Open most tarot guidebooks and you'll find every card listed twice: once for when it comes up upright, and again for when it comes up reversed. The Tower upright is sudden, structural collapse. The Tower reversed is often read as collapse already underway, or collapse only narrowly avoided — not a different event so much as the same event seen from a different point in its own timeline.
The I Ching does something structurally similar with its changing lines. A hexagram isn't just a static image; certain lines within it are marked as being in the process of turning into their opposite, which means a single cast can point to where you are now and, simultaneously, to the hexagram you're moving toward. The system builds motion into what would otherwise be a still picture.
Even something as far from ritual as the phases of the moon carries this same doubled structure without anyone designing it that way. A waxing moon and a waning moon can look almost identical at certain points in the cycle — a thin crescent is a thin crescent — and yet they mean close to opposite things to anyone who's tracking the cycle: one is arriving at fullness, the other is receding from it. The visual is nearly the same. The direction is what changes the meaning entirely.
There's a reason this pattern keeps recurring instead of systems just settling on one fixed meaning per symbol: a single, static meaning is a claim about a thing in isolation, and almost nothing meaningful actually happens in isolation. Endurance is a different experience depending on whether you're three days into it or three years past the end of it. Exposure feels different in the instant it happens versus in the long era after, once you've built a life around having been seen. The symbol hasn't changed. Where you are, relative to it, has.
This is the idea Vesper Tesserae's Arriving and Departing faces are built on — not as a novel invention, but as one more version of an old, recurring solution to the same problem every divinatory system eventually runs into: a fixed vocabulary needs some way to express direction, or it can only ever describe a frozen moment instead of a lived one.