Lie Fallow
“Be a spot of ground where nothing is growing, where something might be planted, a seed, possibly, from the Absolute.”
—Rumi
Artwork by Lucio Lopez Cansuet
We are turning towards the dark half of the year, here in the Northern hemisphere, and even in the mild climate of southern California, I can see the subtle changes as nature prepares for a different rhythm.
The summer buckwheat blossoms have turned into burnt sienna seed heads. Dragonflies and monarchs snap their wings open and move south. Orb weavers cast elegant webs against a darkening sky and wait patient in their hunger.
What do you notice shifting within and around you, dear one?
The wheel of the year reminds us that there are times for growth and times for rest. Times to move and times to be still.
In a culture addicted to endless productivity, it can be hard to tap into these wild rhythms and lean into the change.
Summer is a time of abundance, activity, so much muchy muchness! After all that heat and energy, the earth wisely turns to release and rest.
And so can we.
My friend Cindy, who is a nutritionist, likes to remind me, “We must rest to digest.”
What is true for the body is true for the soul.
In times of great fruitfulness, change and upheaval, rest is essential to digest and integrate our transformation. To allow the energy of what has been released to have the time and space to alchemize into a new expression.
Every ending is of course a new beginning. And beginnings are birthed through dreams in the dark cradle of rest.
We must allow ourselves to enter the space between.
Last week, as I felt into my deep weariness after a very intense year, personally, this poem bubbled as an invitation from my own soul.
I share it with you here in the hopes that you too might hear the invitation to take the rest you need.
Lie Fallow by Stephanie Jenkins
allow yourself to lie
like a fallow field
open-hearted under the wide sky
let the moonlight pour her silver song
into the empty cup of your longing
and let the worms pull
their silver threads around you
to begin their secret weaving
on the surface
it may appear
as though nothing is happening
crows will gather in your hair
weeds sprout between your toes
the wind and the rain
pass over you
again and again
carving sky patterns into your skin
yet just below the dry crust of earth
a secret work is pulsing
a forgotten dream stirs
you are pregnant with a future
you cannot yet see
it will not come through striving
it does not need the plow or till
your emptiness has made you a vessel
for what wants to be to become
it’s okay to turn your body over
as one does while sleeping
but let yourself surrender to the night
and let this dream take hold of you
with its strange power
and know that when you finally awaken
you will be
a mighty cathedral of trees
art by Autumn Skye
art by Cedar Lee
trust
that in your resting
inside this dark unknowing
the seeds of a riotous forest are waking up
coaxed alive by the fertile soil
of all you’ve released, lost, let go
In this vein, my friend Lauren and I had a juicy conversation about the necessity of the descent and how such times of release and loss can become the fertile soil for our creativity and joy. You can check out our talk here.
As the heartbeat of the earth begins to slow, may you too nourish your body and soul with the dark gift of rest.
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Tending to these inner “seeds” is an important aspect of the work I do as a 1:1 Soul Companion. Click to learn more.
What to read more? Check out these related posts:
Hello, dear one. I’m Stephanie.
As a Soul Companion, educator, and sacred space holder, I am passionate about deepening our connection to the earth, our bodies, and the divine mystery that dances in all that is.
Let’s journey together into the sacred wild!
