The Sky of Mind

I was listening to the instrumental Quandra, from The Sky of Mind by Ray Lynch.  In my mind I fell to the ground, dead and silent, but in the process, I left my body, being pulled upwards.  It was like watching myself die in a sea of music.  The speed of ascension progressed exponentially.  The farther away from my body I got, the faster I went.  Soon the hazy clouds blocked out any sight of my body.  I felt whatever that driving energy was, increasing my speed.  Above the clouds, the frame of the Earth outlined the vastness of space.  Suddenly I understood what was happening.  I was becoming the inverse-square law personified, and the energy was showing me what it meant.  Far, far away now.  There went the moon, the sun still visible out of the corner of my eye.  Things became blurry in an instant.  Had I exceeded the speed of light already?  It wasn’t enough; it was pulling me at such an alarming rate.  I wanted more.  I wanted it to show me the universe as Light saw it, as God itself saw it.  I began to see spirals.  No, not galaxies, actual spirals branching off other spirals, like a fractal.  I figured this was only possible when traveling faster than the speed of light.  As the music progressed, so did my speed.  Our galaxy spiraled away from me, with millions of other spirals branching off within it.  And branching away from our own galaxy was a great cluster of them.  Farther and farther away, I began to see these clusters take the astonishing forms of neurons.  I had far surpassed the star barrier by now.  What I was seeing could have taken the breath away from anyone, even a robot.  All the neuron-galaxies conglomerated into what appeared to be a giant brain.  This wasn’t the shape of a human brain, just a glob of neurons.  And then I was pulled through the turbulent edge of our universe, where it all spiraled in on itself. 

That's when the song ended.