The pure Transcendalists saw everywhere evidence of the greatness of the soul. -Octavius Brooks Frothingham
And what of the "greatness of the soul"? That which is part and parcel imputed by our Creator, in as much as their is a Divine Idea, and we thusly are part of the Divine Idea, the infinite imagination of God.
The purest sensibility would be the rank ignominy of speculation, and the orgasmic bliss of the realization of the soul; we have a sin nature, a sin debt, but that is a terminus of knowledge--the very subject of speculation in the realization is so very beyond the intellect, and exponentially more sensible--hands in the air, and the brain unfurled and in a thousand different directions, countings accountings statistical metering and tabulations, forwards and backwards and tangents and cosines--the alchemy of a mathematic synthesis of what appears but fog in the glass.
The magic of absolutely nothing at all--that particular alchemy, as of contemplation--parsing that which is without paucity, and the emotional uptake of it, whatever one might have imprinted upon one's mind but such indistinction--realizing nothing in particular, but aware that there is, somewhere beyond the senses, an entire world: that was as much the faith, the practice of faith being sort of an empty, unoccupied stare, rather than the shot-gun repetition of scriptural sessions or hymnal singings.
Contemplation of God, for those precisely oriented in that regard, is a communion with God.
"A humbling but delightful sense of admiring awe."
-AW Tozer
