Archaeologists find our past beneath their feet.
A wall buried under centuries of soil. Pottery, tools, foundations, scrolls, and whole settlements remain where they were left while the earth slowly covers them.
We live at the surface, standing on everything that came before us, most of it invisible.
Some of the past reached me through stories. More came through school, books, photos, letters, and knowledge gathered by people I’ll never know.
I don’t control where I entered this story or what has already happened. I inherit discoveries, mistakes, questions, and unfinished work. Some of it I can change. Some I can only understand and accept.
The world still holds layers we haven’t reached, truths that were present long before anyone noticed them.
For as long as there have been people, our bodies have carried a genetic text billions of letters long. Our ancestors lived, loved, and died never knowing it was there.
What else is waiting to be revealed? Processes we can’t detect, relationships we haven’t recognized, and questions we don’t know enough to ask. The universe doesn’t explain itself just because we’ve arrived.
I find that humbling and sacred. We enter something already underway, uncover a little of what’s hidden, and leave far more waiting to be found.
My kids will see things I’ll never see. Their kids will ask questions none of us have thought to ask.
I get to add what I can, leave something useful behind, and wonder what those who follow will discover from the layer we share today.
Photo by Constantinos Kollias on Unsplash
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