Where Roots Hear in the Dark

Beneath our legs, something ancient listens. It does not speak in language or representations, in the lower sound of tectonic plates, in the slow move of continents, in how roots discover the night without eyes. We go across their epidermis, never knowing how deep its storage runs. Every grain of sand has damaged from a mountain. Every decline of water was after section of a storm no body remembers. Yet the Planet remembers every thing — it just does not talk it aloud.

Its voice is hidden alone — the type of stop that echoes. You can experience it once the breeze dies and the trees stay completely still. You are able to hear it in the stillness following mastery, when even chickens appear to pause. That stop is not empty. It's filled with believed, complete of age, filled with presence. The Earth is not quiet because it is asleep. It is calm because it is hearing — to people, to the air, to itself.

We're loud. We load the air with engines, sirens, voices, audio, machines. But none of the sound basins in to the ground. The World listens 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 the period comes, it it's still here — however turning, still blooming in areas unmarked, still whispering with techniques only the breeze and the sources can hear.

We consider Earth as solid, as unmoving, as anything we live on. But it is more than that. It is a human anatomy — alive, moving, breathing in time also gradual for people to see. It does not yell, it doesn't beg. It endures. And in that calm energy lies an electric much greater than fireplace or flooding: the ability of something that has nothing to prove. Something that has already survived the beginning of the moon, the death of forests, the stop following meteors.

This isn't only Planet. It is not only steel and water. It is a keeper. A cradle. A storage that does not forget. Somewhere serious below, beneath the pressure and rock, it however murmurs the history of how all of it began.

However it will never inform us in words.

We ought to learn to listen in silence.