When Jesus Christ told the Pharisees that the rocks themselves would sing if the people did not, he was not debasing humankind by comparing them to the rocks. He was only saying that the rocks, or the deadest things of his creation, may also be inspired, quickened, raised up to praise the King of their glory—as the mud and dust, so the story says, at the making of the first man. All dead things can come alive at the word of his mouth. Anyway, what is death to him? Departure of the breath, snuffing out of the light? Light, which no darkness can circumscribe, and Breath, which mass must feel, he is. Death for him is nothing but a forerunner to a brilliant radiation that leaves no shadow or hidden thing, to an exhalation that gusts against the anxiously waiting sails of existence.