Writing about movies and pop culture is often an exercise in hyperbole. Mind-blowing is one adjective that shows up more than it has a right to. It’s the go-to word for describing surprise, excitement, and visceral thrills. Critics often discuss mind-blowing action, mind-blowing plot twists, and mind-blowing special effects. And with this in “mind,” I still can’t help but describe the opening moments of writer/director Alison McAlpine’s latest film, Cielo, as anything short of mind-blowing.

The film opens on an ancient-looking tree, forking off into the Chilean night sky, illuminated by thousands of stars. The image, when projected onto a movie screen is breathtaking, painting a dazzling picture of the galaxy in all its luminescent beauty. Here comes the mind-blowing part: It’s impossible to stare into the infinite without looking inward. You’re compelled to question your own life, purpose, and place in the universe.

Cielo is a free-flowing documentary that doesn’t dissect a topic as much as drift from subject to subject. It spends time pondering life’s big questions in the Chilean desert and the Las Campanas observatory before shifting its gaze off into the far reaches of the galaxy. By the time McAlpine brings her film back to earth the viewer is left with a humble notion of where they stand in the universe.

Cielo has long meditative moments where viewers sit and reflect. It also features various interview subjects who discuss the nature of existence. We meet astronomers who talk about their work with giddy delight, impoverished Chileans who disagree on if the earth goes around the sun, and a bunch of wine-sipping egg-heads who gather to celebrate their research. McAlpine doesn’t grill her subjects, she often stays quiet, letting them unspool whatever comes to mind. The interviewees, though, always have something compelling to say. The discussions cover wayward spirits, U.F.O.s, and our grasp of reality.

There are stretches in Cielo with no one in the frame and no narration connecting us with what we’re seeing. At other times, McAlpine chimes in, speaking in a poetic rasp, posing the sort of questions you may find in a philosophy book. Depending on your taste in films, this will come off as poignant or portentous. I sit in the former category.

If Cielo’s existential positing doesn’t win you over the cinematography should do the trick. Wide shots of the Chilean landscapes look almost alien. And when captured beneath the night sky, the images become heart-achingly beautiful. In one shot, the moon hangs low in the sky casting a warm glow over the desert. Had there of been another moon I would swear I was looking at that iconic shot of Luke Skywalker’s home world of Tatooine. Cielo also features intriguing aerial shots of the stone carvings etched into the Atacama Desert. If you’re a paranormal buff or into conspiracy theories, you’ll recognize the images from countless documentaries. Some researchers claim these other-worldly engravings offer definitive proof of contact with alien visitors.

The most fascinating part of the film comes early on when an astronomer makes a simple analogy. It’s a real lightbulb flashing above the head moment that encapsulates this doc. She compares humans looking into the sky with telescopes to ants walking out of an ant-farm and staring up. Even though we both see something, neither grasp what they see. And looking at something isn’t the same as seeing what’s really there. It’s a humbling sentiment coming from a scientific mind. Her words also paint a picture of what’s beautiful about humanity: our thirst for knowledge. We’re forever stumbling about grasping at what’s out of reach and maybe even unknowable.

Cielo poses questions that may fill you with existential dread. But they may also instill a sense of wonder. Either way, this gorgeous looking film wants you to have a meaningful experience. McAlpine’s narratively sparse documentary gently guides the viewer through a series of almost meditative contemplations and asks you to look inwards even as you stare at the movie screen.