4 days déjà

Beneath every step we get, something ancient stirs.

The World isn't still. Though it might look calm beneath our legs, it is alive with movement — delicate, deep, and eternal. The floor adjustments slowly in their slumber, rearranging continents like neglected puzzles, carving valleys with the calm patience of centuries. Even the air over people — filled up with breeze, temperature, and whispering clouds — is in regular movement, echoing the planet below.

We usually overlook that individuals stay on some sort of that remembers.

Beneath our cities and woods lay the remains of other sides — entire civilizations swallowed by time. The earth keeps the bones of creatures that roamed before history started, and the stones inform stories in levels of sediment, stress, and ash. Each split in a canyon, each ripple in a fossilized layer, is a word in Earth's language — one we are just just starting to translate.

Volcanoes aren't just fireplace — they're memory below pressure. Hills are not just stone — they're historical upheaval made solid. Oceans are not only water — they are history in movement, swirling with forgotten names.

And in the deepest areas of the world, where number sunlight actually comes, life however thrives — blind fish in dark caves, bioluminescent animals in abyssal trenches, mosses that grow on the bones of the dead. They are pointers that Planet is not only a background for our living — it's a full time income repository, pulsing with mystery.

Actually the winds remember. They take the dirt of deserts across oceans, depositing parts of just one continent onto another. The rain that comes on your skin nowadays could have when grown from a neglected Plant, or transferred within the destroys of cities extended vanished. The Earth does not forget — it recycles, repurposes, retells.

Yet we, their people, shift too quickly to notice.

We mild fires without viewing the previous types buried beneath our feet. We construct systems without recalling the sources they stay on. We title the stars, but forget that the floor beneath us can be sky — compressed, dropped, reborn. We speak of time as a point, however the Earth speaks in rounds: living, demise, decay, renewal.

There are forests that grow on the bones of other forests. You will find ponds that dream of oceans. There are cliffs that also indicate with the roar of ancient beasts.

To stand barefoot on a lawn is to stand in the presence of something much more than ourselves — a being that's seen snow ages come and get, that has cradled empires and crushed them, that remains to turn in their gradual, unstoppable rhythm. The World does not require us. But we've never existed without it.

And therefore, if you listen tightly — when the entire world is calm, once the products rest — you might hear it: A low hum underneath the concrete. A breath in the wind. A memory mixing in the stone.

The World remembers itself. The issue is — can we