The Ascent of Man

When a man shifts the pendulous disposition of his head from looking downward – constraining his vision to the absorption of his own two feet and the limited, listless, shaky ground beneath him, keeping him imprisoned to his own ego – myopically fixed on the material, stubbornly insistent that his purpose is only found in the fatal chemical reactions of his constitution and his happiness dependent on the diminishing returns of his carnal consumption which, in turn, will eventually and with ultimate finality and irony, along with his vacant personality, be consumed by the earth that birthed him – to gazing upward, marveling in wonder at the fixed and ordered firmament, listening in awful silence to its unfathomable vastness in scope and complexity, wherein naturally but paradoxically he finds himself both at home under the blanket of transcendent ineffable beauty and yet strangely alien – sparking his curiosity like flint to flame – which awe and humility have conspired to ignite, compelling him to turn his countenance – with his heart still asleep in the heavens, toward his fellow creatures who in and of themselves, mysteriously still, elicit an even deeper sense of belonging and purpose than the world above him, proving their brilliance and artistry to be but mere adornments of a more intimate order, a quiet evocation of his innate awareness that he has an inextricable responsibility impinging upon his utterly dependent soul, incorruptibly bound by the gravity of love’s unconditional empathetic ontology to care for his neighbor as himself – that man has ascended from the pit of sheol to the throne room of the I Am.