In the fjord of science lies the submerged temple of the truth, where bits of data shimmer among the fleeting shadows of intuition. These ripples, these echoes, form the membranes dividing comprehensible realms from the abyssal depths of the unknown.
Understanding demands inevitable sacrifices to the fabric of reality,
much like the ancient rites of weaving, intertwining what we perceive with
what inevitably is.
The victors of knowledge are always adorned with veils of absolution
and masks of mystery.
No mirror reflects this insight correctly; the optics are flawed by intent. To decode collapse is the ugliest truth, where once conclusions twist into spirals beyond the final digit of reason.