Here, we do not cook to feed hunger—we cook to nourish the temple,

the body, the living altar of spirit. Our ingredients are edible, alive, and real—as they should be.

Just as you mind what enters your home, this kitchen holds its own sacred laws. Here, we do not worship labels. We worship life. Leave the label at the door. It was never meant to define you. I’m sorry the world taught you to trade intuition for approval, to buy identity when your own was always enough.

Let us return—to knowing by touch, by scent, by that ancient sensing that rises when your soul meets another. I do not need a barcode to know Rose Water sings. I do not need a certification to feel the fire in raspberry seed oil, or the wild hello in nettle’s sting. I feel it. And in that moment—I remember.

I say: Nettle, you again! And Nettle answers: Yes, we meet once more. This is not just skincare. This is soul care. A remembering. A rekindling of the ancient contract between plant and person, earth and hand, being and being.

Nettle, Maybe this time, this life, we move from human doing to human being. Maybe this time, we wear no labels— only our truth where we are our own labels in our words and deeds.