Oat milk and the truthfulness paradigm

By Mariela Rebelo
Reader Contributor

I’ve been thinking about truthfulness a lot lately. Mainly because lying and being lied to is apparently being normalized now, and we are at risk of losing accountability, trust and the basic notion of reality. 

I caught myself lying recently; and, what’s worse, I didn’t immediately realize I was being untruthful. I was so focused on getting my way that I didn’t register that I was, plain and simple, manipulating another person through a lie. 

A couple of months ago my husband and I were hanging out at home with our good friends and their baby. We had had dinner and were watching a movie when their one-and-a-half- year-old started asking for milk. 

At that point, even though she was talking with plenty of words, she would default to baby sign language when she was tired. It was about 8 p.m. and she had refused to go to bed; she is an incredibly sociable baby, and she’d rather fall asleep on her feet than going to bed and missing out on a visit. 

She was sitting next to me when I noticed her little hand open and close, symbolizing milk. 

My husband and I are millennials. We’d take an avocado toast over basically any other breakfast food, we share a clear nostalgia for the ’90s and I’m still bummed about the whole skinny jean situation. So it’s not surprising we only had oat milk at home. 

My friend asked me if we had any milk; I offered to make fresh oat milk from scratch. 

A couple of years ago, I fell victim to Instagram advertising and bought the ridiculously overpriced Almond Cow — a machine with a built-in filter that, at the press of just one button, makes fresh plant-based “milk.” No additives, preservatives or sugars, just add water and you have your favorite nut or cereal — a millennial dream. 

Even though the baby had never had oat milk before, my friend gave me the green light to try. So I got up, baby followed me and I proceeded to make the best oat milk yet: equal parts filtered water and organic oats; a splash of organic, imported, 100% vanilla extract; and a date for sweetness. With baby in one arm, I proceeded to mix the ingredients and press the button. I had a quick moment of appreciation for parents out there doing anything whilst holding a baby. Seriously, wow. 

The warm, frothy oat milk was ready. It would have paired heavenly with a coffee. I was sure baby would love it.

The tiny hand kept opening and closing. I reassured her that milk was coming. I poured it in a glass and added a plastic-free straw. We headed back to the couch and I handed it to her. 

She took a sip. 

Her little hand, again, opening and closing. 

“That’s your milk, girl,” I said. 

She looked at me, confused.

The little hand, still, opening and closing. A slight pout. 

“Drink your milk, baby. That’s milk,” I doubled down. 

And there it was: the lie. 

The yogic philosophy talks about the importance of truthfulness, and it calls it Satya. Satya is one of the foundations of yoga: It refers not only to truthfulness toward others and the world that surrounds us, but also to truthfulness toward ourselves. 

Truthfulness is the pillar for everything else: Without an honest look at ourselves and where we’re at — at our values, needs and desires — there’s absolutely no room for curiosity, learning and, ultimately, growth. 

Satya invites us to be still, silent, to observe and reflect. Satya asks us to think, act and speak in ways that are absolutely consistent with our essence, our core, our souls. Satya is the basis for an honest, compassionate, respectful interaction with others. Without our awareness rooted in Satya, we’re at risk of falling victims to Maya — the illusive, deceiving world in which people are prevented from seeing the truth by their self-centeredness and own existence.

Without Satya, we end up convinced that billionaires have our best interest at heart. Without Satya, transgenic and transgender are interchangeable. Without Satya, we send ICE to our neighbors’ homes. Without Satya, we are tamable, manipulable, playable. Without Satya, we are convinced we are the best in the world and that everyone should act and look like us. Without Satya, we are deceived into supporting, defending and fighting for the very things that hurt us. 

I’m sure most of us would identify as honest — truthful — people. But are we, though? 

I actively tried to lie to a baby. Luckily, she called me out. She can’t be deceived; she’s too unjaded, she’s brand new, her entire existence is nothing but truthfulness. She acts exactly how she feels, she asks exactly for what she needs, she hasn’t yet realized she can lie. All she knows is truthfulness. 

Her little hand opened and closed one more time. I decided to come clean. I apologized to her and let her eat the paper straw she was working on. There’s been nothing but real milk in our fridge since, just in case. 

That’s the beauty of Satya. It’s subtle, yet loud and deep: truthfulness, all the time, in all situations, big or small, always. 

I looked into her eyes, and she seemed a bit sad. I felt it, too. I was truly sorry I couldn’t give her the kind of milk she needed. I was sad I tried to force my definition of milk on her and I was disappointed in myself for trying to gaslight a baby into believing something that’s simply not true, and I knew it. 

An honest look toward ourselves leads to an honest look at our world. If we can take in reality for what it is and get rid of the illusion, leaving no room for Maya, then our existence and experience in this world will be nothing but peaceful. But, for that, we need to focus our attention on truthfulness. 

We need to make honesty non-negotiable, we need to stand and defend our experience in this world; because, at the end of the day, oat milk is just simply not milk. Not to Baby Sloane, at least, and that is the truth.

Mariela Rebelo is a Sandpoint resident.