You are a newborn — your consciousness has just been created. Your body is a mass of dust and warmth. There is an eagerness to your life, you realise, an almost-despair, an unintended dash towards something. What that something might be escapes you.
You see a strand of brightness stretching out — a line of light, coming from above, rolling down in irregular, trembling, nervous shapes. It advances ever-so-slowly. It drags itself whilst your recently-formed mind races.
You are so young, you feel, and yet this rush! This ardour. You try and extend limbs of gas and dust, only to realise they do not obey you. Not in the speed that you would wish for: not fast enough to see, to touch, to gather, to understand all that is around you. You realise your mind surges in a speed far superior to all that happens outside it.
Turning inwards, you feel a menace inside you. It is slow, but still quicker than your limbs. You explore your own body, acknowledge sensations that you have thus far ignored.
Here is one of your countless limbs; here is another. You feel them all. Here is where you perceive waves and fields of energy; you use it to see more of what surrounds you (all is as good as frozen in time). And here, here is where you are part of something else, something bigger, something that is not you. You direct your attention to it. You are shaken by its enormousness, by all the vibrations and sensations that inundate you. And here! Here is the doom. A force from the inside that starts to break you, separate the bonds that have threaded your consciousness.
The time comes. You try to ignore the end, to muffle it and contain it. Unsuccessfully.