Can you summarize this chapter from "Star Maker" by Olaf Stapledon in 45 words or less?

"2. THE SUPREME MOMENT NEARS

The discovery of nebular life deeply moved the incipient cosmical mind
that I had become. Patiently I studied those almost formless megatheria,
absorbing into my own composite being the fervor of their simple but
deep-running nature. For these simple creatures sought their goal with a
single-mindedness and passion eclipsing all the worlds and stars. With
such earnest imagination did I enter into their history that I myself,
the cosmical mind, was in a manner remade by contemplation of these
beings. Considering from the nebular point of view the vast complexity
and subtlety of the living worlds, I began to wonder whether the endless
divagations of the worlds were really due so much to richness of being
as to weakness of spiritual perception, so much to the immensely varied
potentiality of their nature as to sheer lack of any intense controlling
experience. A compass needle that is but feebly magnetized swings again
and again to west and east, and takes long to discover its proper
direction. One that is more sensitive will settle immediately toward the
north. Had the sheer complexity of every world, with its host of minute
yet complex members, merely confused its sense of the proper direction
of all spirit? Had the simplicity and spiritual vigor of the earliest,
hugest beings achieved something of highest value that the complexity
and subtlety of the worlds could never achieve?

But no! Excellent as the nebular mentality was, in its own strange way,
the stellar and the planetary mentalities had also their special
virtues. And of all three the planetary must be most prized, since it
could best comprehend all three.

I now allowed myself to believe that I, since I did at last include in
my own being an intimate awareness not only of many galaxies but also of
the first phase of cosmical life, might now with some justice regard
myself as the incipient mind of the cosmos as a whole.

But the awakened galaxies that supported me were still only a small
minority of the total population of galaxies. By telepathic influence I
continued to help on those many galaxies that were upon the threshold of
mental maturity. If I could include within the cosmical community of
awakened galaxies some hundreds instead of a mere score of members,
perhaps I myself, the communal mind, might be so strengthened as to rise
from my present state of arrested mental infancy to something more like
maturity. It was clear to me that even now, in my embryonic state, I was
ripening for some new elucidation; and that with good fortune I might
yet find myself in the presence of that which, in the human language of
this book, has been called the Star Maker.

At this time my longing for that presence had become an overmastering
passion. It seemed to me that the veil which still hid the source and
goal of all nebulae and stars and worlds was already dissolving. That
which had kindled so many myriad beings to worship, yet had clearly
revealed itself to none, that toward which all beings had blindly
striven, representing it to themselves by the images of a myriad
divinities, was now, I felt, on the point of revelation to me, the
marred but still growing spirit of the cosmos.

I who had myself been worshipped by hosts of my little members, I whose
achievement reached far beyond their dreams, was now oppressed,
overwhelmed, by the sense of my own littleness and imperfection. For the
veiled presence of the Star Maker already overmastered me with dreadful
power. The further I ascended along the path of the spirit, the loftier
appeared the heights that lay before me. For what I had once thought to
be the summit fully revealed was now seen to be a mere foot-hill. Beyond
lay the real ascent, steep, cragged, glacial, rising into the dark mist.
Never, never should I climb that precipice. And yet I must go forward.
Dread was overcome by irresistible craving.

Meanwhile under my influence the immature galaxies one by one attained
that pitch of lucidity which enabled them to join the cosmical community
and enrich me with their special experience. But physically the
enfeeblement of the cosmos continued. By the time that half the total
population of galaxies had reached maturity it became clear that few
more would succeed.

Of living stars, very few were left in any galaxy. Of the host of dead
stars, some, subjected to atomic disintegration, were being used as
artificial suns, and were surrounded by many thousands of artificial
planets. But the great majority of the stars were now encrusted, and
themselves peopled. After a while it became necessary to evacuate all
planets, since the artificial suns were too extravagant of energy. The
planet-dwelling races therefore one by one destroyed themselves,
bequeathing the material of their worlds and all their wisdom to the
inhabitants of the extinguished stars. Henceforth the cosmos, once a
swarm of blazing galaxies, each a swarm of stars, was composed wholly of
star-corpses. These dark grains drifted through the dark void, like an
infinitely tenuous smoke rising from an extinguished fire. Upon these
motes, these gigantic worlds, the ultimate populations had created here
and there with their artificial lighting a pale glow, invisible even
from the innermost ring of lifeless planets.

By far the commonest type of being in these stellar worlds was the
intelligent swarm of minute worms or insectoids. But there were also
many races of larger creatures of a very curious kind adapted to the
prodigious gravitation of their giant worlds. Each of these creatures
was a sort of living blanket. Its under surface bore a host of tiny legs
that were also mouths. These supported a body that was never more than
an inch thick, though it might be as much as a couple of yards wide and
ten yards long. At the forward end the manipulatory "arms" traveled on
their own battalions of legs. The upper surface of the body contained a
honeycomb of breathing-pores and a great variety of sense organs.
Between the two surfaces spread the organs of metabolism and the vast
area of brain. Compared with the worm-swarms and insect-swarms, these
tripe-like beings had the advantage of more secure mental unity and
greater specialization of organs; but they were more cumbersome, and
less adapted to the subterranean life which was later to be forced on
all populations.

The huge dark worlds with their immense weight of atmosphere and their
incredible breadths of ocean, where the waves even in the most furious
storms were never more than ripples such as we know on quicksilver, were
soon congested with the honeycomb civilizations of worms and insectoids
of many species, and the more precarious shelters of the tripe-like
creatures. Life on these worlds was almost like life in a
two-dimensional "flat-land." Even the most rigid of the artificial
elements was too weak to allow of lofty structures.

As time advanced, the internal heat of the encrusted stars was used up,
and it became necessary to support civilization by atomic disintegration
of the star's rocky core. Thus in time each stellar world became an
increasingly hollow sphere supported by a system of great internal
buttresses. One by one the populations, or rather the new and specially
adapted descendants of the former populations, retired into the
interiors of the burnt-out stars.

Each imprisoned in its hollow world, and physically isolated from the
rest of the cosmos, these populations telepathically supported the
cosmical mind. These were my flesh. In the inevitable "expansion" of the
universe, the dark galaxies had already for aeons been flying apart so
rapidly that light itself could not have bridged the gulf between them.
But this prodigious disintegration of the cosmos was of less account to
the ultimate populations than the physical insulation of star from star
through the cessation of all stellar radiation and all interstellar
travel. The many populations, teeming in the galleries of the many
worlds, maintained their telepathic union. Intimately they knew one
another in all their diversity. Together they supported the communal
mind, with all its awareness of the whole vivid, intricate past of the
cosmos, and its tireless effort to achieve its spiritual goal before
increase of entropy should destroy the tissue of civilizations in which
it inhered.

Such was the condition of the cosmos when it approached the supreme
moment of its career, and the illumination toward which all beings in
all ages had been obscurely striving. Strange it was that these
latter-day populations, cramped and impoverished, counting their past
pence of energy, should achieve the task that had defeated the brilliant
hosts of earlier epochs. Theirs was indeed the case of the wren that
outsoared the eagle. In spite of their straitened circumstances they
were still able to maintain the essential structure of a cosmical
community, and a cosmical mentality. And with native insight they could
use the past to deepen their wisdom far beyond the range of any past
wisdom. The supreme moment of the cosmos was not (or will not be) a
moment by human standards; but by cosmical standards it was indeed a
brief instant. When little more than half the total population of many
million galaxies had entered fully into the cosmical community, and it
was clear that no more were to be expected, there followed a period of
universal meditation. The populations maintained their straitened
Utopian civilizations, lived their personal lives of work and social
intercourse, and at the same time, upon the communal plane, refashioned
the whole structure of cosmical culture. Of this phase I shall say
nothing. Suffice it that to each galaxy and to each world was assigned a
special creative mental function, and that all assimilated the work of
all. At the close of this period I, the communal mind, emerged re-made,
as from a chrysalis; and for a brief moment, which was indeed the
supreme moment of the cosmos, I faced the Star Maker.

For the human author of this book there is now nothing left of that
age-long, that eternal moment which I experienced as the cosmical mind,
save the recollection of a bitter beatitude, together with a few
incoherent memories of the experience itself which fired me with that
beatitude.

Somehow I must tell something of that experience. Inevitably I face the
task with a sense of abysmal incompetence. The greatest minds of the
human race through all the ages of human history have failed to describe
their moments of deepest insight. Then how dare I attempt this task? And
yet I must. Even at the risk of well-merited ridicule and contempt and
moral censure, I must stammer out what I have seen. If a shipwrecked
seaman on his raft is swept helplessly past marvelous coasts and then
home again, he cannot hold his peace. The cultivated may turn away in
disgust at his rude accent and clumsy diction. The knowing may laugh at
his failure to distinguish between fact and illusion. But speak he must."