Elsinor and Sarah held their hands out at their sides, palms up, knuckles down toward the earth. The stillness did seem to enlarge, broken only by the occasional birdsong or the sound of the wind gently moving through the tree tops.
Sarah whispered, “How will I know the difference between the sound of my own heart beating and the earth’s?”
She thought a moment. The words eased into her mind as if carried on the breeze. She said, “You can’t. They are the same.”
Across the valley a young boy was lying on his back in a small clearing in the forest behind his house. It was so quiet he could hear his own heart beating. It was all that let him know he was alive.
Marcus rolled over on his stomach and put his ear to the earth. Sometimes, if he quieted his thoughts, even his own breathing, he could feel a rhythmic thumping beneath the surface of the earth. It made him feel small, but a good kind of small, as if he was just a part of all things and not separate and alone.
A quiet reflection
Where in your life do listening and belonging become the same thing?
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