II
I am lying on my back, looking up at a sky too far above me to be a ceiling. My back is warm against a dry surface I take to be grass, as I am outside (if it were inside I suppose this would be carpet). I have little or no sensation of self other than sensing the ground beneath me and the sky above. All is external. The sky is dark, but well lit by unfamiliar or forgotten constellations. I can see no moon. No whiteness on such a scale. Although I feel no glasses upon my face (I feel no face), I can see every detail of the dark dark blue (not black) sky perfectly clear, as if I were looking through a telescope, or as if I were scrutinising the strange starscape from far closer. There is no horizon, only the sky before me. After an amount of time (maybe a second, maybe a hundred years), it fades, disappearing into black (not blue).
on