xigekey
514 posts
Jul 29, 2025
6:28 AM
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Beneath our feet, anything historical listens. It generally does not talk in language or symbols, but in the low hum of tectonic plates, in the slow drift of continents, in the way roots discover the darkness without eyes. We go across their epidermis, never understanding how serious their memory runs. Every wheat of mud has damaged from a mountain. Every drop of water was when part of a storm no one remembers. Yet the World remembers every thing — it just doesn't talk it aloud.
Their style is hidden in silence — the kind of stop that echoes. You can feel it once the breeze dies and the woods stay totally still. You can hear it in the stillness following mastery, when actually chickens seem to pause. That stop is not empty. It is full of thought, complete of age, high in presence. The World is not calm because it's asleep. It's quiet since it is listening — to people, to the atmosphere, to itself.
We're loud. We fill the air with motors, sirens, comments, music, machines. But nothing of that noise basins into the ground. The Planet concentrates perhaps not with ears but with patience. It waits for what comes after our sound — what stays when our buildings drop, when our signals fade, once the satellites burn up in top of the sky. And when that point comes, it it's still here — still turning, still blooming in areas untouched, still whispering in ways just the breeze and the roots can hear.
We think of World as solid, as unmoving, as something we stay on. But it's significantly more than that. It's a human anatomy — alive, moving, breathing in time also slow for all of us to see. It does not yell, it doesn't beg. It endures. And for the reason that quiet endurance lies an electric much greater than fireplace or flooding: the ability of something that has nothing to prove. Anything that's presently survived the start of the Planet, the demise of forests, the stop following meteors.
This is not only land. It's not only rock and water. It is really a keeper. A cradle. A storage that will not forget. Anywhere heavy under, underneath the stress and stone, it still murmurs the history of how all of it began.
But it won't reveal in words.
We should learn how to listen in silence.
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