There is a flare. A storm. A hurricane of colors, every hue and shade on the visible spectrum together with all those human eyes are incapable of seeing, shining and whirling in mind-bruising profusion. The world has melted, and you've been lost in the runoff. It will be some time before you come to yourself.

With no sensation, you have to have something else for an anchor. At the far end of the scintillating nothing, you find it. A single point of darkness, like a distant mouth vomiting forth the obscene colors. You focus on it, all your will straining to contract your vision to that one comfortingly motionless point, and finally discover by contrast of the point observed and the point from which observation is done that you have a self. A position, if not a body. With your own position recognized, something else becomes apparent: it isn't the whirling coloration that is surging forward after all. Your own perspective is rushing along it, conducted by some unknown, unfelt force down a monumental vortex of coruscating light.

Focusing on yourself, you find that you seem to be a core of power. A singular point chases along a predetermined course, launched from some distant origin with colossal energy, and this point is you, hurtling toward an unknown target and destined for violent impact. The dark spot in the far distance slowly grows larger, and as you draw near it the knowledge comes to you of a sudden that it is an exit: not the origin of the bewildering lights, but a portal through which you will momentarily pass. It seems to have been a very long time in coming.