Archangel Michael Cathedral Resin Incense

This incense SHOULD be burned on CHARCOAL DISKS, this is the RESIN version of this blend.

I had an experience with Archangel Michael, and this is the first of the results from that.

This is the resinous cathedral incense that I made for him—to honor him, to invoke him, to call on him for protection, and to sever cords that we don’t need or have no use for.

The blend has many things. It has carnation, rose, bay, frankincense, dragon’s blood, angelica, black pepper, asafetida, and exorcism salt from a cathedral in Chicago.

I grew up Catholic and wanted nothing to do with it. I wanted to be a witch. I wanted out. So I left, and I became what I needed to become.

But in my early 20s, something strange happened.

I saw a statue of Archangel Michael by Sacred Source and loved it immediately, which confused me. There were four angel statues, all beautiful, and one of them—maybe Uriel—had rainbow-colored wings that pulled at me in a way I couldn’t explain. But Michael stood out the most. He was the most beautiful of them, and I didn’t understand why I was drawn to him at all, given that he represented, to me back then, the church, authority—everything I thought I had rejected.

I couldn’t afford the statues anyway, so I let it go.

Years later, my teacher—my high priest—had them. He collected statues obsessively. Seeing them up close only deepened that feeling. They weren’t what I thought they were. They were powerful. They were alive.

About five years ago, I finally bought myself a Michael statue from Sacred Source.
And then I didn’t know what to do with him.
He floated around the room for a long time, never quite landing anywhere.

Then, about two years ago, I took the trash out and found a replica painting on the street—Michael defeating the dragon, but not in a way that felt traditionally Catholic. The image was strange and visceral: Michael inside a heart, almost womb-like, blade raised, crosses layered above him, and in one corner what looked like alien figures or sonic forces attacking him.

It was unsettling. Powerful. Honestly, more satanic-looking than anything else.
For a long time, next to my bed, I had other images instead—the horned god, witches, demons.
Then one day, without planning it, everything shifted.

The nightstand was cleared. The red light stayed. And in their place went the Michael statue and the painting. They stayed. That’s when I began working on this blend, slowly.

I still hadn’t mixed it.

When something matters, it always takes time. I don’t rush things. I want them to be real. Also I needed to order ingredients.

As I read more about Michael—what he does, what he governs—I started to understand why he found me, or why I found him.

I’ve been seeing the flashing lights. I’ve been in crisis.

Because my blend is for Michael—the one who cuts, the one who severs, the one who ends what must end.

And the first time I noticed the flashing lights was with him. This feels like a sign.

I don’t think Michael came back into my life because of the church. I think he came because I am learning, slowly and painfully, how to protect myself—how to cut cords, how to end cycles, how to stop confusing compassion with self-erasure.

This blend took its time. Some things don’t want to be rushed. Some things arrive only when you’re finally ready to let them do their work.

Another reason Michael came back into my awareness recently is because of Santísima Muerte.

When I began honoring her, I kept reading the same thing over and over: that Michael belongs with her. That his statue is often placed beside her. That he stands as protector, enforcer, and balance where she stands as death, truth, and inevitability.

At first, I think that’s where he entered. Through her. Through proximity. Through association.
It made sense on paper. It felt correct in practice.
But Michael didn’t stay there.
He moved.

He moved closer—into my space, into my line of sight, into my life. That’s when things began to clarify.

Michael isn’t here as decoration or symbolism. He isn’t here because of tradition alone.
He’s here because something needs to be cut cleanly.

He’s here because there are patterns that no longer respond to gentleness. He’s here because there are ties that feel familiar but are quietly destroying me.

I understand now why I resisted him when I was younger. He represents authority. Not the kind imposed from above, but the kind that asks you to take responsibility for your own survival.

Michael ends things. And I think that’s why he’s here now.

This blend is finally finished and has had time to harden and dry.

It is a very strong scent that changes a lot while it burns. Some people love the smell when I light it. Some people hate it.

But I love how it feels—like it’s cleaning out negativity.

Michael, keeper of the blade, stand with me now.
What is not mine, cut away.
What would claim me, be denied.
I pass through the dark. I do not stay.
In your name, amen.