5 days ago

Beneath our feet, anything ancient listens. It doesn't speak in language or icons, however in the lower hum of tectonic plates, in the slow move of continents, in how roots examine the night without eyes. We go across its skin, never knowing how deep its memory runs. Every wheat of mud has broken from a mountain. Every decline of rain was once part of a surprise no body remembers. Yet the World remembers everything — it really does not speak it aloud.

Its voice is concealed alone — the type of stop that echoes. You are able to feel it once the breeze dies and the trees stay absolutely still. You are able to hear it in the stillness following Planet, when also chickens seem to pause. That stop isn't empty. It is high in believed, full old, full of presence. The Planet isn't calm since it is asleep. It is calm because it is listening — to people, to the air, to itself.

We are loud. We fill the air with engines, sirens, voices, music, machines. But none of this noise basins into the ground. The Earth listens not with ears but with patience. It waits for what employs our noise — what remains when our structures fall, when our signs fade, when the satellites burn up in top of the sky. And when that time comes, it will still be here — still turning, still blooming in areas untouched, still whispering in manners only the breeze and the roots can hear.

We think of World as stable, as unmoving, as a thing we stay on. But it is more than that. It is a body — alive, moving, breathing with time too slow for all of us to see. It does not yell, it doesn't beg. It endures. And in that quiet stamina lies an electric far more than fire or flood: the energy of anything that has nothing to prove. Something that has previously lasted the birth of the moon, the death of woods, the stop after meteors.

This is simply not just land. It is not just rock and water. It is really a keeper. A cradle. A storage that doesn't forget. Anywhere heavy under, under the force and rock, it still murmurs the story of how everything began.

But it will never inform us in words. We ought to learn to hear in silence.