(How the Moon gave humankind a drink of strength, calm, and memory)

I. The Sky Walkers

Long ago, before the rivers carved the land and before fire learned to speak, the sky was not so far from the earth. The spirits of the heavens often wandered through the forests in disguise — not to rule, but to learn.

Two of these spirits were Yasí, the Moon, and Arai, the Cloud. They walked the earth together at dusk, veiled in silver cloaks, gentle and curious.

One evening, as they wandered deeper into the Southern woods, they were ambushed by a jaguar — its eyes like burning gold, its paws silent as regret.

But just as it pounced, a human stepped forward.

An old hunter.

Without hesitation, he raised his bow, not to kill, but to startle — and placed himself between the beast and the strangers.

The jaguar fled. The spirits were safe.

The hunter bowed and said nothing. He did not know who they were, only that they were travelers in danger.

He invited them to his home.

II. The Gift and the Request

The hut was humble. The fire was small. But the warmth was vast. The hunter’s daughter, Anahi , brewed a simple infusion from leaves she had dried under the sun and served it to the guests in a hollowed gourd.

The drink was bitter. But it made the heart quiet and the body strong.

Yasí drank and grew still.

— What is this? she asked.

— It has no name, said the girl. It helps us stay awake while watching the moon, and sleep with clear dreams when we rest.

Yasí looked at Araí, and both smiled.

Before they left, the spirits revealed themselves. Light spilled from their robes. The hut filled with stars.

— You showed kindness without knowing who we were, said Araí.

— Ask for anything, said Yasí, and it shall be given.

The hunter said:
— We do not need riches or power. But if this forest fades, so will we. Let us live in harmony with it — and may our drink never be forgotten.

The spirits nodded.

That night, where the Moon’s foot had touched the earth, a new plant grew — its leaves green as memory, its soul both fire and stillness. It was Yerba Mate.

III. The Drink of Balance

From that day forward, the Guaraní people gathered its leaves with reverence. They dried them under the sun, crushed them with patience, and drank them in circles, passing the calabase from hand to hand, always clockwise — the direction of the heart.

The bombilla — the metal straw — was said to be forged from the Moon’s silver tears, allowing only the essence to pass through.

Yerba mate was not just a drink.
It was a companion on long walks, a council during silence, a friend during mourning, and a celebration of return.

It taught those who drank it how to sit still and how to rise strong.

IV. The Promise

It is said that Yasí still watches over mate drinkers at night.
When someone sips with gratitude, she smiles.
When they brew it in solitude, she listens.

And when a new friend is handed their first mate gourd, the stars lean closer.

For mate is more than leaf and water.

It is the forest’s breath.
The Moon’s blessing.
And a reminder that in bitterness, there is warmth.
In sharing, strength.
And in stillness — a memory of the sky.