I do not know how it is that I know things. I did not even know my name until someone asked me, but then it was there. When the man in the black clothes tried to grab me, I just knew how to follow the cycle of energy, from ground, to core, to foot, to target. Some things, when I know them, I know I cannot know them, because I am too young. I am sorry if this confuses anyone, but I feel something is off somehow, and I do not know what or how.

These bits of knowledge will beome more and more intertwinned as the days pass. You will become you over the coming weeks, until you remember all that has happened. I am at your disposal and will come to your defense should it be needed until then. You are always welcome in my training hall Shih Shang.

Try reading threads you posted in before... Surely, you've noticed the number of posts made on this account. Try reading previous posts.

I , I have done this before. At least I think I have. I remember a place, a bay. I remember looking out over it as an old man, Watching thes quare sails move abouton the harbor, delivering their catch, satisfied that my work was finished there. My next memory of the place I am a young man friking happiy amon cerry trees I remember as saplings in the first memory, it was I believe the first time I saw a boat smoking that was not in distress. I remember coming back to this place, the trees larger, the beautifull arcitecture now hidden among the larger more blocky buildings, there is not a sail to be seen on the crowded bay. I remember a girl, my heart races, my tongue bonds to the roof of my mouth when she is near, the calm for which I was known replaced with equal parts of fear and joy. I, I remember the bay the bay was covered in ashes, the entire city destroyed, the bodies, they were everywhere on the outskirts. The further one goes into the city the less remains of the burnt and mangled corpses, intill the only evidence of human prescence is the shadows on the walls, the shadows on teh street, shadows that match neither the time of day, or anthing in the area that would cast a shadow. I was looking for something, my hands are raw from shifting rubble, I run to a building and start franticly throwing peices of the remains of the building out of my way, digging through the rubble. I remeber planting a tree, a tree with two markers, one large and one small at either side of it.

These memories are so clear, so vivid.

Welcome back Master Li. I know what its like to get your brain scrambled like an egg in a blue plate special at Dennys. At least remember you and that means that we can help you remember you.

I still got that tea set and tea you left us last time we spoke. I still use it.

I dropped off all that stuff like you asked to all those you asked me to drop it off to.

Kept some stuff of yours in a chest in the cellar. Didn't have the heart to just chuck it so I stored it. Never guessed you'ld ever come back for it.

Happy to see you did though.

I awoke this morning in a cold sweat, jolted from a dream by some unknown force.

I was at the ruin of what I knew to be my own home. Digging, searching. A sword, worthless trinket, it is cast aside without even a cursory glance. A thin battered peice of charred silk, slowly I pull upon it, shifting rubble out of the way. Something is there, I begin to uncover it, but just as I clear enough of the rubble to see, the whole world fades to red, then the red to black. The world explodes into a scream, and there I am - in my room screaming.

I fear I should leave this place, as kind as these men are, I beleive that I should impinge on their hospitality no longer. These kind men have said no harsh words, they have spoken no blame, but I know the look I saw their faces when I stepped through the empty doorway into the hallway. It was fear, not just any fear, but a fear of me. I do not know how or when but I will repace their door, I am not even certain exactly what happened to it, but the splinters strewn down the hallway, along with the way these simple men were cowering in the hallway indicate that I bring a disturbance, and likely some danger to their calm peacefull lives.

Yes, I have to go now, these men would still help me, but they deserve to not have the peace they spend so much time creating disturbed by a child's outbursts.

As I was writing I saw a thing, a thing that took my mind away to a place of peace, understanding and happiness. I was sitting in the park when a single pink petal drifted on the breeze past my nose. The stench of the air faded, replaced with the fresh clean scent of sakura. The constant maddening roar of the vehicls was next, fading away as the sound of cormorants on the bay replaced it. I watched as the blocks of concrete and metal that pass for architecture shimmered and began to fade, replaced by farms surrounding a small village. The hatefull, distrusting faces were next, along with the park, they were replaced by a hilltop temple, with a surrounding orchard of eighty eight rows of eight trees each tree holding a cloud of pink or white in it's branches, a gentle sprinkle of petals floating to the ground below them. The temple bell tolled, each note beginning to fade into echos before the next note was rung, the call to prayer.

As the dawn rose over the mountains, I again set out into these badlands of our own manufacture, concrete canyons that are the hunting grounds of predators far more frightening than any demon, if only for the fact that they are human, and were any one of us to walk their path, would we come out better men than they? The callousness, the cold uncaring nature of the people, they fill my mind with a dark cloud as I go about avoiding the uniformed police officers on the streets, as I go about performing odd jobs for the tatooed men on the docks.

They are bad men, I can tell though I am not certain how, yet they give me clothing, they give me food, they even try to look out for me. They seem to understand me at least a little, although annoyed when I hand the food they give me to another who needs it more, they do not complain - they merely buy me another meal. I see around the heads of some of them a faint glow of golden chi, around others I see a flood of energy, a black flame that chills the very soul.

As I sweep and mop a warehouse floor, my task for the day, contemplating the nature of the world around me, I feel the crushing weight of the sorrow of the world welling up in my mind. As I sit upon the floor and weep, I feel soft fur rubbing against my right forearm. I look up to see a beautiful little fox, the same size as a large alleycat rubbing himself against my side and arm. As I reached out and stroke the sleek head I imediately found myself walking hand in hand with the second most radiant woman I have ever seen. We walked quietly among the trunks of the cherry trees, content with one another's company. For a moment another vision flashed before my eyes, that of a charred hand in my own, the shattered trunks of the trees all about me. "Leave that one be, you are not ready yet." a soft, kindly voice, full of compassion whispered in my mind as the image snapped back to the wonderful wintertime scene that it had been before. I knew that both she and I had important things to say to one another, but the moment was so calm, so serene, that neither of us dared to speak for fear of shattering the illusion of perfect stillness that surrounded us.

As the memory faded, I felt somehow lighter, as though I had just set down a great weight that had been carried far too long. "Better now? Yes better, much better now." I heard again in my head as I looked down at the little fox. I swear before Amaterasu that it had two tails and winked and smiled at me before it vanished.

A young kitsunei...but it sounds more helpful than they usually are. Perhaps it recognized the trouble your soul was in, and wanted to reach out to you...

I snuck a peek at Mr. Ghostspider's blade yesterday. Not only is it awakened, it is also aware, aware enough to defend it'sself, burning my fingertips as they brushed the decorative work on the handle. The metal used in the construction is unlike any I have ever seen, the craftsmanship so exquisite it brought tears to my eyes as the memories of such things returned to me.

I remember now, the secret of making tamahagane, the precise folding, the prayers to the kami to cause the blades I make to be able to be awakened. I remember that at one time I was skilled at such. I remember the swift and sure movements, the delicately swaying advance, the gentle methods of directing the opponent's movements, the abrupt swiftness of movement when an opening presents it's self. Most enjoyably, I remember the calmness, the focus required to cause the blades to become an extension of the hands.

I am sorry Mr. Ghostspider if I disturbed Karlash, it was just so pretty, so vibrantly alive and awake, that I had to look more closely at it's workmanship. Am I correct Mr. GhostSpider that your blade was not crafted by human hands? Please forgive my rudeness in not asking, but you were doing so well at your meditation, I did not want to disturb you. I didn't mean to touch her, just look, but as I traced the scrollwork I found my fingertips brushing the lines.

My skill with spirit returns. I am begining to understand just what has happened to me, and just who I was/am. Old friends answer my calls once more, answering questions too long left unasked for fear of the answers. Amaterasu still smiles upon her children, giving power to those who would face the darkness that comes.

My skill with blade and hands is returning. Bolstered by use of spirit, the body moves swifter than a swallow in flight, almost as strong as the roots of the mountain.

My Knowledge still returns in fragments, as it has every time I have returned. The secrets of the blade were mine, and are again. I shall have to craft a new pair.

The Kami, great and small still will not answer the questions I seek the answers to most. Why I am here, What my purpose is, What tasks must I perform. In this their warm silence is at once comforting, and frightening.

We are not alone, there are others like myself, wandering this world. I have the gift of time, I should develop more patience. The darkness is cunning and patient, I must become more patient still.

On the longest night, I dreamed. I walked with old friends and masters long since faded to dust. I saw a great circle of the strong dominating the weak, only to be humbled, the weak becoming strong and dominating those around them. I walked through the darkness untill it overwhelmed me and I became one with it. I walked in the light untill no darkness remained.

And when you woke up?

On this day of balance I spent a great deal of time contemplating the nature of myself and the world around me. There are still holes in my mind, things that are important to remember, things that once made me who I was (am?).

The world is a greatly changed place, for those who can see. People have become more like Oni - grasping, hard, and unkind. It is not merely the warriors of the world, but rather a rising tide of fear and hatred that is slowly covering those few places that shine with a light for all who can to see.

Alas, from what I have experienced this last year, I do not believe it is the work of some manipulating beast, but rather a change that is being made by society. I fear a new breed of monsters is coming, and I fear I will not be able to stem the tide, for the monsters coming are us.


I pray as I put this to words that I am mistaken, that these dreams are naught more than the fevered workings of a child's imagination, that people are not giving up on kindness, justice, and mercy.

On the longest nite, I sat silently, exhausted. Once again I felt that familiar drained feeling, having had spent the prior weeks pouring everything into my craft. Once again I felt the wonder as the steel accepted my very essence, imbedded into every folding. I once again felt the awe of seeing lifeless rocks become a living blade.

I lie almost spent, but the blades live - I can feel them from here. I don't remember ever feeling this tired for this long, but I also cannot recall having had felt the awakening of a blade so strongly.

May Amaterasu and Susano'o watch over these blades dedicated to those who have fallen.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1x-wyp1vDGI&feature=channel

The eye of the storm is calm while heavens and sea rage around it. The oceans wear away the mountains. The black sand is made pure by flame, becoming more precious than gemstones. The amahagane joins the essences of the elements as it cools into bricks. It is not the fervor behind the blows, but rather the calmly focused spirit of them that forms the difference between smith and artist. With every blow, every drop of sweat, the artist offers his spirit to his work. The quenching medium must be selected carefully, as it's spirit will become the foundation of the kami within the blade. If the will of the craftsman and the quenching medium is unwavering the blade will become home to a kami of it's own. Remember this Ichiro, for a blade that holds both spirit and form can carve both spirit and flesh.

An old wound pains me, not a wound of the flesh, but of the spirit. My wives have crubled unto dust, all my children slain in battle long ago. Attatchments to this world destroyed, one by one while I watch. Destroyed not only by foes, but even more - the art by which I become on with my blade, the skill at crafting a blade in such a maner that it is prepared to awaken, destroyed by time - and apathy.

After this trip has ended it may take a great deal of time before I return to the isles of my birth. I had not expected the memories to be so strong, the emotions so raw.

I was broken here once, not so very long ago. The day of the second sunrise that rose in the west, freezing shadows for eternity. My center, my anchor ripped away in a single moment. The screams of the kami of the nearby city, still unsure of what happened, unknowing that they are dead. I wandered long, heartbroken and soulless, stalking the enemy amid the streets of my precious Edo, bringing a twisted vengance in the darkness. Killing, not honorably with blade or body, but with the power of a twisted spirit. Killing them slowly, painfully, as their bodies bereft of the ability to regain their strength of spirit, succumb bit by bit to to lesser injuries that will never heal.

I am unsure which brings more pain, the memory of the loss of everything that was my world, or the memory of the monster I became.

I think that is why one of our most valuable gifts is our mortality. maybe things like love joy and outer things that are also gifts, are ment to be fleeting to last but a life time. and when there session has passed there is not a thing we can do to bring it back

It would be a lie for me to deny what you say, for I have felt that way before, and likely will again.

It is true that like a sunrise, a rainbow, or even a noteworthy dawn; Love, Joy, Peace, and even friendships will one day pass.

Things good and ill will come, and they will pass. Every day must eventually fade into night, just as every night bust give way to the dawn. Spring grows into summer, summer fades into the twilight of fall, fall decends into winter's night, and winter's night gives way to spring's dawning.

I began this journal when freshly reborn? Awakened? Risen? It did not happen as it should have, I should have been born a child, nearly normal, with a normal family, the old memories returning slowly after puberty. Instead I came out of the waves, a body barely prepubescent. The memories that were supposed to be triggered through effort and searching flooding my mind, recalled by everyday scents, sounds and sights. The ability to sense the emotions and lives of those around me, but with an undeveloped understanding of complex emotions.

Thus I place here a journal of those things that confuse and frighten me when they arise, like a child flipping a lightswitch to assure himself the boogey man is not real. Instead, I find the boogey man is real. The confusion does not fade much yet. Most fears fade under the mind's scrutiny, but the worst of them becomes stronger as more of my past returns.

I gaze into the darkness and see myself looking back at me. How can a good man wreck such carnage? How can a kindly man condemn others to a slow, tortured death? How can I be either, knowing the things I have done? How can I be sure that I will not become the monster once again? If I can become good and kindly after being so monsterous, what about the beings we fight - might they too be able to change? For that matter, have I really changed, or am I still the butcher of Batto? I can still feel the wrath somewhere within, hot, radiant, like Amaterasu's wrathfull gaze upon the desert's sand.

I can give you no answers. You of know if any one does that my Answers would be of little use to you. You are most likely some where were you have support, and people to help you find answers. I do not think that my order has seen any thing like you, since Tallisn. I would be happy if you like to put you in touch with some of the elders of the order may be they can help you. but its likely you are among Asian mystics, and I do now know what Europion Mystics can do that Asian ones could not. I am not saying that Europe is better then Asia or that Asian mystics are better then there counter parts form Europe. We all deal with the same mystery after all. We just use defrent tools and approaches. I may help if you looked in to Talisen it is said he was born knowing all that has been known all that is known and all the will be known.

I thank you for your offer of aid, and as soon as my business in Nippon is finished, I would be honored to have tea with your orders elders.

The things written here are often troubles, sometimes wonders, I don't know why I feel they should be recorded, but they should. Perhaps it will help myself later, perhaps it will help someone else, perhaps I will learn something important from someone who steps forward, I do not know.

There is a phrase I have adopted cause it seems to fit with my view of many of the gods form are mythology its form a sci fi show that the religion is based on the old Greek. the Gods lift those who lift each other. Meaning they help those whom help each other. It is not just because I want there blessing but that I try and do things, It is more about being whom I wish to be.