About Us

Twelve years ago, I lost a good job and broke up with my boyfriend of four years. I felt completely drained. A friend suggested, “Why don’t you go take a trip?” I randomly tapped a place on the map—Mount Kailash.

To be honest, I didn’t know much about Tibet back then. I only knew it was far away, at a high altitude, and that my phone might not have service. That was exactly what I wanted.

On the road, I met Tenzin.

He was a local, from a village at the foot of Mount Kailash, where his family had been making Tibetan incense for generations. He supported a large household with this craft—his parents, wife, three children, and two families of relatives who worked for him. Piles of incense clay stood like small mountains in the courtyard, and the air was thick with the scent of medicinal herbs. Tenzin said, “Tibetan incense isn’t just fragrance; it’s medicine. Inhaling it helps you sleep well and calms your mind. Take some with you—wherever you go, you’ll smell the scent of home.”
That evening, he invited me to stay for dinner. The barley wine was a bit harsh, but it warmed my stomach as I drank it.
He asked me why I had come.
I said, “My mind is in turmoil; I just need some peace and quiet.”
He thought for a moment, then said something I’ve remembered for a long time: “Go on a pilgrimage. The more your body suffers, the lighter your heart becomes.”
He continued, “In the Year of the Horse, walk around Mount Kailash thirteen times.” That year happened to be the Year of the Horse, so I set out the very next day.
At the Zhamala Pass, at an altitude of 5,600 meters, the wind and snow stung my face, and I had to stop every three steps to catch my breath. Beside me was an elderly Tibetan pilgrim woman; her knees were raw, and her forehead was calloused from prostrations, but her eyes shone as brightly as stars.

It took me three days to complete the circuit. By the time I descended, I hadn’t attained enlightenment, nor had I seen the Buddha, but one thing became clear to me—the burdens that had been suffocating me could, in fact, be walked right through.
After the journey ended, I felt an unprecedented sense of peace and lightness within me, and that was more valuable than anything else.
So, I captured this journey in a string of beads.

Tenzin’s Tibetan incense taught me stillness. The pilgrimage route taught me how to walk.

I strung the phoenix-eye bodhi seeds, scented with Tibetan incense, into a rosary. When you wear it on your wrist, you can smell a faint herbal fragrance—the breath of Tenzin’s family, 365 days a year. As you run your fingers over each bead, you’ll recall those words spoken at the foot of Mount Kailash: the more the body suffers, the lighter the heart becomes.

Tibetan incense originates from the river valleys at the foot of Mount Kailash, while the pilgrimage route winds around the sacred mountain, lap after lap. These two paths ultimately converge in a single bead.

We bring it to the world. Not to sell a product, but so that every person facing adversity may find a tangible sense of peace in their hands.

Yarlung Tsangpo · Twin Bodhi

Tibetan incense nurtures the heart; the pilgrimage guides the soul.