The Intimacy of Smell

Last week I finished reading a book by my favorite author of young adult novels, Shannon Hale. It is called "Book of a Thousand Days" and is not part of a series. According to the inside cover, "...this little-known classic fairy tale from the Brothers Grimm is reimagined and reset on the central Asian steppes...."

The main character of the story describes a custom of her people:
"In greeting, we always clasp forearms, touch cheeks, and inhale through our noses so as to breathe in each other's scent"
[I did a little online research and discovered that this really is a customary greeting of the Polynesian island nation, Tuvalu.]
"Smell is the voice of the soul, and this greeting is the most intimate. It's common among family and clan, of course, but I've been on my own for so long, I'd forgotten how warm and wonderful it is" (p. 173).

I find this a fascinating greeting. I can see that it is so intimate that it would be reserved for those dearest to you. As I reflected on various greetings, I found it interesting how we can use all the senses as we greet those close to us. Sight, sound ("Hello"), and touch (hand shake, hug) are natural greetings. But we also include taste (While a kiss is not much of a "taste" of someone else, I know I have experienced a "taste" of my children after kissing a slightly salty forehead.).

Why should smell not be included in our greetings? I often found myself inhaling the newborn baby scent of my boys. What surprised me was how much I would continue to inhale their scent, long after it morphed from newborn to little boy.

"...As we gripped arms, he pulled me closer, resting his cheek against mine, and inhaled through his nose, taking in the breath of my soul" (p. 213).

Before I became a mother, a coworker of mine had told me that she loved the smell of her kids when she leaned in to wake them up in the morning-even when their scent was slightly less than ideal. At the time I thought it was strange. Now, I think I get it. We want to experience those we love with all five senses. We want the memory of them to stick with us, always.

"Things worn closeset to the skin, to the heart, carry the scent of a person, and of course, scent is the breath of the soul" (p. 48-49).

I finished reading this book the week before Brett left. I had noticed in the past that I would breathe in Brett's clean scent, resting my head against his chest in a hug. Last week, I found that I was more intentional--like I wanted to breathe in a part of him and keep that part of him with me while he is away. I would be close to him like that thinking, "I miss him already."

Now I am left to think something along these lines:
"Is it wrong for me to imagine laying my head on his chest and closing my eyes and breathing in his smell?" (p. 214).

Just to clarify: I have no desire to smell Brett as he is currently sure to be smelling.... I would prefer to breathe in the clean "breath of his soul".