After death, imagine that your synesthesia becomes merged with your amnesia. This is bliss. All experiential lines are blurred and nothing can be remembered. Thus, all is novel in every sense. For eternity. And within eternity is without—its magnitude envelops all qualities.
“But,” you object, “won’t perpetual novelty become a constant?—something static to be expected?—that will lack dynamism?”
I say unto you that you have forgotten your amnesia. You will never recall any senses, including novelty. Thus, your bliss is ensured.