The cathedral choir

Age seventeen, sweet dream.

I had this dream last night, so I am recording it as it's fresh. This week I have been dreaming and this one is the most turbulent yet.

I was following my friends through a claustrophobic forest, where I couldn't push into the black-green trees--I had to weave through the branches where I could, following the shadows of my friends in front of me as I struggled through the yellow bark. Eventually I followed them down a set of stairs, all made of leaves, and they led me into a cathedral where light was finally shining in through the doors.

I left those doors so I could breathe a little. Outside, I was on top of a building that showed a pretty little courtyard, but I saw in front of me an old ghost that haunted the courtyard. She had a rotted face and sallow cheeks, gray and yellow hair and missing teeth, and she grabbed for me with long claws. Immediately I fled and went back inside, without panic but a little frazzled because my thought was "I don't want her to catch me".

When I tried to escape through other doors, more vermin like her showed up, and I was frustrated. The friends--I know them all in real life, but for now I can't recall who was in this dream for the life of me--were starting to panic, and I slammed the door repeatedly on the head of the witch who haunted the courtyard. Eventually she withered away, and I felt a deep sadness, touching her oily hair and saying a prayer to her to rest in peace.

Then we ran deeper into the building, and I realized we were in a cathedral, and we were late. The choir was already starting. The cathedral's center was wide, with gray-and-white marble floors and a shadow that fell over everything. No candles were lit; no people sat on the benches in front of the giant, black cathedral organ, but I could hear singing (the Promised Land, from the final fantasy advent children soundtrack, strangely. I remember the song, the lyrics, how I wanted to sing with them).

Then the candles came on. A boy who sat beside me, with emerald green eyes, looked at me with this bright smile and held my hand and whispered, "Here we go." I think I was in love with him... (sorry, Aaron, love, I don't mean to be unfaithful. I fall in love a lot in my dreams, girls and boys and memories alike.)

A burst of angelsong broke the silence and the cathedral shattered around me, all around were lights and music and I slid down a bamboo bridge into darkness. The music was beautiful, it was everywhere and bright, and as I slid I wanted to go back up into the shattered cathedral of black and white marble, of yellow flame, but I couldn't go back up. I only realized that I slid back into the forest of black and green and yellow again, and I sighed, missing the boy with the emerald eyes.

I woke up to a phone call from mom. I couldn't go to sleep again.

The warehouse werewolf

Age six, nightmare.

Through this dream I was running as fast as my short legs could handle.

The sky was as red as blood, with clouds that looked like soot. I was dashing between warehouses and I couldn't quite get away from whatever was chasing me, which made no sound but this strange humming noise. It was a terrifying escape, one that I couldn't even perform properly. I rounded a corner of the warehouse and the wolf caught me.

It's eyes were red and yellow, and it's fur was gray. It didn't have teeth so I don't know how it bit me, but it jumped on me like a man and started to eat me. I could feel my ribs popping in it's fangs. This I started calling the Man-wolf, who would visit me so much when I slept, terrorizing and teaching me.

At that point I decided I had had enough of this dream. In my physical, waking body, my hands raised up and yanked my eyelids open, and all the chaotic noises from my dream suddenly muffled and died away. The sparking light of noon hit my eyes and my world fell quiet, me seeing nothing but the orange of my eyelids.

I got up ten minutes later, proud that I had woken myself up from the dream by force.

...Retrospectively, I'm a really weird kid...

The subway

Age three, nightmare.

My earliest dream.

I was three years old and I was asleep in my mother's bed. In my dream I was wandering through a grey crowd of strangers in a subway stop, being bumped into and much too small and terrified. I distinctly remember the setting as the subway at Dong Shan Kou in Guangzhou, China, but the ceiling was extremely high and the lights were bright, until you looked away. Then the crowd of strangers were dark.

I was trying to grab onto the hand of my mother, but she gave me a contemptuous look and shook me off into the crowd, leaving me behind. I kept yelling "Mama!" but she wouldn't turn around, and eventually disappeared out of the crowd. In my dream I started screaming, legs wouldn't work.

I woke from this dream crying, and mom found me like that an hour later after she got home from work in the afternoon. She comforted me for another hour before I could calm down.

My analysis of this is probably from a deep-seated fear of abandonment and helplessness. When I was young I didn't feel secure from circumstances in my upbringing and would continue to have dreams of being abandoned or left behind, all of which would carry on into my waking hours.

Quite an old dream, but I still feel shivers to this day. It must've been that hateful look on my mom's face that stunned me.

The beginning

I love introductions. :)

I started this blog today after finally putting a rest to one of my old ones--a scary, dark one that I would visit in my saddest, angriest moments, whenever I was crying. And I'm tired of being sad; so here's to a lighter, cheerier, dreamier one.

My brain never stops working–which is good, if the brain is the supposed center of the being that keeps me alive, but it keeps me awake, too. It’s a tiring thing to think all the time. Especially at night. ...Especially at night.

If and when I go to sleep–I love you, hereditary insomnia, with all venomous sarcastic undertones intended–I don’t even rest much. I dream.

I dream so much that it’s troublesome to remember them all, so I’m going to dump them here. It makes for good art and writing fodder, I think. (Which means I can finally take advantage of that stupid organ of mine that controls me in my skull, and finally tell it to shut up and do what I tell it to. Like come on. I don’t ask you to dream of me dying all the time, right?)

Maybe you can enjoy it, too, if anybody’s ever reading this. (but oh god, this was loads of tl;dr. Nobody reads this long, right?)