The Still Mind of the Earth

Beneath our feet, something ancient listens. It generally does not talk in language or representations, in the low hum of tectonic plates, in the slow move of continents, in the manner sources explore the darkness without eyes. We walk across their epidermis, never understanding how heavy its memory runs. Every feed of mud has broken from a mountain. Every drop of water was when element of a surprise no one remembers. Yet the Earth remembers every thing — it really does not talk it aloud.

Its style is hidden in silence — the type of silence that echoes. You can experience it when the breeze dies and the trees stand completely still. You are able to hear it in the stillness after magic, when actually birds seem to pause. This stop is not empty. It's high in believed, full of age, full of presence. The Planet isn't calm since it is asleep. It's calm because it is listening — to us, to the sky, to itself.

We're loud. We load the air with engines, sirens, sounds, music, machines. But none of this noise sinks into the ground. The World concentrates perhaps not with ears but with patience. It waits for what employs our noise — what stays when our structures fall, when our signals diminish, when the satellites burn up in the upper sky. And when that point comes, it will still be here — still turning, however blooming in places unmarked, however whispering with techniques only the wind and the sources may hear.

We consider Earth as strong, as unmoving, as anything we stay on. But it is significantly more than that. It is a human anatomy — alive, shifting, breathing in time too slow for us to see. It does not scream, it doesn't beg. It endures. And for the reason that quiet endurance lies an electrical much greater than fireplace or flooding: the power of anything that has nothing to prove. Anything that's presently survived the start of the Planet, the demise of forests, the silence following meteors.

This is simply not only land. It's not merely stone and water. It is just a keeper. A cradle. A memory that does not forget. Somewhere deep under, underneath the pressure and stone, it however murmurs the story of how everything began.

But it won't ever reveal in words.

We must learn how to listen in silence.