Just the beginning of a story I began but never finished yet

In the beginning there was light, and a gentle voice. There was whiteness and blackness and every hue of the rainbow, and yet no color at all. There were soft, simple sounds and harsh creaks and then it was all blended together into noise that just was. Nothing more. It was there, and everywhere, with the color and the absence of color. Somehow there was silence, a sort of buzzing, humming silence, then the real kind that made every movement vibrate the still air. Somehow I could not hear the voice; it only vibrated in a dull blur of pleasantly indistinguishable sound. If any words were spoken, none were perceived. They, along with the color and the smell of lilies and roses that both was and wasn’t at the same time, only blurred together in something that was both good and bad; both pleasant and impossible to bear. Somehow it was there, then somehow it was gone, and when I woke again, if it was an awakening, there was nothing. Not even blackness- just an infinite expanse of an empty mind full with invisible thoughts, if any at all. Just silence- true, wondrous, sumptuous silence that can be enjoyed only at first; only in the few minutes before it turns into tedium. Endless delirium. Being there and yet floating in nothingness. Perceiving what was not there, what never was or had been there, here, or anywhere. Just, simply, an empty mind incapable of thought or feeling or movement or wanting. Incapable of every possibility a mind, human or other, can come up with.