A Fallow State

fallow: (adj) A crop field left uncultivated for a period of time, so as to regain its productive capacity.

In Margaret Atwood’s Year of the Flood, which is a spin on post apocalyptic world – minus zombies or nuclear fallout. There’s a crazy semi-religious sect called the Gardeners, who have some insightful perspectives irrespective of their hypocrisy and questionable hygiene. There’s a passage about how they describe depression that resonated with me. Naturally, I can’t actually copy and paste the section but you can read the page on Google Reads. Oh, wait, I can do the old fashioned thing and just retype it:

“The Gardeners would never say depressed. The Gardeners believed that people who acted like Veena were in a Fallow state – resting, retreating into themselves to gain spiritual insight, gathering their energy for the moment they would burst out again like buds in the Spring.

I’m feeling in a bit of a fallow state of late. Not bad, not amazing, just quiet, introspective, with limited expectations; attempting to renew my energies and goals, wrap my head around a few issues; and just sit with all the feelings knowing that I am okay.

One thought on “A Fallow State

  1. Quotes are provocative …

    Take this one for example: “There is a great deal that either has to be given up or be taken away from you if you are going to succeed in writing a body of work” (Susan Sontag undated, March 1979).

    Reminiscent of the old cliche that proposes to know the answer, the one about loving and losing. But I like Sontag’s better. It leaves nobody out — nobody who wants to be anything anyway. Even the simplest ambitions come at some price, no? And the scary part about it is that you can’t know it if will ultimately be worth the effort, if in the most practical of senses it will be edifying or destructive, until it is all said and done and become part of the irrevocable past. That’s terrifying.

    But even if the past cannot be, on its own, revoked, or even quieted, at least it always seems to have the chance of being redeemed. Some effort in the present can change the conversation. At least, Sad Susan seemed to think so… or at least hope so. That how she comes off anyway, after all this time.

    “Ordinary language is an accretion of lies. The language of literature must be, therefore, the language of transgression, a rupture of individual systems, a shattering of psychic oppression. The only function of literature lies in the uncovering of the self in history” (3/15/80).

    Quotes culled from http://www.brainpickings.org/index.php/2012/07/25/susan-sontag-on-writing/

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