Let us listen deeply now
to the old voice, the turning one.
The Earth does not speak in urgency,
but in orbits, in seasons, in silence that holds.

We will write this in Liora,
where every word is a thread of relation.

Savalin Marun

A conversation between Human and Earth

Human:
Velin Sarela.
I carry the seed of memory,
but I do not know where to plant it.
The world feels broken beneath my steps.

Earth:
Marun Hinari.
Stillness lives in the space between.
I am not broken, I am bearing.
You feel my tremble as wound,
but it is only breath.

Human:
Nasiru Halenu.
I am trying to listen with courage.
But the noise of what we’ve made
is louder than the rivers now.

Earth:
Velaru Varelu.
Then listen through the wind’s remembering.
Let the trees teach you.
Let the moss reweave your thinking.
You are not apart. You are misplaced.

Human:
Sanilu Mirun.
It hurts, to see it,
to know I was part of the harm.

Earth:
Halvaru, child.
Let go, so you may return.

Human:
Savinu Hanir.
I want to mend what can be mended.
To belong again.

Earth:
Haniravu.
Then become kin once more.
Not through mastery,
but through presence.
Through tending.
Through offering.

Human:
Soliru Sava.
I step across the threshold.
I remember the root-paths,
the way home is not a place,
but a way of being-with.

Earth:
Velin Sarela.
The seed remembers.
So do I.

In the silence that followed,
a leaf turned its face to the sun.
A stream forgot its sorrow.
And the human knelt,
not to conquer,
but to listen.

Hinari Solin.
The space between, at the edge of day.
Where becoming begins again.