Good morning, everybody.
A group of people (I may have been among them, or I may have been in the scene, but passively viewing it, like watching a movie) were in some desert building. The building may have been some kind of bunker or military building from the 1940s, or it may have been an old, desert house.
The people were some kind of official workers. They were here on an investigation. They were trying to get beyond one door, possibly a door leading down to a basement. The door was probably in the kitchen, which was bright with natural light.
The men finally decided to blow up the door using a large amount of explosives. They set up a canister as big as an oil barrel against the old, thick, wooden door. The canister may have had the force of 620 XXXXX (something I can't remember).
The men went outside the house during the blast. They crouched behind a wooden structure built like a mix between a horse trough and a well house. The men may all have been wearing leather trench coats an old style gas masks for protection.
The explosion occurred. It was supposed to have been intense, but I don't remember it at all. The men may have been expecting to uncover some dangerous criminal, or the things he'd stolen. But they'd released something much worse: some kind of sinister, demonic force.
I had a view of this force rising through the surrounds like a green gel or a green light, which then subsided back to the ground.
The men were all still standing around outside. They knew that the demonic force, though its eventual goal may have had to do with attacking all of society, was first concerned with attacking one specific woman. The men needed to protect the woman. But they couldn't, for some reason, tell her they were protecting her.
The woman was here among the men. She was a glamorous, 1940s style woman. She was so elated that the door had been open that she said she was going to run all the way somewhere, maybe all the way to the nearest (small) town. The woman ran away along a ridge of rocky soil that rose a couple meters above the flat ground.
The men thought this might be convenient. If the woman ran fast enough, she might be able to evade the spread of the sinister force. And if she stayed in town, the sinister force couldn't attack her. Then the men wouldn't have to explain anything to her.
But now the woman had turned around and was running back toward the house. It turned out that she had only been kidding. She wasn't actually going to run off anywhere.
The men now knew the woman was in danger of being attacked by the sinister force. I thought she may already have been attacked by it. Her running off and then coming back, apparently out of joy, seemed a little strange to me. I thought her actions might really have been due to the fact that the sinister force was already infecting her mind.
I walked into a house through a side door. I walked into a kitchen that was kind of small and dim and dirty.
There was a pot of potatoes to my right, either on the counter or on the stove top. The potatoes were in a mixture of water and butter. The water wasn't boiling, but the butter was melted and mixed in with the water like the water was boiling.
A young woman, kind of average looking, a little heavy, but pretty, stood just out of my sight somewhere in the kitchen. The woman and I probably lived together, and we were probably lovers.
But the woman had now started having a relationship with some other woman. She was talking to me now about this other woman, not saying right out that she was having an affair with this woman, but saying nice things about the woman to kind of hint that she might be attracted to her.
I had a feeling that the woman was partly trying to conceal the relationship and partly trying to make me jealous of it. Either way, it was annoying. I decided to ignore the woman. Anyway, I thought, if the woman left me, it would be kind of a relief. I didn't like the woman that much, anyway.
I turned my attention to the potatoes. They were really soft. I grabbed a spoon and began fumbling around with some of them. They were all still in their skins, but they were cut in half.
I spooned into some of the potatoes, scooping out all the insides, then mashing them while keeping them in the water. I thought to myself how much I liked eating potatoes like this, especially when they were soaked in butter, like these potatoes were.
I think the woman was still talking, on and on, about the other woman. When the woman noticed I wasn't paying attention, she might have started yelling at me.
It was a grey, cool day. I was riding a bike down some path in the mountains. I was all alone on the trail.
I had come from a pretty far distance in the mountains, and from a pretty high elevation. But now I was heading home. I was just about to hit the edge of the deep moutains. But I still had a ways to go, through the foothills and the city, before I got home.
I rode down a narrow section of path that ran between two tight cliffs of tan stone. At the bottom of that slope was a trail which, I knew, I'd take off to the right. But below that trail another slope went down to a river, which also flowed off to the right.
I got off my bike and went down to the slope. I'd taken off all my clothes except my boxers (in waking life I never wear boxers -- only boxer briefs). I now got into the river. I had a feeling that I could just lay back and let the water carry me downstream. It could carry me, I thought, almost all the way back home.
But I reflected on all of this. It didn't make sense. First of all, the water was really cold. By the time I got to the end of the river, I'd be sick from the coldness of the water. Second, the river wouldn't take me all the way home. I wouldn't have my bike with me. So I'd have to walk. The walk home would make the whole trip a lot longer than it would have been just taking my bike down the path.
So I got out of the river and headed back up toward my bike. After all, I now told myself, I had only gone down to the river to get a little washed up.
But now, for some reason, I'd climbed up a steep rock outcropping to get back up to the trail. There were a few large boulders that took me a lot of effort to scale. After scaling two black boulders I had to scale a really tricky tan-orange one. I could see my bike just over this boulder.
But I was either having a hard time or pretending to have a hard time climbing this boulder. There were a few ledges I kept seeming to swing off of or arch myself forward or backward to reach.
At some point I almost fell from the ledges. I realized that I was actually really high up, and that if I slipped, I'd fall and die. But I was still wet and slippery, and the boulder was, somehow, just as wet and slippery as I.
I slipped and suddenly found myself hanging from a ledge. I knew I was in trouble. But I also felt like I could save myself if I remained calm.