What if language didn’t begin with words but with resonance?

Watching chimpanzees throw stones into trees feels less like a primitive gesture and more like a signal—a pulse across time. Not just a message to others nearby, but a mark etched into the sensory fabric of the forest.

Maybe what we call “language” is just the tip of a deeper communicative iceberg. Beneath it lie rhythm, vibration, and shared attention. And that’s not exclusive to humans.

Instead of asking whether chimp signals “count” as language, maybe we should ask why our definition of language is still so narrow.