Good morning, everybody.
I was probably in an apartment at night. It was dark, and I probably couldn't see anything, but I "saw" everything in the apartment as if it were a dark, dark grey, all the same exact grey, with fuzzy, shaky outlines delineating each thing. I had walked out of some room, possibly a bedroom, and into the kitchen, then from the kitchen into the dining room, to the left of which may have been the living room.
All the time I had been walking I had been thinking about the origins of mankind. The story I had been hearing in my head had been a story which I didn't like. I can't remember it now. It may have had something to do with the evolution of man from animals. But I don't quite think that was it. The story had a more disappointing, almost anticlimactic, feel to it than the normal story of evolution. And every person's conception was similar to, if not exactly the same as, the overall origin of mankind. The story was even more of a letdown to me because of that.
Now I probably asked God, in my head, to tell me the "true" story of the origin of mankind. For the first story, I may now have had in my head the image of a yellow, flaming outline of a man, with some kind of sphere in the center of his chest, and with the man enclosed in a red triangle with a white center.
But I was now acting out the second story of the origin of mankind -- acting it out, apparently, as God was telling it to me. On the dining table was a strange candle. The flame was a sphere -- dark, dark grey, like everything else in the room, and waxy, not flame-like at all. The flame was maybe 18cm in diameter, and it overshadowed the actual candlestick, wherever the candlestick was. The flame was supposed to be the world.
I bent down and stretched my hands toward the "heat" (as nonexistent as the light) of this flame. My hands were fetal: stubby, tinny, and seemingly boneless. I alternately breathed onto my hands and stretched my hands toward the heat of the flame. Both actions were done in order to heat my hands. When I stretched out my hands, I would open and close them. It seemed, as I was opening and closing my hands, that they were, very slowly, expanding and developing into more post-natal-looking hands.
I understood this to be the origin of mankind. This origin seemed to be a lot more satisfying to me. But I may still have been disappointed by this story. After all, I had told myself that God had told me this story. But how did I know he'd told it to me? How did I know I hadn't told myself the story, fooling myself into believing God was telling me, out of a desire to have a less disappointing story about the origins of man?