Ubud (Retired)
When you cross paths with a familiar scent a memory surfaces. A wisp of incense. A bloom of jasmine. The same is true of many senses. We remember with our bodies, with our tastes, the foods of our youth, sounds of familiar songs, rhythms, or chord progressions, our voices sharing thoughts, our ears tuning into the bird in the distance, the texture of a shirt, the feel of your sheets, the cushion of the grass beneath your bare feet. We bring in the world through our senses. Bring in OHM though your senses.
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Ubud (Retired)
When you cross paths with a familiar scent a memory surfaces. A wisp of incense. A bloom of jasmine. The same is true of many senses. We remember with our bodies, with our tastes, the foods of our youth, sounds of familiar songs, rhythms, or chord progressions, our voices sharing thoughts, our ears tuning into the bird in the distance, the texture of a shirt, the feel of your sheets, the cushion of the grass beneath your bare feet. We bring in the world through our senses. Bring in OHM though your senses.
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When you cross paths with a familiar scent a memory surfaces. A wisp of incense. A bloom of jasmine. The same is true of many senses. We remember with our bodies, with our tastes, the foods of our youth, sounds of familiar songs, rhythms, or chord progressions, our voices sharing thoughts, our ears tuning into the bird in the distance, the texture of a shirt, the feel of your sheets, the cushion of the grass beneath your bare feet. We bring in the world through our senses. Bring in OHM though your senses.
