The human soul exists in a buried state from the moment it is born. The body one inherits, grown from flesh stolen from the mother, is a hollow host for it to worm into. There it stays, warm and quiet, like a parasite.
Nature is a sacred thing that is untainted by conscience; humanity is corrupted inherently by the very existence that makes it tick. The unique human unit is shard of contemplative space time that warps the space around it, but the universe is not meant to interpret itself, lest it fall victim of realizing its futility. This is the inevitable curse that has been conceived alongside humanity since its conception.
The human soul will live on Earth, in utero, for the rest of its life. Yet it is not possible for a human being to live properly in its host unless it forgets its position, which is a vital sin. To subsist with the host is to live in a willing ignorance, or to suffer with the impossibility of compatibility. The human choice is to decide between being and unbeing.
Pharoh cicadas live for 17 years as a visage of their adult selves. They fester underground, refused the freedom of a public existence as a consequence of their own limitations, placed on them at birth. So they wait.
At the age of seventeen, they leave the earth from which restricts them, and abandon their bodies. They undergo a hard-coded biological ascention and become whole, realized forms. The imago is the physical representation of one's true form, embraced, living in symbiosis with its soul.
Human DNA does not hold the material for one to be born again. Humanity cannot attain its imago. It has missed its moment of ascention. The eighteen year old is yet held in the dirt. The human is still held in its host body. It is still required to pilot the cells of a faulty birth.