From Seed to Spirit

An Illustrated Journey through the Eight Step Path of Ecstatic Transformation

By Hillary Keeney

During our last Guild season, dreams led us to the visionary agave fields and mezcal distilleries (palenques) of Oaxaca, Mexico. There we learned from the otherworldly Mezcaleros who labor in eternity, transforming human beings from agave plants into pure distilled spirit. Our slogan and prayer call for the season became: “We are here on this earth to become mezcal, that’s all!”

As the beginning of our next Guild season inches closer, our visions are leading us to new landscapes. But before we depart on another adventure, we want to remember and share what we learned about mystical mezcal production, the eight-step journey of ecstatic transformation.

In the beginning, a seed is planted in the ground. A tiny passion or kernel of longing, likely carried here on the wind of an unremembered dream. Through tiny cracks in its armor, the water seeps in. And then it takes a breath. Imbibition and respiration, the botanists call it. After some time, the hard shell bursts open and a fragile root extends. Spiritual growth is launched by the holy break, holy soak, and holy breath that create the conditions for new life.

Then one day, that little seed sprouts. What was hidden beneath the soil of our being—felt but unseen—is now undeniably there. It arrives with the call of a prayer:

Grow me

The seedling grows because it innately knows how to stretch toward the light, and how to drink the rain.

We, however, remain largely baffled, wondering how to care for this little plant that feels as if it’s part of us, or is us, but also seems to exist outside of our control. Mostly we have no idea how to help it along or if we should intervene at all. Some of us try to ignore it. Others grow impatient and push too much, pull too little, or just give up. Yet despite our clumsy tending, life still finds a way of unfurling.

Perhaps the first lesson of becoming mezcal is that our accumulated knowing affects the process very little. While we proclaim our thoughts, shield our definitions, and argue over interpretations, the agaves are quietly growing and ripening in the fields.

Brad and I often muse that our conscious minds are perpetually trying to catch up to something that is already in motion. Once we think we have finally figured out what’s happening and what should happen next, we show up to the field filled with clarity and eager to start planting, only to discover that it’s actually harvest time. So when someone says that insight and understanding always precede action in a simple cause-and-effect, it’s best to laugh and hand them a shovel.

Besides, it’s the Higher Jimador—the Master Gardener—who ultimately discerns when the growing is done and it’s time for us to be pulled from the ground. Our prayer has grown from one line to two:

Grow me
Harvest me

Digging, chopping, clearing, and cutting are beautiful spiritual metaphors—until the slicing begins! Personally I have always been drawn to teachers with sharp machetes, and then I set about finding ways to dodge their blades.

I don’t recommend running away from the wisdom sword because sooner or later, those outer leaves have got to go.

Life does a lot of the cutting and chopping for us. Loss, defeat, illness, struggle, and tragedy are always around the corner. We make mistakes (slice), swallow our pride (whack), ask for forgiveness (chop), and try to forgive others in kind (chop chop). It seems there’s always more to cut away, and some of us waste years fighting to keep what only blocks our moving forward.

It may help to know that with each swing of the machete, more of our heart is revealed. It’s the agave heart, and the heart alone, that gets made into mezcal. Struck by this beautiful truth, our prayer lines expand to three:

Grow me
Harvest me
Chop me

Once the chop-resistant habits of the leafy ego have been cut away, the heart is all that remains. But before it can open and release its liquid emotion, it must be broken and made soft.

How?
By life.
But also, by fire.

The cooking fire is what gives mezcal its delicious smoky flavor so loved by the Creator.

Don’t be afraid, these flames are made of holy songs that will soften even the hardest hearts. Upon hearing them, we dance. This fire of sound and movement radiates a smoldering joy far stronger than all the sorrows of the world and dark forces of humanity combined. Even our dear friend the machete is a weak instrument when compared with the great light and holy heat of the Mezcalero’s musical cooking coals that set our hearts aflame.

Here’s an ancient ecstatic secret: Broken hearts are more flammable and easily ignited by joy, and cooked hearts more readily break to release their sweet balm. We have nothing to fear from heartbreak or fire when we remember we’re on a journey to the ultimate destination of holy distillation.

So come, dear Heart, to the fireside dance! It happens every night on the other side. Mother Agave will be there to sing us through the softening. From her heart—unconditionally loving and perpetually broken— the healing nectar freely flows. She will show us how to cook and transform our three prayer lines into four:

Grow me
Harvest me
Chop me
Cook me

Unlike botanical agave plants, human being agaves must be chopped and cooked many times until the heart is soft and sweet enough to proceed on the path.

By “soft and sweet” we don’t mean trivial sap or shallow niceness, but a higher, stronger softness—the LOVE that heals and conquers all. We are becoming mezcal, a potent medicinal made for the Creator’s table, not a sugary cocktail crafted for human intoxication and placation.

It is impossible to predict how long the cooking process will take. But if the outcome-seeking mind is still assessing where we are in the scheme of things, then more time in Mother Agave’s earthen oven is needed until we drop the “I” and its observing eye.

After the Mezcalero deems our heart is sufficiently charred and tender, we’re ready to be milled: crushed, pulverized, macerated, annihilated, totally obliterated.

To the cooked heart these words will feel like poetry, opening a door we cannot wait to walk through. If there is doubt or hesitation, it just means we’re not yet ready for the milling wheel.

As much as we may want to or try, it’s not possible to rush or skip ahead in the process of becoming mezcal. Hopefully that lesson was learned back when we were a wee plant growing in the ground, wondering when harvest time would come.

Alas, human memory is short. And in each new phase of transformation, similar distractions and temptations arise but in a way that is unique to that stage on the path. It sometimes feels as if we’re traveling backward with every forward step, learning the same lessons again and again. But now they penetrate in a different way.

If we persevere, the day arrives when we laugh rather than despair at this inescapable circularity. It’s called recursion to indicate how going around the circle of life can change a former curse into a newborn blessing.

All we have to know is that we are becoming mezcal, no matter how long it takes or whether it happens in this lifetime or another, on our deathbed or on our life-bed, and no matter how much we may find ourselves interfering.

Here’s some news to spur us on: the milling wheel is a mystical prayer wheel made from stirring rhythms, soulful tones, and whirling movement. Round and round it turns, filling the room with every holy incantation, plea, verse, psalm, hymn, and chant ever uttered in the name of losing our solidity and coming closer to the miracle of spiritual liquidity.

With each rolling pass of the wheel our heart is softened even further, surrendering to the strength of sanctified prayer. Four prayer lines become five:

Grow me
Harvest me
Chop me
Cook me
Crush me

What’s left when the milling is done? A tangle of pulp and fiber, wet with tears of release. Then we’re all thrown into a vast container built for spirited community. Soaked in a bit of holy water, together we move past former lament to ferment in the open air.

The Mezcaleros know there is no need to add any man-made yeast to help things along. The breath of God is enough. It’s the same wind of creation that breathed life into our little seed and it contains all we need to go from pulverized matter to fizzy and dizzy effervescence.

The word fermentation means excitation! Don’t forget we’re on a journey of ecstatic transformation—its fuel is strong emotion, a deep yearning to become mezcal.

Chopping, crushing, and obliterating are essential, but not enough. Along the way there must also be sanctified fire and wind to stir up the life force and passion that keep all of this in motion. As our longing for divinity grows, so do the lines of our prayer:

Grow me
Harvest me
Chop me
Cook me
Crush me
Ferment me

The Mezcalero uses all five senses to determine if our spiritual fermentation is complete. We must look, smell, feel, sound, and taste bubbly and alive with mystical intoxication. Only then does the Mezcalero deem us ready for the still.

In Oaxaca, mezcal ancestral is traditionally distilled in clay pots. The fermented agave juice and fibers are cooked over a fire. The steam rises and then is cooled from above with water, causing it to condense and travel down a pipe to be collected in a clean vessel.

This is also what happens in the body when we are spiritually cooked according to ancient tradition. We’re heated by a fire of dancing, singing, shouting, and passionate praise. This causes the energy of creation to rise from the earth and travel up our feet and legs. As we dance it reaches our belly and becomes a pulsing vibration.

The stronger our singing and dancing become, the higher this vibration climbs. When it reaches the heart, it transforms from raw life force into a fiery love-force that makes our body tremble even more. If we sing strongly enough, this surging emotion will rise up and out through the top of our head as holy steam.

Then it falls back down to the ground like rain, and the cycle repeats. Round and round we go until finally, the Mezcalero can taste that the distillation is complete.

All impurities have been removed, leaving only what is most essential: pure intoxicating emotion, the love of God itself in drinkable form.

Another prayer line drops from the sky:

Grow me
Harvest me
Chop me
Cook me
Crush me
Ferment me
Distill me

After the vessel is full, the fire begins to cool. We drift into sleep, resting in the blissful peace and satisfaction of being one with the elixir of creation.

Then we awaken to realize that although we’ve been distilled into mezcal, that was not the final step of the journey. It’s time to be poured into an empty cup and served to others who are thirsty for Love. Now the prayer is complete:

Grow me
Harvest me
Chop me
Cook me
Crush me
Ferment me
Distill me
Pour me

It can take at least three thousand nights for an agave to go from seed to spirit. For human being agaves, it can take three thousand nights, three thousand years, or three thousand lifetimes.

This isn’t only a straight-line journey from growth to distillation. There are also circles involved. While we are being chopped or later cooked, another field of agaves is busy growing and dreaming of the milling wheel.

Everyone is simultaneously a sprouting seed, a thriving plant, a pile of chopped parts, a fermenting mash, and all the rest. Each step is happening concurrently in a multi-dimensional field of luminous mystery.

We cannot control or determine the timeline of our transformation or the movement from one phase to another. All we can do is follow the wisdom of the Mezcaleros—those on the other side and the ones still walking this earth. No one becomes mezcal alone. We do it together with the help of the saints, including Mother Agave and her softening songs. And most of all, with the love of the original Maker of Mezcal on high.

—Hillary

In case you missed it, here is June’s announcement about my new book: Sister Gertrude Morgan: The Mystic of New Orleans (and a link to read it). Sister Gertrude went through all the steps of mezcal production and her life is a testimony to that truth!