Sometimes, a place can take your breath away - you stand mute, eyes darting, unable to articulate your feelings in all but the most brutish of terms. The mouth becomes dry, and a weight of time bears upon the chest - at the most extreme, a sob attempts to well up past the defenses, a tear forms. What is ascendent in our deep selves - our secret hopes for the divine - this place we stand in, tempts us to celebrate, to give voice, to raise up our songs unto the very heavens which, for all we know, may be inhabited by nothing more than our hubris.

From Lassus to Leadbelly, the cry of our song comes from the deep wellsprings of our pain, the haunting loneliness of a vast and unending universe. And if there is no God, then we will create one in our own image.

Photo: Ascendent, ©2010 Timothy A. Sandstrom