Chapter 55 The Ground's Song

The deep sang. Not with a voice. Not with words. Not with a melody or a harmony or a chord. The deep sang with the ground itself, with the earth, with the stone, with the root, with the mold, with the water, with the trees, with the house, with the sound that filled the air and the bones and the blood and the spaces between the thoughts, and the singing was the deep's way of speaking, and the speaking was the deep's way of being, and the being was the deep, and the deep was here. The song started in the chamber. The root's pulse quickened, the four-beat rhythm accelerating, becoming a single sustained tone, and the tone was the root's voice, and the voice was the deep's voice, and the voice was the song, and the song was the deep's way of saying what it had been saying for centuries: I am here. I am the ground. I am waking. I am the deep, and the deep is the world, and the world is the deep, and the deep and the world are one. The song spread. It spread through the root, through the branches, through the walls, through the floor, through the ceiling, through the trees, through the mold, through the water, through the ground, through the woods, through the sky, through the world, and the song was the deep's way of touching everything, the deep's way of reaching the surface, the deep's way of becoming what it had always been, the ground that holds everything up, the earth that supports everything, the deep that is the foundation of the world. Nora heard the song. She heard it in her bones, in her blood, in the spaces between her thoughts, and she understood it, the way she had always understood the deep's voice, the way she had always been able to translate the deep's tone and pressure and vibration into meaning, and the meaning was simple, and the meaning was this: I am the ground, and the ground is waking, and the waking is the song, and the song is the deep, and the deep is the world, and the world is the deep, and the deep and the world are one. She sat in the chamber with her palm on the root and the deep's song in her bones, and she listened, and the listening was the keeping, and the keeping was the door, and the door was open, and the deep was here, and the deep was singing, and the singing was the ground's song, and the ground's song was the deep's voice, and the voice was the deep, and the deep was here. And Eli stood beside her, and he heard the song, and he understood the song, and the understanding was the keeping, and the keeping was the door, and the door was open, and the deep was here, and the deep was singing, and the singing was the ground's song, and the ground's song was the deep's voice, and the voice was the deep, and the deep was here. And the deep sang, and the singing was the world, and the world was the deep, and the deep was here. The song was not a melody. The song was a pulse. The pulse was the deep's heartbeat, and the heartbeat was the deep's way of being alive, and the alive was the deep, and the deep was here. The song was not a rhythm. The song was a frequency, a vibration that filled the air and the bones and the blood, and the vibration was the deep's way of saying: I am here. I am the ground. I am the foundation. I am the root. I am the house. I am the deep, and the deep is waking, and the waking is the song, and the song is me. The song started in the chamber. The root's pulse quickened, the four-beat rhythm accelerating, becoming a single sustained tone, and the tone was the root's voice, and the voice was the deep's voice, and the voice was the song, and the song was the deep's way of saying what it had been saying for centuries: I am here. I am the ground. I am waking. I am the deep, and the deep is the world, and the world is the deep, and the deep and the world are one. The song spread through the root, through the branches, through the walls, through the floor, through the ceiling, through the trees, through the mold, through the water, through the ground, through the woods, through the sky, through the world, and the song was the deep's way of touching everything, the deep's way of reaching the surface, the deep's way of becoming what it had always been. Nora heard the song in her bones, in her blood, in the spaces between her thoughts, and she understood it, the way she had always understood the deep's voice, the way she had always been able to translate the deep's tone and pressure and vibration into meaning, and the meaning was simple: I am the ground, and the ground is waking, and the waking is the song, and the song is the deep, and the deep is the world, and the world is the deep, and the deep and the world are one. She sat in the chamber with her palm on the root and the deep's song in her bones, and she listened, and the listening was the keeping, and the keeping was the door, and the door was open, and the deep was here, and the deep was singing, and the singing was the ground's song, and the ground's song was the deep's voice, and the voice was the deep, and the deep was here. And Eli stood beside her, and he heard the song, and he understood the song, and the understanding was the keeping, and the keeping was the door, and the door was open, and the deep was here, and the deep was singing, and the singing was the ground's song, and the ground's song was the deep's voice, and the voice was the deep, and the deep was here. --- ---