We Were Meant to Be Touched Like This
Before mirrors. Before shame. Before the split between sacred and skin—there was oil. There was body. There was woman.
There were hands moving over flesh with reverence. There were herbs infused in golden glass. There were moments of stillness where pleasure was prayer, and the act of touching oneself was an act of remembering.
We forgot. But our bodies did not.
Self-anointing is not new. It is ancient. It is temple art. Feminine technology. A spiritual act of saying: this body is holy.
In a world that profits off our self-rejection, touching your body like a sacred site is not indulgent. It is insurgent.
The Oil as Oracle
In ancient Egypt, priestesses anointed their wombs with myrrh and blue lotus before entering the temple. In India, Abhyanga—the practice of self-oiling—was considered a daily ritual of health and honour. Across African, Indigenous and Mediterranean cultures, oils have been used to bless, protect, initiate, and awaken.
Oil is more than moisturiser. It is memory. It is medicine. It is a message to your nervous system: You are safe now.
The Alchemē collection is a modern remembering of this lineage. Each drop is infused with botanical intelligence, aphrodisiac energy, and deep feminine coding. This is not skincare. This is soul care.
The Body as Altar
Capitalism told you your body was a billboard. Religion told you it was a temptation. Medicine told you it was a problem.
We say: Your body is a temple.
Every curve. Every crease. Every scar. Every breath.
To oil your skin is to re-consecrate your body. To turn what has been objectified into something owned. Revered. Loved. Alive.
When you anoint yourself, you interrupt the violence of speed. You say no to the culture of numbness. You say yes to slowness, sensation, and sacred self-regard.
This is radical. This is ritual. This is reclamation.
The Feminist Power of Self-Touch
In a society built on female submission, the most revolutionary thing a woman can do is touch herself with reverence.
Not to get off. Not to get ready. Not to be watched.
But to return. To remember. To root into her own worth.
When you anoint your womb with warm oil, you rewire history. When you trace your collarbone slowly, you rewrite the script. When you press oil into your thighs, your hips, your breasts—you tell your body: I am mine.
This is more than self-care. This is spiritual sedition.
Ritual Instructions (Feel Your Way)
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Set the Space. Low lighting. Music. Incense. Silence. Your body knows what feels sacred.
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Warm the Oil. Pour slowly into your palms. Inhale. Let the scent pull you into presence.
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Begin with Breath. Touch your heart. Breathe into your belly. Ask: What do I long to feel?
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Anoint Intuitively. There is no correct order. Let your hands listen. Let your fingers worship.
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Move Slowly. The slower you go, the more you will feel.
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Close with Stillness. Hold yourself. Let the oil absorb. Let the prayer settle.
You do not have to be a priestess to perform this. But you will remember that you always were.
Devotion Over Discipline
Capitalism wants your discipline. The patriarchy wants your obedience.
But your body? She wants your devotion.
Not routines, but rituals. Not control, but care. Not tightening, but softening.
Alchemē oils are not products. They are invitations. To come back. To slow down. To love yourself at the speed of trust.
An Invitation
To the woman reading this:
You are not a brand. You are not a problem. You are not a before-and-after.
You are a living, breathing, divine thing.
Anoint yourself like the altar you are. Press oil into the parts of you the world tried to shame. Create beauty for no one but yourself.
And when they ask how you became so radiant? Tell them:
I touched myself like a prayer. I slowed down like a revolt. I remembered the temple was never out there.
It was here.
And it was always me.
