The Patient Body of the World

Beneath our feet, anything historical listens. It generally does not talk in language or designs, but in the lower sound of tectonic plates, in the gradual drift of continents, in the manner roots examine the night without eyes. We go across their epidermis, never understanding how deep its memory runs. Every feed of mud has broken from the mountain. Every drop of rain was when section of a storm nobody remembers. Yet the Planet recalls every thing — it really does not speak it aloud.

Its voice is hidden in silence — the kind of silence that echoes. You are able to feel it once the breeze dies and the trees stand entirely still. You can hear it in the stillness after magic, when even chickens appear to pause. This silence is not empty. It's saturated in thought, full old, packed with presence. The World isn't quiet because it's asleep. It is calm since it's hearing — to people, to the atmosphere, to itself.

We are loud. We fill the air with motors, sirens, comments, music, machines. But none of that sound sinks to the ground. The Planet concentrates not with ears but with patience. It waits for what employs our sound — what stays when our houses fall, when our signals disappear, when the satellites burn out in the upper sky. And when that point comes, it will still be here — still turning, however blooming in places unmarked, still whispering with techniques just the breeze and the roots may hear.

We think of World as strong, as unmoving, as anything we stay on. But it's a lot more than that. It's a human body — alive, moving, breathing in time also gradual for people to see. It does not yell, it does not beg. It endures. And in that calm endurance lies an electric far more than fireplace or flooding: the energy of anything that has nothing to prove. Something that has presently lasted the delivery of the Planet, the demise of woods, the stop after meteors.

This isn't only land. It's not just steel and water. It is really a keeper. A cradle. A storage that does not forget. Anywhere strong under, under the stress and stone, it still murmurs the history of how everything began.

But it won't inform us in words.

We should learn how to hear in silence.

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