Every field needs to fallow

There is deep medicine in the ending of an era.

In agricultural practices, fallowing honours the land at the end of a crop cycle with rest. During which, the land recovers, stores organic matter while retaining moisture and the life cycles of pests and soil-borne pathogens are disrupted temporarily by removing their hosts.

It is akin to a time of healing and restoration, some may say. After all, the quality of the crop inevitably fades when we don’t honour the restoration of the field.

My space-holding energies have lain fallow over the past month, and while I was initially guilt-ridden from my inactivity, the pockets of time that were usually used to teach others were soon replaced with opportunities to offer something qualitative to myself instead.

I created a safe place of rest and solitude for myself, and relinquished the responsibility of being in the driver’s seat to become a passenger of my own life for a longer and undisrupted streak. I laid my armour down to rest, and entered hibernation to tap into my felt sense.

In doing so I could make space for the gratitude I needed to practise for the seven fruitful years passed - countless opportunities, magical connections, and reciprocal takeaways that I had been so fortunate to receive.

It helped me to make sense of the wisdom that has taken seed for the next harvest. It has also brought me peace for today, and created a vision for tomorrow.

The resilience that stems from regulating my nervous system on an ongoing basis will navigate me through the imminent chapters of uncertainty and growth with courage.

My practise remains the lighthouse for my way back home to me - that is where all the answers lie.

“Reflection in stillness empowers us to respond to challenges with resilience.” - Judith Hanson Lasater