Lost transmissions, echoing across the eternal tide...
Beyond the veil of time's ceaseless flow, there lay the fragments of a dialect once vivid, now scarcely whispered.
Consider, dear traveler, the nebulae of thoughts unspoken, the collisions of ideas that alter our very essence. In the domain of the submerged, the bones of our hypotheses rot, tangled in an alabaster seaweed of forgotten truth.
The stars, in their thousandfold assembly, bore witness to the quiet (fractal echoes) of this ancient disruption. Had the collision never occurred, one wonders, would we remain unchanged, unformed, like clay untouched by the artisan's hand?
Remember, too, the silvery texts that once flew. Their shadows dance now upon the historical seas, where the algae of interpretation entwines them in a lover's embrace.
Engage in contemplation and intervention. We speak in currents and in deep, sinuous underwater branches of language, of truth that winds through these forgotten narratives.