Sacred Smoke: How Incense Became a Portal in My Healing Journey

I still remember the first time I lit an incense stick inside Babulnath Temple in Mumbai. The air was thick with devotion. It was early morning, and everything felt washed in a kind of golden quiet. The scent of sandalwood drifted through the stone corridors, mixing with marigolds and whispered prayers. Something ancient stirred in me. Something that felt like home.

But maybe it began even earlier than that.

My mom was the first to teach me about incense. She traveled through the Far East long before I ever did, and our home was always filled with the smell of something mysterious and comforting. Frankincense, myrrh, patchouli. She had a way of making a space feel sacred, even on an ordinary Tuesday. I would watch her light a stick, read from her collection of well-worn books on Taoism and Buddhist philosophy and disappear into a kind of peace I couldn’t yet name. Later, I read the same books. I followed the same curiosity. And eventually, I followed the same smoke.

Even now, we still do it together. We exchange incense sticks from our worldly travels like love notes, gifting each other scents that carry stories, memories and medicine.

When I began my own travels, I understood.

In Kyoto, I wandered through Kiyomizu-dera, where the air smelled like cherry wood and prayers. In Tokyo, at Senso-ji, I watched women gather around the incense cauldron, brushing the sacred smoke over their faces and hair, blessing their bodies before stepping into the day. In Shanghai, I lit agarwood at Longhua Temple, and felt the weight of a thousand whispered wishes settle into the air beside me. 

Everywhere I went, incense wasn’t decoration. It was devotion. It was presence. It was the bridge between the visible and the unseen.

For me, incense is not just a beautiful smell. It’s an essential part of my spiritual practice. It’s energy work. It’s protection. It’s poetry.

I collect sticks from around the world and my collection is wide and deeply personal: creamy sandalwood from India’s sacred groves, the bright resinous glow of Hojari frankincense from the misty, mountainous hills of Oman, the serene aroma of Japanese hinoki wood and the rich, fragrant agarwood from China.

The ritual of choosing one, lighting it and breathing with it is a ceremony in itself.

When I light incense, I’m not just scenting the room. I’m calling my energy home. I’m clearing what doesn’t belong. I’m softening back into myself. And it feels divine. Every time. 

Some scents awaken. Some soothe. Some open portals. All of them, if used with intention, become medicine.

My Daily Ritual with Incense

1. Morning Grounding
I begin most mornings with sandalwood. It reminds me of the temples. It roots me before the noise of the day begins.

2. Energy Clearing
After coaching calls, emotional conversations, or anything that feels heavy, I light palo santo or frankincense. The room feels different within seconds. Lighter. Sharper. Clear.

3. Journaling + Dreaming
I always write with scent. Always. Jasmine and rose help me open my heart and soften my guard. It’s like writing from the soul, not the mind.

4. Reiki + Client Sessions
Before I guide any session, I light incense. It signals to my body and spirit that we are entering sacred space. It invites truth.

5. Evening Reset
As the sun goes down, I switch to calming scents like lavender and amber. They carry me into rest. 

There is something undeniably feminine about incense. The way it curls, the way it lingers, the way it fills a space without force. It seduces and it heals.

Incense taught me that healing doesn’t always have to be loud or hard. It can be gentle. It can be quiet. It can be a single stick burning in a ceramic bowl while you drink tea and remember who you are.

It brings me back to temples, to travels, to my mom’s hands lighting smoke over an open book. And it brings me back to myself.

Light a stick of incense today. Any one. Let your body choose, not your mind.

Sit with the smoke. Breathe with it. Let it wrap around your thoughts, your skin, your intentions. Then ask yourself: What am I calling in? What space can I make for my own sacred return?

This is more than a smell. It’s a ritual. A remembering. A way home.

You don’t need to go far to find the divine. Sometimes, all it takes is a spark and the willingness to let the smoke show you the way.