xigekey
48 posts
Jul 29, 2025
6:29 AM
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Beneath our legs, anything old listens. It generally does not talk in language or symbols, but in the lower hum of tectonic plates, in the gradual move of continents, in the way sources discover the night without eyes. We go across its epidermis, never understanding how heavy their memory runs. Every wheat of mud has broken from the mountain. Every drop of rain was after section of a storm no one remembers. Yet the World remembers everything — it really doesn't speak it aloud.
Its style is concealed in silence — the type of silence that echoes. You can experience it when the breeze dies and the woods stay fully still. You are able to hear it in the stillness after magic, when also birds appear to pause. That silence isn't empty. It is full of believed, complete of age, full of presence. The Earth is not quiet since it's asleep. It is quiet since it's listening — to us, to the atmosphere, to itself.
We're loud. We load the air with motors, sirens, voices, music, machines. But none of this noise sinks into the ground. The Earth concentrates perhaps not with ears but with patience. It waits for what uses our sound — what stays when our structures drop, when our signs diminish, when the satellites burn up in the upper sky. And when that point comes, it it's still here — still turning, however blooming in areas unmarked, still whispering in manners just the breeze and the sources may hear.
We think of Earth as solid, as unmoving, as anything we live on. But it's a lot more than that. It is a human anatomy — alive, shifting, breathing with time also slow for all of us to see. It does not scream, it does not beg. It endures. And in that quiet energy lies an electric much greater than fireplace or flood: the ability of anything that's nothing to prove. Something that has already survived the start of the Planet, the death of woods, the stop after meteors.
This is not only land. It is not merely steel and water. It is just a keeper. A cradle. A storage that doesn't forget. Somewhere heavy under, beneath the pressure and stone, it however murmurs the story of how everything began.
However it won't ever inform us in words.
We must learn to hear in silence.
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