I'm on a trip, for some reason, thinking in terms of maps, like I'm looking at a GPS. Mom can't figure out quite how to use the GPS, so I have to help her figure out which way is North, so we can get to wherever it is we're going.
We end up at some sort of stripped-down place of worship, like a church auditorium or a fire hall. We're supposed to be participating in some sort of mystic, new-agey ritual, sort of like a group meditation thing, though what belief system it represents is unclear. We're instructed on our parts in a multi-part ritual, after which we leave for a while.
When I come back, I have a banal question about the ritual, which I pose to one of the group leaders, a young Caucasian female who doesn't seem to have any special looks or powers or significance. I want to know what's supposed to happen in Part 4. She doesn't even seem to hear my question...
She says, "In Part 4, you will burst into flames, and you will go to hell."
One of the other members of the organization overheads and, shocked, tries to chide her, but the woman seems to be in a trance, simply talking at me rather than trying to answer my question. I am torn between writing it off as ridiculous, and being absolutely afraid that I'm now the subject of a mortal prophecy. In that state of mind, I wake up.
I am somewhat low on blood sugar, so as I walk around the house, trying to shake off the dream, it turns out to be very difficult. I think of Galatea, the text-based game I've been playing recently, and how one ending led to the main character seeing everything as "portents and omens." I think the yellow light from one of the desk lamps, left on, looks like the light from a fire. I wonder why the little holes in one of the door frames are organized into a certain pattern. I keep involuntarily picturing myself on fire. My face looks weird in the mirror.
Eventually, the can of Coke and an hour or so working on a project seems to break the spell.