Scent Notes: A spicy floral. Osmanthus, ginger lily and orris play against spices and sandalwood. 

Ah, the dusk. Twilight. Your own personal witching hour approaches every day at a frightening pace, it seems. The crepuscular light just hits you differently. It’s a liminal space; a time between day and night, when you feel the most powerful and do your most important work. Days and nights both bore you because of their straightforward simplicity. You crave the in-between, the not-quite-dark and not-quite-light, the transmutable sky that exists as between and within two separate times of day. It’s both day and not, it’s both night and not. You live for both/and situations, never either/or. 

The binary thinking of the modern world drives you crazy. When asked to choose between two things, you always try to have both. You contain multitudes; you contain everything all at once. The universe is limitless and expansive, and so are you. Why put boundaries or blockages up? The magic of everything flows through you at all times, but you feel it most at twilight. The possibilities, the boundaries, the divine and the dark of the universe all course throughout your veins at this time. You try to always spend it outside, on the grass, directly communing with nature as you cast a spell, or read a book, or dance, or cry at the majesty of the universe, or some combination thereof. It’s both a restorative and deeply draining act for you, yet you would never dream of stopping. When you have to miss your twilight ceremonial practices, which doesn’t happen often, you can’t function the next day. Everything feels thrown off and messy, until the day starts to fade, and you can return to your practice. Your neighbors likely think you’re absolutely off your rocker, and perhaps you are, but who cares what other people think? Twilight is your time. You are the dusk; you are the universe; you are everything and more.

Scent Notes: A spicy floral. Osmanthus, ginger lily and orris play against spices and sandalwood.