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Odors of Sanctity Imagine buying the smell of Jesus Christ in a jar—it’s for sale. Now you can experience His smell, thanks to a couple in South Dakota. eir candle is based on the 45th Psalm, “Your robes are fragrant with myrrh and aloes and cassia.” —CBs news I. He doesn’t want to be remembered like a lesson from Culpepper’s Herbal. If it were up to Him, He’d take beeswax, mix in vinegar, sweat, olive wood, include instructions to let the match burn to thumb and forefinger before lighting— even a little pain teases death, and god knows, He still dreams of that afternoon, how surprising it was to feel His lungs drowning in so much air. II. someone told me, People die the way they live, –  – so when we found her in the convent bathroom in a stall of her own blood, I thought it was appropriate, one of her vows being privacy. after I tossed the rags, put away the Lysol, I couldn’t get death out of my nose for days. I stole easter incense from the chapel, burned it—aromatherapy until my lungs opened like lilies. III. the Irish sisters say he was shot because he was Catholic, hang his portrait in the refectory next to mother mcauley. He watches them, in perpetuum, eat broiled tomatoes and blood sausage. sometimes in late november, they light votives on linen placemats— spiced cranberry with a hint of limousine exhaust, brain, and Jackie’s Chanel. –  – ...

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