Reclaiming
the Fallow of the Year
fal·low/falō
adjective:
fallow (of farmland) plowed and harrowed
but left unsown for a period in order to restore its fertility.
Synonyms: uncultivated, unplowed, untilled, unplanted, unsown; unused, dormant,
resting, empty, bare.
In our northern
climes, before the advent of artificial sources of light, the months of winter
were a long dark time. Nature too, took her rest and there wasn’t much to do on
the land for our farming ancestors. Long nights and cold days meant folks got a
break from the busyness of life and entered into a more timeless place. The stillness
without encouraged a slowing down, uncovering a stillness within. It’s the
place before the formation of ideas; before an opinion or comparison arises.
It’s the place of intuition, inspiration, improvisation and creativity.
What did
our ancestors do during the long dark winter months? We can imagine that they told stories, stoked the
fire, made love, slept, painted, played music, made something hearty
to eat from what had been stored or was on hand, and bundled up and took walks.
Modernly,
the lights are always on, figuratively and literally. We have lost something
important to our well being in converting all of our time to the activities of
the light. We can feel it in our bones when we flit from activity to activity, contantly looking for the hit that dispels boredom. Alternatively, we can become familiar with the activities that truly rejuvenate our bodies and spirit.
The following familiar story shows the value of emptying or losing track of the known, to restore the fertile ground.
A man
went to visit a teacher to find out about Zen. While the teacher served tea,
the professor talked about what he knew about Zen. The master poured the man’s
cup to the brim, and then kept pouring.
The
man watched the overflowing cup until he could no longer restrain himself.
“It’s full! No more will go in!”
The
teacher replied, “How can I show you anything unless you first empty your cup?”
Knowing is a kind of filter that limits our vision
and closes off possibility. In other words, we only see
what our knowing will allow us to see. Allowing ourselves a period of
fallow both empties and widens the field. Laying down the realm of the known
and unknown, relinquishing our usual tendencies to form opinions and judgments, to predict success or failure, we enter the vast and wide of the Great Way itself and allow ourselves to be
reshaped by this undoing.
An old master said: “The way is vast and wide, how could it ever be a matter of knowing or
not knowing? Knowing is arrogant; not knowing is stupidity; the way is far
beyond both of these.”
Practices
for the Dark of the Year
Slowing
down.
Doing a
single task with all your attention gives you a needed break from the jar of
constant distraction. Doing a thing, wholly, brings its own kind of joy and you
can learn to rest again in the gentle peace of everyday things. When you’re
sitting with a friend, give them your full attention. If you are walking, just
walk. If you are sautéing onions, notice their color and smell as they cook,
the rhythm of the spoon in your hand.
Give
yourself time to do nothing.
This
winter sit in candlelight, stare into a fire, go outside and watch the moon and
stars, listen to the rain fall, sit by the ocean and watch the waves roll in
and out, rest on a bench and watch birds and passersby, rest by a lake or a
river and notice the insects and trees and the sound of water over pebbles.
Put down
your electronic devices.
Of
course. Of course! A couple hours before bedtime, or for a time early in the
morning as you are waking, put away your devices and the sounds they make to
alert you of emails and phone calls.
Sleep.
Sweet
sleep restores our bodies and allows the mind to rest, to dream, to let the
intelligence of all things find its way into our consciousness.
Walk.
Anywhere.
A short stroll or a long walk about, it’s what our bodies are meant to do. It
reminds us of the true pace of life and shows us the aliveness of the world.
Read aloud
to each other.
A
forgotten art, we can take it up again. Like walking instead of riding, we slow
down to take in more. Resting in the cantor of the human voice, we savor what
we may otherwise have missed.
Make love.
No
explanation necessary, right?
Listen.
Be quiet
and listen. Notice when judgments and opinions arise, when you are comparing
yourself to others or complaining about unimportant things. Then, just return
to the place where you are.
Cook
simple meals and share them together.
Find a
local farm, bakery or supplier and gather some things that look good to you.
Learn to cook a few seasonal meals that you will enjoy making. The simpler, the
better.
Notice
what has already been given to you.
You are
given this life as a human being, each of your senses, this fine body, the moon
and the stars, the green leaf, and watery sea, a home, food to eat, and each
other.
May you
truly enjoy the blessings of this season.
