Tequila Upanishad
On Friday evening, my husband and I went to Voodoo Lounge for their delicious tacos during happy hour. Mattie had a few beers throughout the evening, but I do not drink. Over the years, I found that my yoga practice actually taught my body to reject alcohol in most forms. On special occasions such as weddings or New Year’s celebrations, I will have a small glass of champagne. For the most part, I steer clear because my body tells me to do so, but tonight was different. For some reason, my body said, “Tequila.”
The last time I had tequila was over two years ago at a bar downtown. I used to love tequila; it was certainly my liquor of choice. I always preferred it to everything else, beer included. Our last encounter was messy and was a red flag – my body just did not want exposure to the stuff any longer. So, why was tonight different? What was going inside of my body that made me desire tequila? After a short discussion about varieties with the waitress, I finally decided. Within moments, there it was – a shot glass of clear liquid. My body taught me for so long to run the other way. I figured there must be something to learn. Perhaps my body wanted me to experience this differently and in light of my practice.
There were about a dozen lime slices on a couple plates in front of me. My husband looked on surprised and concerned; he knows I do not drink for anyone or any reason. I said to him, “My mother told me once that tequila makes you brave. It is not like any other liquor in the world. I wonder why that is?” Mattie replied, “I hate the stuff. It makes me shake.” I brought the shot glass to my lips, took a deep breath, and sipped. I did not throw it back. There was a lesson inside the tiny vessel and I needed to pay attention. My tongue recoiled and the heat went down my throat and erupted inside my chest, as if encasing my heart in a sauna.
I thought: “This is why I do not drink.” The tequila felt like an invader. It felt like spiritual oppression. It felt as though the sip was someone I allowed into my body to overtake it, to ravage it, to harm me. But this small voice inside encouraged me to continue. Each sip was terrible – yes, awful. I bit deeply into the limes and felt respite there. I had never used salt or lime in the past. After taking the invader into my mouth and then biting deeply into the lime slice, I realized that my body craved that natural fruit. The taste was soothing and peaceful. Tequila was a predator.
I said to Mattie, “So, tequila comes from blue agave, a plant that grows in high altitudes and dry, sandy soil. I wonder if its effects upon a person are similar to those conditions.” My husband is in mid-bite, wondering why I am trying to justify my alcohol venture with a deep discussion. He just wants to eat and drink his beer, but I am truly thinking this through. If I were in an arid climate with high altitudes, I would feel a little loopy. I would follow a thought process not typical of me. Over time without much water, I would feel my body ration out every last bit until all that was left of me was – well, a hallucinating mess. Is that why it makes you “brave”?
The very last sip of that shot glass made me giggle involuntarily. Mattie could not believe his wife was wasted after a shot. I wasn’t, but I was different. I was affected. That small amount of tequila reminded me so much of why I practice yoga. Pranayama and asana have the opposite effects of alcohol. When I practice, I am protecting my mind, my body, my spirit, and my heart. I gain control over the physical aspects of self in order to harness the others. Alcohol wreaks havoc on my efforts. It is a thief. I sat in that booth in Voodoo Lounge, practicing my yoga with greater ferocity because an enemy was in my body. I allowed myself to succumb in order to be and to learn.
On Friday night, tequila was a slimy guy in a bad suit, whispering sweet nothings in my ear. There was a battle inside: tequila enamored me, but also repulsed me. It soothed me, but also terrified me. I think that is the nature of things that contradict the yogic practice. They have very similar results, but deep down one can feel the betrayal of self and of Divine Truth. Tequila can be an escape much like yoga, but the difference is that the latter shows you reality. The former pulls you deeper into illusion. Nonetheless, tequila taught me an important lesson, that all things and all people can teach you so long as you sit near and listen.
Peace be with you,
Natasha Alexandra Akery
