" faces bubbled out of the muck, groaned or screeched, and then were gone again. I heard an occasional dull roar. Sometimes these roars changed to dim, rhythmic chants, chants that were both terrifying and weirdly familiar—as if at some point I’d known and uttered them all myself. As I had no memory of "

― Eben Alexander , Proof of Heaven: A Neurosurgeon's Journey into the Afterlife