Three notes, struck in measured succession. That is all it takes for the pimply pranksters and the trees to disappear, and for the music to launch you into a deep abyss, a scarlet-burgundy crushed-velvet lily, with indigo highlights. Are those flashes of sound emerging from the piano, or from your own soul? The tones rise and fall as if ocean waves are striking and circling a light-house, and some frigate--it must be your ship--is pitching to and fro, but in spite the slashes of anguish, there is the hope that the ship will find its harbor, quite soon, in fact.
This is how Rachmaninoff's Prelude in C Sharp Minor might resonate to a fresh pair of ears.
If your senses later become a bit dull and jaded, perhaps you could give the music a rest, until you are able to conjure the memory of listening to it for the first time.