Chapter 80 The Hollow Ground

The deep rested. Not sleeping. Not dead. Resting, the way the ground rests, the way the earth rests, the way the deep places of the world rest, waiting for the moment when the surface would change enough to let them reach up, to let them touch the light, to let them become what they had always been. The deep rested in the chamber, in the root, in the trees, in the mold, in the water, in the ground, in the woods, in the world. The deep rested in the house, in the heart, in the keeper's bones, in the keeper's blood, in the keeper's breath. The deep rested in the conversation, in the watching, in the listening, in the tending, in the keeping. And the keeping was the door, and the door was open, and the deep was here, and the deep was resting, and the resting was the deep's way of being what it was, the ground, the foundation, the root, the tree, the house, the deep, the world, and the deep and the world were one, and the one was the keeping, and the keeping was the door, and the door was open. Eli sat in the chamber with his palm on the root and the deep's pulse in his bones, and he felt the deep rest, and the resting was the deep's way of saying: I am here. I have always been here. I am the ground, and the ground is resting, and the resting is the deep's life, and the life is the deep, and the deep is here. And the deep spoke, and the speaking was the rest, and the rest was the deep's life, and the life was the deep, and the deep was here. --- And the deep continued. The deep continued in the chamber, in the root, in the trees, in the mold, in the water, in the ground, in the woods, in the world. The deep continued in the house, in the heart, in the keeper's bones, in the keeper's blood, in the keeper's breath. The deep continued in the conversation, in the watching, in the listening, in the tending, in the keeping. And the keeping was the door, and the door was open, and the deep was here, and the deep was continuing, and the continuing was the deep's way of being what it was, the ground, the foundation, the root, the tree, the house, the deep, the world, and the deep and the world were one, and the one was the keeping, and the keeping was the door, and the door was open. And the deep spoke, and the speaking was the continuing, and the continuing was the deep's life, and the life was the deep, and the deep was here. And in the chamber, at the center of the root system, at the heart of the deep's body, something stirred. Not the root. Not the mold. Not the water. Something deeper, something older, something that had been waiting beneath the hollow, beneath the root, beneath the deep itself, something that the deep had been resting on top of, the way a sleeper rests on a bed, the way a house rests on a foundation, the way the world rests on the ground. Something beneath the deep. Something that had been waiting longer than the deep, longer than the root, longer than the symbols, longer than the house, longer than the keeping. Something that the great-grandfather had not drawn on his map. Something that the deep had not spoken of, had not mentioned, had not acknowledged in any of its songs or its visions or its breaths. Something beneath. And the something beneath stirred, and the stir was felt in the chamber, in the root, in the deep, in the world, a tremor, a vibration, a frequency that was lower than the deep's hum, lower than the root's pulse, lower than the train-in-the-distance that Eli had first heard a year ago. A lower sound. A deeper sound. A sound from beneath the deep. And Eli felt it in his bones, in his blood, in the spaces between his cells, and he understood, with a clarity that was not his own but the something's, a clarity that came from beneath the deep, from beneath the root, from beneath the hollow, from the place where the ground was not the ground but something older, something deeper, something that the deep itself had been resting on top of, waiting for. The deep had not been the deepest thing. The deep had been the ground, and the ground had been the foundation, and the foundation had been the support, and the support had been the deep's way of holding up the world. But beneath the support, beneath the foundation, beneath the ground, there was something else. Something that the deep had not known. Something that the deep had not spoken of. Something that had been waiting, and waiting, and waiting, longer than the deep, longer than the root, longer than the symbols, longer than the house, longer than the keeping. And the waiting was over. And the something beneath stirred, and the stir was the beginning, and the beginning was the something's way of saying: I am here. I have always been here. I am beneath the deep, beneath the root, beneath the ground, beneath the world. I am the deep's foundation. I am the ground beneath the ground. I am the something that the deep has been resting on, and I am waking, and the waking is not for the deep. The waking is for me. The waking is the something's way of becoming what it has always been, beneath the deep, beneath the root, beneath the ground, beneath the world. And the something spoke, and the speaking was a sound that was lower than the deep's hum, lower than the root's pulse, lower than the train-in-the-distance, a sound from beneath the deep, from beneath the ground, from beneath the world, and the sound was the something's voice, and the voice was the something's way of saying: I am here. I am beneath the deep. I am the ground beneath the ground. I am the foundation beneath the foundation. I am the something that has been waiting, and the waiting is over, and the waking is now, and the now is me. And Eli sat in the chamber with his palm on the root and the deep's pulse in his bones and the something's voice in his chest, and he understood, with a clarity that was not his own but the something's, a clarity that came from beneath the deep, from beneath the root, from beneath the ground, from beneath the world, that the keeping was not over. The keeping was not a door that opened and stayed open. The keeping was a conversation, and the conversation was ongoing, and the conversation had new voices, and the new voices were from beneath, from the deep's foundation, from the ground beneath the ground, from the something that had been waiting, and the waiting was over, and the waking was now. And the something stirred, and the stir was felt in the chamber, in the root, in the deep, in the world, and the deep rested on the something the way a sleeper rests on a bed, and the bed was waking, and the waking was the something's way of saying: I am here, and I am waking, and the waking is not for the deep. The waking is for me. And the keeping continues. And the door is open. And the conversation goes on. And the deep spoke, and the speaking was the continuing, and the continuing was the keeping, and the keeping was the door, and the door was open, and the deep was here, and beneath the deep, something else was waking. ---