A/N: Before we start, I'd like the readers to be aware that this is based off of my own guess of the game's backstory and events. If you believe something entirely different, that's fine. Journey is very open to perception.
The first time you sit down to meditate, you clamber up onto the pedestal eagerly, chirp to no one in particular, and close your eyes. You are immediately confronted with a strange sensation of floating, then the world twists and reforms around you.
When this sensation subsides, you reopen your eyes, and find yourself standing in a vast hall-like room. If there are walls, you cannot see them, as everything past a certain point is obscured by a white mist. The one exception to this seems to be a set of twin peaks towering high above you, a sight you are already familiar with. A shrouded figure stands in the distance.
Under your hood, you cock a pointed ear in curiosity and run over to the figure. You get close enough to see that the figure is huge; at least three times taller than you, when it hums. The note is deep and melodious, unlike your higher, faster chirps. The white mist gathers around you and the figure, gaining a form. It takes on patches of black, gold, and an earthy shade of brown, and coming into focus, you can see it is a tapestry.
The tapestry depicts a scene of the mountain. You know it well, it was the first thing you saw, climbing the hill you found yourself on post-nascent. The tall one reaches out to you, and tells you of a story once long-gone.
Avians fill the sky, joyfully breaking into song. They flap their wings, calling out to their flock.
Not all have the ability to soar through the air, though, and are content to stay on the ground. They farm large stalks of grain, thankful for the fruits of their labor. Occasionally the food runs short, or a drought comes, but no matter how hard living is, they live happily, joyous of the gift given to them by the Mother Goddess; life.
In her honor, they live at the base of her slopes, singing and dancing so She can hear them. They learn from her to grow crops besides the grain. Bushes that grow the string they weave their robes and blankets from, trees whose fallen wood provides heat and fire, colorful vegetables which can be eaten fresh. They grow, banding together into villages and supporting one another.
They called themselves Rythulians; The People.
Everything fades, and you find yourself slumped on the pedestal again, having somehow fallen over. You look up, seeing the Threshold Gate open, and you move on.