lying fallow

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.

tears

some seeds must be watered thoroughly by our tears before they can sprout:
the darkness & moisture are needed before the heat of the bright day.
things soften & fall away in the salty wetness of flowing tears.
it's too early for the light, too early for words to begin pulling
things apart or holding them together by dogged force & grim grit.

first must come the quickening tears, the basic form of the fertilizer
of the soul, for growth needs abundant moisture to support suppleness.
let the tears well up & flow. something inside is moving towards birth,
struggling slick & wet into the soft dark blanket of the deep night.

You know about tears, Shiva. You know what a cleansing release they bring.
You know that they have healing properties & a holy origin.
i will rest in You, Shiva, & the tears will serve Your purpose as i
do japa of Your sacred mantra on my rudraksha seed mala.