Hello everyone greetings from @theindicators,
Those who lie in the graves were never strangers. They were our own people.
A thinker once shared a memory from his life. He said that when he was a child, he was deeply afraid of graveyards. The silence, the darkness, the unknown — everything used to scare him.
With time, things changed.
One day, he found himself sitting inside a graveyard, quietly writing. Sometimes it was poetry, sometimes short essays, sometimes just scattered thoughts. Surprisingly, he noticed that he often wrote more deeply while sitting there, surrounded by graves.
Someone once asked him,
“You used to be so afraid of graveyards. Why aren’t you afraid anymore?”
He smiled and replied,
“Why should I be afraid now? My own people live here. My loved ones rest here. My father is buried here. My grandfather is here. Many of my relatives are here too.”
He said that the place which once filled him with fear had slowly turned into a place of calm. The graves no longer felt cold or frightening. Instead, they felt familiar. Peaceful. Honest.
Sometimes, fear disappears not because the place changes, but because our understanding changes. When we realize that those resting beneath the soil were once the same people who laughed with us, loved us, protected us — the graveyard stops being a place of terror.
It becomes a place of reflection.
A place where fear ends, because our own are resting there.
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