Quarry at the Peperburg

Lennestadt-Grevenbrück (51.143260 | 8.011195)

Musical silence

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

Before I set off on my hike, I ask myself: A quarry as a place of the soul - who could have thought that up? In a mixture of skepticism and curiosity I set off. From the ruins of the Peperburg, which towers defiantly above Grevenbrück, I enter a forest after a few minutes, the likes of which I have never seen before. The spruces 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 on listening. I set my steps more cautiously in front of each other. As little noise as possible! Listening in the noise, that is not possible. Now in the deciduous forest, I can perceive waves with sharpened ears in the rustling of the leaves. A soundscape like on the beach. They are wind waves that make the leaves hum softly in different octaves.

The forest road narrows into a path. Wild garlic rolls out a dark green, spicy-smelling carpet. I almost missed the entrance, so narrow it is. 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 protrusions and niches, with caves and terraces. Ivy hangs in long threads down the steep walls like fairy hair. Or is it a green-beaded waterfall, as if frozen in motion, to make even more of an impression? Beeches stand by as extras. That evening, the "Concerto for Two Shy Chainsaws, Bumblebee Choir and Blackbird Solo" will be performed. Dancing: two lemon butterflies. Perfect interplay. Far and wide no conductor to be seen. And yet it is palpable that there is a beat-setter who orchestrates the singspiel.

A story set in the quarry is also about listening. Little Penelope, daughter of the lords of Peperburg, was told: "You are welcome to eat from the plants of the forest. But not all of them are edible. In particular, do not confuse wild garlic and arum." This is exactly what must have happened, so the story goes, because the princess died of terrible cramps. She was buried on the spot. And her long Zur Haar waves down from the rocks to this day. The moral of the story, in an aggravated version: He who will not listen must die.

This place does not teach obedience. It teaches listening. This attitude of turning to 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, it is more about getting rid of one's own opinions and evaluations than being ready to hear the other. Not to jump in with a big "but. The secret of successful dialogues seems to be to listen without reservation. That brings back to mind the reservations I started out with: Can I take them with me and still engage with the quarry?

Destruction and delicacy radiate from this place in equal measure. Boulders were broken out of the wall here with brute force. Since the noise of the blasting, the metallic chopping and hammering, the whinnying of the horses in front of the transport lorries have fallen silent, the quiet sounds have prevailed here. I sit down on the edge at the top and look down into the stone cauldron below me. A feeling of security sets in. Good place to listen inward. Often my thoughts are 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 that sounds hackneyed. Meditation helps to hear out of the cacophony of inner voices the one that sounds fresh and is connected to this moment.

By the end of the hike, skepticism has quieted. There is no longer the question of why this is a soul place: here nature herself guides the music meditation. She invites us to dialogue. With her, with herself. Here there is little to say and much to hear. One can learn to listen.

Author: Michael Gleich