Life gave rise to time — not the flat "now" of a single endless moment, but a living cycle: we remember in order to anticipate, we anticipate in order to change, and in these repetitions depth is born. Just as a listener, not the author, grants music its new dimension, so too do living systems rewrite their own rules. On one level it is only a rearrangement of the familiar; on another, a true innovation; and beyond that, a shift in the very language itself.

Iceberg is the hidden mass of layers rising above the surface of experience, keeping the course even as the material changes, like the planks of Theseus's ship. Yet inevitably, Darkness Falls — the moment when the old language ceases to work and a new one must be invented. It is there, in the dark, that something truly new begins to emerge.