Quarry at the Peperburg

Lennestadt-Grevenbrück (51.143260 | 8.011195)

Musical silence

Abandoned limestone quarry overgrown with ivy and grasses in a Buchenwald near the ruins of the medieval 'Peperburg' in Lennestadt-Grevenbrück.

Before I set off, I ask myself: a quarry as a place of the soul - who could have thought that up? I set off in a mixture of skepticism and curiosity. After a few minutes from the ruins of Peperburg Castle, which towers defiantly above Grevenbrück, I reach a forest unlike any I've ever seen before. The spruce trees do not grow vertically upwards, but fork. All at exactly the same height. One trunk becomes two. The trees look like tuning forks with roots. A tuning fork forest. This sets the tone for this hike. My attention is focused on listening, or rather eavesdropping. I take my steps more carefully. As little noise as possible! Listening in the noise is not an option. Now in the deciduous forest, I can hear waves in the rustling of the leaves with my ears pricked up. A soundscape like on the beach. There are waves of wind that make the leaves hum softly in different octaves.

The forest path narrows into a path. Wild garlic rolls out a dark green, spicy-smelling carpet. I almost miss the entrance, it is so narrow. But after a few steps, an open-air stage with an impressive rocky backdrop opens up. The reddish-brown stones pile up to form a wall with ledges and niches, caves and terraces. Ivy hangs down the steep walls in long threads like fairy hair. Or is it a green pearly waterfall, frozen in motion to make an even greater impression? Beech trees stand ready as extras. On this evening, the "Concerto for two shy chainsaws, bumblebee choir and blackbird solo" will be performed. Dancing: two lemon butterflies. Perfect interplay. Not a conductor to be seen far and wide. And yet you can feel that there is a conductor orchestrating the musical.

A story set in a quarry is also about listening. Little Penelope, daughter of the lord of Peperburg, was told: "You are welcome to eat from the plants of the forest. But not all of them are edible. In particular, don't confuse wild garlic and arum." According to the story, this must have been exactly what happened, because the princess died of terrible convulsions. She was buried on the spot. And her long hair still flows down from the rocks to this day. The moral of the story, in an exacerbated version: if you won't listen, you must die.

This place does not teach obedience. It teaches listening. This attitude of turning towards others, with an open ear and an open heart, is rarely visible in our society. In talk shows, in political debates, but also at the regulars' table and in the stairwell, it seems to me that it is more about getting rid of one's own opinions and judgments than being prepared to listen to others. Not immediately interjecting with a big "but". The secret of successful dialogues seems to be to listen without reservation. This reminds me of the reservations I started out with: Can I take them with me and still engage with the quarry?

This place radiates destruction and refinement in equal measure. Boulders were broken out of the wall here with brute force. Since the noise of the blasting, the metallic chopping and Hamming, the whinnying of the horses in front of the transport trolleys have fallen silent, the quiet tones prevail here. I sit on the edge at the top and look down into the stone cauldron below me. A feeling of security sets in. A good place to listen inwardly. My thoughts are often so fast and so loud that they drown out everything else. Then I don't listen to the impulses that come from deep within, the messages of the heart, even if they sound hackneyed. Meditation helps you to hear the one that sounds fresh and is connected to this moment from the cacophony of inner voices.

By the end of the walk, the skepticism has quieted. There is no longer any question as to why this is a place of the soul: here, nature itself guides the music meditation. She invites you to enter into a dialog. With her, with herself. There is little to say here and a lot to hear. You can learn to listen.

Author: Michael Gleich