The Silence That Remembers

Beneath our feet, something old listens. It does not talk in language or designs, but in the reduced sound of tectonic dishes, in the gradual drift of continents, in how sources examine the darkness without eyes. We go across their skin, never understanding how serious their storage runs. Every grain of sand has broken from a mountain. Every drop of rain was once part of a surprise no-one remembers. Yet the World recalls every thing — it just does not talk it aloud.

Its voice is concealed alone — the type of stop that echoes. You are able to feel it when the breeze dies and the woods stand totally still. You can hear it in the stillness after mastery, when even chickens appear to pause. That silence is not empty. It's high in believed, full old, saturated in presence. The World is not quiet since it is asleep. It is calm because it's hearing — to people, to the air, to itself.

We are loud. We load the air with motors, sirens, comments, audio, machines. But nothing of the noise basins into the ground. The Planet concentrates perhaps not with ears but with patience. It waits for what comes after our sound — what remains when our buildings fall, when our signals fade, when the satellites burn up in top of the sky. And when that time comes, it it's still here — still turning, however blooming in areas untouched, still whispering in manners just the breeze and the roots can hear.

We think of Planet as strong, as unmoving, as something we live on. But it is more than that. It is a human body — living, moving, breathing in time too slow for people to see. It does not scream, it does not beg. It endures. And for the reason that quiet strength lies an electric much more than fire or flood: the power of something that has nothing to prove. Something that has previously lasted the start of the Planet, the demise of woods, the stop after meteors.

This isn't only land. It is not just stone and water. It is just a keeper. A cradle. A storage that does not forget. Somewhere serious below, under the pressure and stone, it however murmurs the history of how everything began.

But it won't ever reveal in words.

We should learn how to listen in silence.