Consider the malignant suggestiveness of the elder beings, those creatures to whom we humans owe our lives and livelihood, those creatures who were ancient when the earth itself was a mere infant. Consider the oily reflection of their handiwork, those protean deviations that the mad Arab so infamously referred to as the Shoggoths. Consider the cold light of a dead star, about which orbits the Cradle of their containment. Consider those things, and you will have considered a fragment of the impossible truths that lie awaiting recovery by those with the will and knowledge to excavate them. When that knowledge is rediscovered and the waveform collapses, then you shall know one one-billionth of the things that I know.