe to burn, steep, or apply to skin. Zero fillers, zero synthetic oils — just crystallized tree resin.
Partner families harvesting these trees for five generations. Every order plants a Boswellia sacra seedling.
"Wypróbowałam 7 marek przed Sacrasoul. Nic nie zbliża się do tej czystości."
"Zapach przemienił moją medytację. W końcu rozumiem, co oznacza 'sakralne'."
"Jedyna żywica, której używam w moim studio. Studenci zawsze pytają, co to jest."
Sacred Promise
Use Sacrasoul for 30 days. If your space doesn't feel more still, more sacred, we'll gladly refund you for the unused portion.
We harvest this resin by hand from sacred frankincense trees in Oman.
We know what you're receiving. You will too.
Sacred Reciprocity
5% of every order plants a Boswellia sapling in Dhofar and supports the harvesting families who've tended these groves for generations.
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Ancient resin prized for millennia. Rich, earthy, and deeply meditative. Pairs beautifully with frankincense.