Brief Respite in Praha

The champagne is flowing, beer bottles are found everywhere, and you can only find the hard stuff in the bathroom, secretly distributed to those in the know.  No, it's not New York in the 20s - it's Prague, right now, in 2012.  What, you say?  There's a prohibition going on?  Why yes, yes there is.

Currently in Prague, you can only find alcohol below 20%, unless you happen upon a party with someone who had stocked up, or you find some in a bathroom somewhere (true story - there actually was tequila in the bathroom at a party I went to).  Why?  Illegal distributors are putting methanol into the liquor, and even making it look like the real stuff.  20 deaths in 2 weeks means that they cannot know for sure who the culprit is.  Absolut Vodka is not as absolute as it originally appeared, and people have been dangerously ill as a result.  The Czech solution?  To lose thousands and thousands of dollars a day, but save lives, by prohibiting alcohol over 20%, until the culprit can be found and alcoholics can resume business as usual.

In the meantime, the shelves at bars are empty, bereft of the hard liquors we've all become accustomed to, and I feel like I'm back in romantic Europe, where gentlemen buy us ladies bottles upon bottles of champagne (true, although technically sparkling wine), and the journey toward drunken ridiculousness is a little bit longer, although no less ridiculous, and no less wretched the next day.

Prague is currently a world without cocktails, and giving locals and visitors a small taste of what it might have been like in 1920s-era prohibition, where drunkenness was hard-won and booze was only found near a toilet.  Every outing seems strangely innocent, and every sip of hard liquor seems so secretive and naughty, adding an element of the clandestine to what would usually be just a simple party.

Now, though, I'm back in Berlin.  Back to my new home, where I'm still trying to make a mark and get to know the natives, trying to fit into a new place where I'm not sure I quite belong.  At least I have my memories of my glass constantly being refilled with bubbly, and dancing like a manic in a tiny underground club in Prague. 

An unebelievable connection from an unexpected source

When I walked in, I was expecting a young Spanish man looking for a flatmate, loud and exclamatory, ad the Spanish often are, so the older, balding man caught me by surprise.  Unlike other flat viewing appointments I had attended, he wanted to meet in a cafe before bringing me into the flat to see the room. He spoke broken English but had much to say. Although I didn't know it at the time, he was immediately reading my energy, learning about me, and understanding me from the way I held myself, my face, my hands, my composure.  This is someone that you cannot hide from, that you cannot easily deceive. He would later tell me, his almost wild eyes directly at mine, that I needed to relax, despite my communicativeness, that I needed to know that I can control the situation, and that the situation does not control me. It would quickly change into an experience took hold of me, and shocked the communication right out of my mouth.  

By trade he is a karate sensei and a dedicated yogi. Right away he told me about the chakra block I had in my neck, that he could tell from my face that I blocked things and needed to release it. He said he could tell me about my life from my hand, and I thought he was full of it. He had me breathe, open my hand, relax it, and then show it to him. He could tell that I was communicative, but not always open. That I left to distance myself from my family, and that there was a separation between my parents in some way, and that my mother was hurting. He knew that I had left a good life at home, and had moved to find independence.  He didn't tell my future or even want to. He looked at my palm and my wrist and said that much of my life was still unwritten, that I was starting a new journey and it had not come together yet. He showed me his hand: his life had already been written, and he was glad for it. He does to want to accept money for his work, but to simply give. He could tell that I was a nice, optimistic, giving person. He said that I wanted to help people, he could tell, but that I had to relax and meditate on my life to find the peace I was looking for. 

He didn't know me personally, but yet he still knew about me. He said that my aura was yellow and that it should be blue, that he could tell that I knew what my problems were, and that this was a good thing. The first step, he says, is to know. That so many people go through life, not knowing anything about themselves, not thinking about their lives, but that I have to be open. I need to open myself up if I want to find the experiences that I'm searching for. He also said that he wanted someone in his flat who could water his plants, and that he wanted me to have more spiritual discipline. 

I went to his flat, to check out the room for rent. He put his arm around me, and assured me again that I had a good energy. In his flat, he showed me how he would work with my chakras and informed me that he would have to rebalance them and cleanse my aura before I could live there. His generosity was evident, as was his clear discipline in a lovey but immaculate flat. On the way down to the street, he told me that  even if I didn't want to live there, if I wantd to work on my meditation, he would be happy to. He just wants to give to the world, he said, that's all he wants. 

I don't think I could live there, having my aura discussed on a daily basis, but I know that i will see him again, if only to reclaim the feeling of power I had after meeting him. Not a power over another person, or a power earned by force, but a power of self simply commanded, shoulders back, head high, mind at peace. The situation does not control me, and I if can remember that for a long time, I think I will experience more than just a cleansed aura.