About
I was fifteen when someone put a deck of cards in my hands. Not a fine deck — a cheap one, garish colors, bought in a shop that also sold keyrings. I remember it mostly because nobody explained what to do with it.
It stayed with me. The cards, then the stones, then the incense. I read, I tried things, I got it wrong often. I learned what you learn by practicing: that the material matters, that the gesture matters, and that most of what gets said about these objects does not hold up.
What decided me
Searching around, I kept finding the same two kinds of shop.
There are the ones that sell anything to anyone: dyed stones sold as natural, descriptions copied from one site to the next, and above all promises. This stone heals anxiety. That one attracts money. What you are buying there is hope, and that is what makes me angriest — because the people who buy that are often unwell.
And then there are the others, serious, respectable, but explaining nothing. A three-line product page, a Latin name, a price. Work it out yourself.
It seemed to me there was room between the two. That is the room I am trying to occupy.
What I actually do
I make nothing. I do not cut the stones, I do not roll the incense: I am not going to tell you I dug them out of a mine in Brazil myself. What I do is choose, and write.
Choosing means refusing. A piece enters the catalog because the material is honest, because it sits well in the hand, because it has a reason to be there. Many do not make it in.
Writing is the work I wish someone had done for me at fifteen. Every product page tells you what the stone is, where the tradition attached to it comes from, how it is used and how to look after it — selenite cannot take water, nobody told me, and I ruined two.
What I will never tell you
That a stone heals. That an incense cures. That a pendulum decides for you.
What I sell are objects — good material, good making, carrying old stories that I tell you as stories. The traditions they come from are real, often thousands of years old, and deserve to be named precisely: the mala comes from Hinduism, the runes from the Nordic world, feng shui from China. But a tradition is not proof, and an object has never replaced a doctor.
If you are unwell, go and see someone. A candle will not do it, and I am not going to let you believe otherwise in order to sell you a candle.
Where the pieces come from
From a European partner, in Spain, who picks and ships the orders. I say so because it would come out anyway, and because it concerns you: it is what explains the delivery times, and it is what guarantees there will be no customs and no unpleasant surprise on arrival if you are in the European Union.
On the origin of the materials, I want to be precise, including about what I do not know. The mineral trade is a long and often opaque chain: between the quarry and the workshop there are intermediaries that nobody really controls. To claim that every stone in this catalog is traced from the ground to your hands would be a comfortable lie.
What I can do, I do: favor suppliers who document their sourcing, set aside materials whose origin is plainly doubtful, and tell you what I know. When I do not know, I say that too. It sells less well than a label. It is more honest.
Who I am
Manon. I built this shop on my own, from Savoie, as a French micro-business. There is no team behind it: when you write to Cascades & Sens, I am the one who reads, and I am the one who answers.
It means I sometimes answer in the evening. It also means that if something goes wrong with your order, you will not get a call-center number — you will get me, and I would rather fix a problem than make three euros.
One more thing
If you are starting out and do not know where to begin: write to me. Tell me what you are looking for, even clumsily, even if you are not sure you believe in it. I will answer without trying to sell you anything.
That is what I did not have at fifteen.