Fallow Time
I am not sure when or even why I stopped writing. It was so gradual that I hardly noticed at first. The gaps between essays and social media posts grew longer until ideas rarely bubbled up into my consciousness nor begged to be written down. It wasn’t sadness or malaise that plagued me but a forced busy-ness that seemed to fill my days. I read, took classes, consumed myself with household chores, and hung out with my newly retired husband. I wonder now if I was enjoying life or trying to escape the angst and uncertainty in the world around me. Was I filling my days to avoid the din of happenings I could not control?
Then, the other day I read the following words from Mirabai Starr’s new book, Wild Mercy: Living the Fierce and Tender Wisdom of the Women Mystics and felt a gentle nudge.
A miraculous event unfolds when we throw the lead of our personal story into the transformative flames of creativity. Our hardship is transmuted into something golden. With that gold we heal ourselves and redeem the world. As with any spiritual practice, this creative alchemy requires a leap of faith. When we show up to make art, we need to first get still enough to hear what wants to be expressed through us, and then we need to step out of the way and let it. We must be willing to abide in a space of not knowing before we can settle into knowing. Such a space is sacred. It is liminal, and it’s numinous. It is frightening and enlivening. It demands no less than everything, and it gives back tenfold.
When I read this I not only felt challenged but encouraged to write again. Maybe I wasn’t avoiding or running from but not allowing myself to be still enough to “abide in a space of not knowing.” Yet, maybe I needed to also rest in this fallow time and percolate with books, conversations, and experiences. Maybe this time away from writing, is leading me back to a more edgy space where I can create again and feel the need to share.
Farmers and gardeners alike know the magic that happens when they let the soil rest and lay fallow between plantings. No longer offering its rich nutrients to the plants growing on its surface, the soil replenishes itself. This time at rest allows organic matter to decompose and replace the nutrients that were lost in the growing season. Rest and respite restore the balance and richness that was once lost.
Nature’s exquisite example prods us to do the same. I now realize that by taking time to read the words of others, learn new things and allow myself to get lost in mindless tasks had the power to not only replenish my spirit but encourage me to find some ease in not knowing. As Ms. Starr suggests it is often in this space of incertitude that our creative juices flow.
Years ago when I began my retirement, I sat in our cabin one morning gazing out at the woods and wondered how I would fill the days ahead. In the quiet of my thoughts I heard, “Use your words.” Although startled and unsure, I took the directive to heart and began putting my thoughts into words. Shortly thereafter, I began my blog and Tiny Letters. While I have no huge following and only published one piece, I realize now that I need to continue writing. All I have to do is step out of the way and use my words.
© Catherine Hause