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Empowering Change One Drop, One Thought, and One Vibration at a Time. Essential Oils and Education you can Trust

Aromatherapy shop selling certified organic, wild harvested, unsprayed, and bio-dynamically farmed essential oils in Sedona, Arizona.

10/22/2026

A woman wrote to me in July because she was getting ready to give birth. She had used a couple of blends during her last labor and wanted to know what I would choose this time.

The first thing I told her was: 𝗸𝗲𝗲𝗽 𝗶𝘁 𝘀𝗶𝗺𝗽𝗹𝗲, 𝘀𝗮𝗰𝗿𝗲𝗱, 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝗰𝗼𝗺𝗽𝗹𝗲𝘁𝗲𝗹𝘆 𝗴𝘂𝗶𝗱𝗲𝗱 𝗯𝘆 𝘄𝗵𝗮𝘁 𝘀𝗺𝗲𝗹𝗹𝘀 𝗴𝗼𝗼𝗱 𝗶𝗻 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗺𝗼𝗺𝗲𝗻𝘁. Birth is not the time for a big complicated blend. Something that feels amazing one minute can suddenly feel like way too much the next.

I told her I would start with Jasmine and Mandarin. Jasmine has that deep, embodied, powerful quality I love in birth work. Mandarin brings softness and light. Maybe Lavender or Frankincense too, depending on what felt right then.

And I would keep the scent light—a personal inhaler, a scent strip, even a cotton ball. Something she could bring close when she wanted it and move away when she didn’t.

Jasmine. Mandarin. Maybe one more. And room to change her mind.

10/20/2026

One afternoon, I spent hours playing a ridiculous penguin-on-a-sled game.

Hours.

Nothing useful came of it.

🔹 I didn’t learn anything.
🔹 I didn’t heal anything.
🔹 I didn’t make any money.
🔹 I didn’t improve myself.
🔹 I was having fun.

This may sound completely unremarkable.

For me, it wasn’t.

I have spent a lot of my life making every hour justify its existence.

Work.
Prepare.
Check.
Fix.
Get ahead.

𝗧𝗵𝗮𝘁 𝗮𝗳𝘁𝗲𝗿𝗻𝗼𝗼𝗻 𝗱𝗶𝗱𝗻’𝘁 𝗵𝗮𝘃𝗲 𝘁𝗼 𝗲𝗮𝗿𝗻 𝗶𝘁𝘀 𝗸𝗲𝗲𝗽.

I played the stupid game.

That was enough.

And no, the penguin is not a metaphor.

It was just a fu***ng penguin.

10/18/2026

Here’s an example I use when I teach grief and aromatics:

Someone smells Rose and starts crying.

The easy interpretation is:

𝗧𝗵𝗲 𝗥𝗼𝘀𝗲 𝗶𝘀 𝗼𝗽𝗲𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗵𝗲𝗿 𝗵𝗲𝗮𝗿𝘁.

Maybe.

Maybe not.

🔹 It could be love.
🔹 It could be longing.
🔹 It could be a funeral.
🔹 It could be a memory.
🔹 It could be overwhelm.
🔹 She may have no fu***ng idea yet.

Aromatherapy gets dangerous when the practitioner becomes more interested in the meaning of the oil than the meaning of the person.

𝗥𝗼𝘀𝗲 𝗱𝗼𝗲𝘀𝗻’𝘁 𝗴𝗲𝘁 𝘁𝗼 𝗱𝗲𝗰𝗶𝗱𝗲 𝘄𝗵𝗮𝘁 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝘁𝗲𝗮𝗿𝘀 𝗺𝗲𝗮𝗻.

Neither do I.

The body gets the damn gavel.

10/17/2026

Sometimes listening to your body means changing the plan, not pushing through it. I learned that during an evening walk when one sore knee was enough reason to turn around and head home.

In my feature with The Women's Post, I discuss intuition, body awareness, and how I approach healing through my work at Stillpoint Aromatics and The School at Stillpoint. I also share why paying attention to inner signals matters, but understanding what they mean takes a little more care.

Read the full feature:
https://thewomenspost.com/virginia-joy-musacchio-explores-the-power-of-intuition-in-healing/

10/16/2026

The last time I bought Helichrysum from Corsica, an invoice landed in my inbox.

It was 𝗲𝘂𝗿𝗼 𝟯,𝟮𝟬𝟬 𝗳𝗼𝗿 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗛𝗲𝗹𝗶𝗰𝗵𝗿𝘆𝘀𝘂𝗺.

And yes, I wired it.

Because when I source an oil, I want to know where it came from.
🔹 The plant.
🔹 The harvest.
🔹 The chemistry.
🔹 The land.
🔹 The people who grew and distilled it.

My distiller in Corsica is not an anonymous supplier on a spreadsheet to me.

𝗧𝗵𝗲𝗿𝗲 𝗮𝗿𝗲 𝘆𝗲𝗮𝗿𝘀 𝗼𝗳 𝗲𝗺𝗮𝗶𝗹𝘀 𝗯𝗲𝘁𝘄𝗲𝗲𝗻 𝘂𝘀.

Harvests.
Weather.
Questions.
Invoices.
Shipping headaches.

Conversations about what the plants did that year.

And somewhere in all of that, a bottle eventually makes its way to Stillpoint.

𝗔 𝗯𝗼𝘁𝘁𝗹𝗲 𝗵𝗮𝘀 𝗮 𝗵𝗶𝘀𝘁𝗼𝗿𝘆.

That matters to me.

It always has.

10/14/2026

At 4:00 every afternoon, I used to turn off the air conditioner.

Electricity costs more here from four to seven.

So somewhere in my head that became:

𝗧𝘂𝗿𝗻 𝗼𝗳𝗳 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗮𝗶𝗿.

And then I would sit in my own house and sweat like a bastard until seven.

◆ The air conditioner worked.
◆ I could afford to turn it on.
◆ Nobody was making me do this.

I just thought that was what I was supposed to do.

Now I leave the air at 74 or 76.

And the other night I heard myself say:
𝗜'𝗺 𝗮𝗰𝘁𝘂𝗮𝗹𝗹𝘆 𝗹𝗶𝘃𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗶𝗻 𝗺𝘆 𝗵𝗼𝘂𝘀𝗲.

I know that sounds small.

𝗜𝘁 𝗳𝗲𝗲𝗹𝘀 𝗳𝘂𝗰𝗸𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗵𝘂𝗴𝗲 𝘁𝗼 𝗺𝗲.

10/13/2026

A customer emailed us about the GC/MS for our Cardamom.

She wrote:
𝗜 𝘁𝗵𝗶𝗻𝗸 𝘁𝗵𝗶𝘀 𝗺𝗶𝗴𝗵𝘁 𝗯𝗲 𝗮 𝘁𝘆𝗽𝗼?

She was right.

Our page listed α-𝘁𝗲𝗿𝗽𝗶𝗻𝘆𝗹 𝗮𝗰𝗲𝘁𝗮𝘁𝗲 𝗮𝘁 𝟵𝟴.𝟱𝟰%.

There was just one little problem.

When you added the rest of the constituents, the total came to:
𝟭𝟱𝟮.𝟳𝟵%

Which would be fascinating chemistry if percentages were allowed to just keep fu***ng going.

They aren’t.
◆ A customer noticed it.
◆ We stopped.
◆ We checked the math.
◆ We went back to the chemistry.

The α-terpinyl acetate should have been 𝟰𝟰.𝟮𝟵%.

The 𝟵𝟴.𝟱𝟰% 𝘄𝗮𝘀 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝘁𝗼𝘁𝗮𝗹 𝗶𝗱𝗲𝗻𝘁𝗶𝗳𝗶𝗲𝗱 𝗰𝗼𝗻𝘀𝘁𝗶𝘁𝘂𝗲𝗻𝘁𝘀, and somewhere along the way that number landed in the wrong damn place.

𝗔𝘆-𝘆𝗶-𝘆𝗶.

I have been working with essential oils for decades.

Apparently this has still not granted me immunity from a bad number.

𝗣𝗹𝗲𝗮𝘀𝗲 𝗸𝗲𝗲𝗽 𝗿𝗲𝗮𝗱𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗚𝗖/𝗠𝗦 𝗿𝗲𝗽𝗼𝗿𝘁𝘀.

We want customers who notice.

10/10/2026

Some mornings, the first thought in my head was:

𝗢𝗵 𝗚𝗼𝗱, 𝗜’𝗺 𝗮𝘄𝗮𝗸𝗲.

Nothing terrible had happened.

My body just came online already looking for what might.

For a long time, some part of me had one job:
𝗗𝗼𝗻’𝘁 𝗴𝗲𝘁 𝗯𝗹𝗶𝗻𝗱𝘀𝗶𝗱𝗲𝗱 𝗮𝗴𝗮𝗶𝗻.

This summer, I started calling her the Watcher.

Then one day, I gave her another job:

◆ Look at the sky.
◆ Look at the dogs.
◆ Look at the land.
◆ Look at what is actually here.

𝗣𝗼𝗲𝘁, 𝗻𝗼𝘁 𝗴𝘂𝗮𝗿𝗱.

Today is World Mental Health Day.

I don’t have a neat ending for this.

Some mornings are still easier than others.

But I’m learning that I can be here before every alarm inside me has gone quiet.

10/07/2026

By a quarter to one one afternoon, I was arguing over 5 mL of agarwood worth $375.

A longtime customer entered the wrong shipping address.

We shipped it where the order said to ship it.

She blamed us.

In my head:
𝗜𝘁 𝘄𝗮𝘀 𝗵𝗲𝗿 𝗳𝘂𝗰𝗸𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗳𝗮𝘂𝗹𝘁.

I had choices:
◆ Tell her what happened and leave it there.
◆ Refund the money.
◆ Offer a credit.
◆ Open my very limited agarwood stock and send another bottle.

I sent another bottle.

Later, I heard myself say:
“I just didn’t want the agita part of it.”

That sentence got my attention.

𝗪𝗵𝗮𝘁 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗳𝘂𝗰𝗸 𝘄𝗮𝘀 𝗜 𝗯𝘂𝘆𝗶𝗻𝗴?

Relief?
Peace?
The end of the irritation?

Maybe all of it.

I still think about that bottle.

10/04/2026

At 6:43 one Monday evening, I was walking through Sedona with a nine-week-old poodle tucked into my shirt.

A few minutes later, I heard myself say:

𝗜'𝘃𝗲 𝗱𝗲𝘃𝗼𝘁𝗲𝗱—
𝗜'𝗺 𝗱𝗲𝘃𝗼𝘁𝗶𝗻𝗴—
𝗺𝘆 𝗹𝗶𝗳𝗲 𝘁𝗼 𝗺𝘆 𝗽𝗼𝗼𝗱𝗹𝗲𝘀.

At eight poodles, I think we’ve crossed the line from woman who has dogs into this is my actual life.

◆ They decide where I live.
◆ How I travel.
◆ How many gates I own.
◆ What kind of land I buy.
◆ And who ends up inside my shirt.

Today is the Feast of St. Francis.

𝗜 𝘁𝗵𝗶𝗻𝗸 𝗵𝗲’𝗱 𝘂𝗻𝗱𝗲𝗿𝘀𝘁𝗮𝗻𝗱.

Address

3100 West State Road 89A, Suite B
Sedona, AZ
86336

Website

https://www.stillpointaromatics.com/

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