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I kept thinking there was something happening in places and that's why I went to them.

That something happening was what I needed, or some sort of answer to questions that I was still forming. 

When I went there, I found tunnels carved in mucus; calcifications of dailiness; institutions! 

'Take me to your leader', I mimed through incomplete assumptions, shaky alliances, and a genuine-misplaced-perhaps sublimated-dream of finding coherency (see conquest). 

I found windows and looked in them. I went inside and looked out. I watched folks burrow on by through the mucus. 

'Where is your leader. Take me to them!', I mimed through the window. I pressed my face against the window and drooled.  

My drool seeped through the broken window, calcified and turned into a stalactite. Those burrowing by stopped and looked at me and spit.  

Their spit seeded a stalagmite - or a new outreach program.