sometimes i am a garden lying fallow after harvest, stripped of my nourishing abundance. my leaves are brown & crisp, stalks & stems are brittle & broken, scattered on the resting earth as a testament to blessings given generously. i can breathe into the earth even when i cannot reach for the shining sky, so i go deep, deep down past the spent dry roots. i sleep, forgetful of bright springtime & sun, returning the physical substance to its origin. i dream. i dream of You, Shiva, Who planted me here & cultivated my pure essence & reaped my natural bounty. it has emerged from tiny hard seeds hidden in the darkness of the ground, & grown to lift many arms & hands up to praise the sun & honor the moon. it has been glorious, & i thank You, Shiva, as i release the firm form into the cool darkness & soft dust of the waiting earth. lying fallow is also part of the process that yields the next abundant harvest in its own time. hold me, Shiva. hold me as i rest quietly without care, dreaming of formlessness & freedom from this human dharma.