The Pasture: Feeding the Soul That Guides You

There is a field within you
where life waits to feed itself through you.
The grass grows wild,
the air hums with remembering,
and the only work is to rest long enough to receive.

There’s a quiet truth I keep returning to:
you can’t run on what doesn’t feed you.

For years I mistook exhaustion for devotion.
I believed that if I worked harder, loved more fiercely, served longer, meaning would follow.
But meaning does not bloom from depletion.
It grows only where you allow yourself to be nourished.

In the ancient agrarian imagination, the good pasture symbolized more than fertile land—it was the state of alignment where life replenishes itself. Scripture expresses it simply: “He makes me lie down in green pastures; he leads me beside quiet waters” (Holy Bible, New International Version, 2011, Psalm 23:2). The line is not about comfort; it’s about trust—rest as participation in divine order, a reminder that renewal is built into the rhythm of existence.

Mihaly Csikszentmihalyi (1990) described something strikingly similar in secular language: when people enter flow, they feel complete, their actions self-justifying. Fulfillment arises not from striving but from total engagement.

I think of this whenever I paint without expectation, write without editing, or laugh with my son during yoga. These moments feed the soul precisely because they aren’t earned—they’re allowed.

In Ayurveda, ojas is the subtle energy of vitality—the sap of life that accumulates through balance and rest (Lad, 2002). When ojas is strong, creativity flows; when it’s depleted, we chase stimulation instead of nourishment.

To live in flow is to graze wisely—to know your pasture and return to it often. For me, it’s candlelight, silence, and movement; for you, it may be music, conversation, or solitude. Whatever it is, tend it.

Because when you feed your soul, you stop chasing meaning.
You become it.

Ritual Invitation

Take a slow walk outdoors or sit by a window.
Imagine your own pasture—a landscape that feels peaceful and alive.
Ask: What feeds me? What drains me?

Write two short lists, one for each.
Fold the “drains” list and set it aside; its message is complete.
Keep the “feeds” list visible—on your altar, mirror, or desk.
Each morning this week, do one small thing from that list.
Let nourishment become your devotion.

Your Turn

What feeds your soul—truly, quietly, deeply?
What does your pasture look like when you rest within it?
Share a few lines—your vision may remind someone else where to graze.

References

Csikszentmihalyi, M. (1990). Flow: The psychology of optimal experience. Harper & Row.
Holy Bible, New International Version. (2011). Zondervan. (Original work published 1978)
Lad, V. (2002). Textbook of Ayurveda: Fundamental principles. The Ayurvedic Press.