Raging River, Torrent of Memories.

Sorry for the double post last night. I've hardly slept in days and it's wearing me down.

As I have said before: periods of intense focus have side effects. My dreams of late have been unusual. Perhaps not as unusual as past dreams... but disturbing enough I want to find the source.

One thing appears in so many dreams and that is my sword.
I know in the past I have mentioned my azure katana. It's less a weapon then a piece of art.
Far as I know it doesn't exist in reality; only fittingly enough in my dreams.
It's balanced for my height and weight, so perfectly that it feels more comfortable then my own hands. But the most striking feature of all is blade itself.

Most people think of a sword as a weapon, a tool of death and chaos. The raging river has a pattern of water running from the hilt to the tip. The hilts side of the blade is calm and serene while the tip is a raging torrent. The farther away from me the blade strays the more chaotic it becomes, the more that calm is broken down and losses it's power. Like water it is a sword that is beyond the mastery of a human being, it's existance is a paradox to me: A weapon not meant to kill. I saw a scattering of images in my dream.

The sword sits on my lap while I meditate, I look calm and peaceful. Around me I know there is chaos and evil but I don't see it, nor does it enter me.

Off in the distance I see a dark shadow, the light from the streetlamps paints him in a most frighteneing light. I know my own strength and brace myself for the shadow. But it keeps walking. I watch as eventually it passes me completely disappearing into the night.

I'm sitting in a room filled with snakes, Someone I remember from my past is sitting on a couch with a look of complete calm. All around him the snakes coil and crawl. I jump backwards to the closest corner and kick the snakes back. A few large ones circle towards me anxiously.

Perhaps the worst was last however. I was in my old highscool walking down the hallways.
Instead of live people the halls were filled with the walking dead, crawling shambling zombies of every color, shape and size. I walked past them to the cafeteria and near it my old history class.
On one desk I see my sword, I walk over to pick it up but my hand goes right through it.
Sitting down I study the details of the sword, but its hazy and I can't see it clearly enough.

I hear a voice and look up. A strange man in a blue terry bath robe is writing on the whiteboard.
I look around and see the dead have filled the seats of my class. The walks back and forth as he tells his story... It's captivating and I sit and listen to him. After a second I raise my hand, he points to be reluctantly. "Why am I here?" I ask the man.
He smiled and said nothing, instead he pointed to the board again. I recognized it as the kind of outlines used in psychological profiling, only it had annotations I didn't understand. The writing was garbled up, but I understood the purpose of the graph.
I walk over to it and run my hand across the length of it.
I'm unsure why, but I somehow felt that this was my linechart, that somehow my life had been imposed onto this board. Like a psychological sine chart I read the rising and falling of my being.

The class is empty again, This time the teacher is sitting in my seat with his hands stroking the side. I'm vaguely aware that I am dreaming, but I am so tired that I cannot do anything more then let the dream carry me farther and farther away from reality.
"Why doesn't the sword work all of the time?" I ask the teacher.
"You tell me, it's your sword." he replies.
It is my sword, an unruly extension of my own will. A will I am myself afraid to manifest.
"Are you saying it's because I'm afraid of myself?" I ask him impatiently.
He doesn't answer right away. The runs his hands along the sword as if he was stroking a cat.
"I'm saying what your saying." he finally replied.

I'm not entirely sure why, but I forget what happens next. I just remember running to the back gym and out the door to the track field. The dead are walking around the track in circuits.
In the enter of the track there is a large ball of zombies, it seems to be rolling towards me.
I flick my arms in enter into a swordstance but my sword doesn't appear. In perfect discipline I attack with no blade, despite having no physical weapon the ball slows it's approach to me.
I blink and the zombies are all gone, the light is shining brightly and the air is fresh.
On the bleachs I see a young woman tieing her running shoes, this is not a dream but a memory.
I am watching from afar as I talk to his girl many years past. She is my best friends girlfriend and I conceal for the sake of that friend my own feelings toward her.

She runs at a modest speed and my past memory persona runs quickly but wears out after a few friends laps. I saw her feelings clear as day but took no actions.

I blink again, I'm even farther in the past now. Sitting across from me is a skilled card player. This is a pre-release tournament and I'm in the final 4. The game is very close. My enemy taps his creatures indicating an attack. I check their power and the power of my own creatures. Unsure of his motives I block the largest creatures and leave 2 smaller ones to hit me. He point to the creature and tells me that he sacrifices all his land to give the creature +12. With a sigh I pull my cards together. A few moments later a friend walks up behind me with a copy of the same card. Only 1 land may be sacrificed to make it stronger. That battle should've been mine had I bothered to read the card entirely. My friends urged me to appeal to the judge but I instead I simply left.

The images get blurry, I sit alone staring at a filled notebook. It's deep inside a church. Elsewhere in the church my family is putting together a wedding. I pour flip page after page writing a story. Then I tear the story apart. (This did happen, but it didn't happen at the church." I walk around the church. It's completely spotless and I marvel at it. It was one of the few times I have felt peace in a church. Turning a corner I walk into a gym. On the stage I am putting on a show, without warning I turn to my cousin and push him off the stage hurting him severely. (This did happen, but the real events were different.)

All these things are bothering me, I keep turning the halls of the church looking for somewhere quiet. Around the walls I hear whispers from my past. A cruel joke, harsh whispers from the other children. They whisper that my father is a drunk and my mother had to die to escape him.
I pass a room filled with a faded flickering white light. Poking my head in I see myself playing on my first computer and playing my first computer game: Champions of Krynn.
Beside me is my goldfish in a large pyramid shape, I talk to him but all he does is swim around.
The whispers fade until I can't make out the words. I look down the hall again and see a heavy metal doorway with a small ancient softy glass window. I'm in my elementary school now.
Walking down the north past near the mobiles I see myself on the ground bleeding, I stood up to a larger boy and got beaten up. Each time I stood he pushed me back down. Around me I saw dozens of silent children. Farther down the path I circle around to the playground. The slide which held so many memories is gone, my hands burn with the memory of it. I yearn to run up the slide and to be pulled down by the other children. I remember it is a game. But the game and it's memories are gone. Now it's completely abandoned.
I see a girl standing over me, again the cruelty of the other children. One girl tries to help me up. I am shocked to see her face, it's animated and peppy in contrast to the serious half-frown I held. I had a crush on her then, and then again later in highschool. Nothing came of it but I still remember her offered hand to me.

All these memories occured within this dream. Short as it was it made me think quite a bit.
Is my minding trying to tell me something? I'm not really sure actually; but maybe I should find out. Goodnight.