The Alchemist Under The Mountain

Meet the alchemist within in tonight's fantasy bedtime story.

Sleep and Sorcery is a folklore and fantasy inspired sleep series.

My name is Laurel,

And I'll be your guide on tonight's fantastical journey.

Sleep and Sorcery is one part bedtime story,

One part guided meditation,

And one part dreamy adventure.

Listen to my voice for as long as it serves you,

And when you're ready,

Feel free to let go of the story and relax into sleep.

If you're still awake as the story comes to an end,

I'll guide you through a sleep meditation that calls on the four classical elements.

In tonight's story,

You wake up upon a mountainside,

Only to discover the unattended cavern workshop of an alchemist who is in pursuit of the great secrets of the universe.

You explore the curiosities of this mountain sanctum,

Coming face to face with the alchemist's supernatural helpers,

Gnomes,

Sylphs,

Undines,

And salamanders.

Each of these elemental spirits gives you a piece of the puzzle in alchemical wisdom.

Once someone dreams a dream,

It can't just drop out of existence,

But if the dreamer can't remember it,

What becomes of it?

Michael Enda The Never-Ending Story Dawn breaks over the peaks with threads of rose and auburn twinkling through droplets of mist.

All sparkles behind your eyelids in the moments before you wake,

Stirring softly under morning's kiss of moisture.

In the breath of time before you open your eyes,

That impossibly brief,

Yet achingly long breath of time,

Dream images swim and swirl in your mind,

Mingling with your memories to spin whole myths of your existence.

In that span of time,

You are an ancient warrior,

Demigod,

Magician,

And more,

Fresh from wild adventure and feats of daring do.

And then,

You open your eyes,

And you are you.

Your soul returns from parts unknown,

The dreaming country,

And fills your body once more,

As if pouring in through the crown of your head,

Lighting up the sleepy spaces of your neck and shoulders,

Trickling down into your fingertips,

Weakening your hips and legs,

And spilling into your toes.

You are you,

And you are here.

But where,

Exactly,

Is here?

And how did you come to be here?

Your fingers grasp the surface beneath you,

Expecting the softness of fabric,

But meeting instead coarse grass and fine wisps of weeds,

The scent of fresh earth,

Stone,

And distant rain.

And the world around you comes gradually into focus,

Albeit blurred by traveling clouds of fog.

Now and then,

The mist parts enough to take in fragments of the landscape,

Rocks and crags,

Forested domains below,

A valley in the distance,

A mountainside then.

You are on a mountainside.

All is peaceful and strangely familiar,

Despite your feeling quite certain this place is new to you.

It's as if your deepest self knows this place,

Like it's the setting for your truest dreams,

If not your waking existence.

With nothing but this sense of curious familiarity,

You rise to your feet and dust off your clothes,

Brushing hair from your eyes,

Preparing to explore your surroundings.

It's just now that you notice a substantial weight on your wrists.

Banded round each one is a bracelet,

Thick and heavy enough to be solid silver,

You think.

You inspect the bangles closer.

They fit well enough to slide only slightly along your wrists as you move,

Though you see no clasp or fixture on either.

And their designs are intricate and alluring.

Each depicts a serpent with seemingly hand-engraved scales,

Each holding the tip of its own tail in its mouth.

As far as you can tell,

The bracelets are identical.

You rotate your wrists before your eyes,

Watching the glint of sunrise against the silver.

It's entrancing.

Your curiosity mounts,

Another piece of the mystery of this place and your presence here.

You feel an inner tug,

A sort of pulling at your subconscious to explore something instinctual that leads you onward.

So you begin to walk the sharp incline,

Following that inner sense in search of the missing pieces of this puzzle.

It isn't long before the steep incline begins to level off,

Giving you some relief from the effort of the climb.

The rocky ground gives way just ahead,

Two sharp escarpments,

Stone reaching toward the clouds and coral sky.

And in the rock,

There is a gaping darkness.

The mouth,

You realize,

Of a cave.

The flesh on your arms tightens,

Goosebumps rising over your body.

This all feels so familiar,

But somehow mythically familiar.

Not as if it's a place to which you're returning after a long time away,

But as if it stirs something deep within you,

Or the collective unconscious.

All at once,

A fragrant breeze wakes the air,

Rustling at your back,

As if the very atmosphere is summoning you forth,

Pulling you toward the cave's entrance.

Any part of you that might have resisted is overcome by intrigue.

You feel you must explore the cave,

Plumb its mysteries.

But for just a moment,

You pause here,

Before the mouth of the cavern,

For there is something so enchanting,

So serene,

About the feel of the breeze around you.

It twists and dances in all directions,

Bringing the sweet scent of flowers and mountain herbs.

Your eyes drift lazily out of focus,

Body still awakening after the depth of your slumber.

And somewhere in your periphery,

You can almost see the wind take shape,

As if lithe,

Graceful figures are twisting through the very air,

Made of light,

Or wind itself.

Yet when you turn your head to see them,

They dissolve,

Perhaps were never there at all.

Still,

You feel the presence of these invisible beings,

These companions of the air,

Even as you enter the cave,

And the breeze dwindles to a whisper.

You pass from light into shadow,

Bracing yourself against the damp chill.

Into the mountain,

And into darkness.

No sooner than you wish for a torch,

Some light source to illuminate your way,

And to provide the warmth you seek,

Than you catch a flicker many paces ahead.

With your footsteps cautious,

You advance toward the wavering amber light.

If there's fire,

You reason,

Then there must be someone here.

They might have the answers you crave,

Might know why you feel so strangely at home in this uncanny place.

Like moth to flame,

You go on.

The narrow tunnel widens in the throw of the light,

A vast chamber comes into focus.

At the center,

An enormous chalice,

Or basin,

Smoothly carved of some elegant stone,

This vessel that contains the flickering flame.

You hold your hands toward the fire,

Sighing as your extremities thaw in the warmth it supplies.

An unlit torch rests against the base of the vessel.

You grasp it,

Holding its end into the fire until it catches.

As you withdraw the torch,

Silver bracelet gleaming beneath its glow,

You inadvertently strike it against the mouth of the chalice.

From the contact comes a ringing so pure and pleasant,

Like the sound of a singing bowl,

That it eases your mind and signals your body to relax,

Even in these unknown surroundings.

The ringing reverberates against the cave's walls,

Bouncing back in harmony with itself.

Holding torch in hand,

You observe your environment,

A natural cavern chamber,

With high limestone ceilings,

Walls weathered in graceful curves.

But beneath the stalactites are curious things,

Tables laden with brass tools and instruments,

Scales,

Hourglasses,

Vessels and retorts of all shapes and sizes,

An astrolabe,

A crucible,

And other sundries you do not know the names of.

It looks to be a workshop or laboratory,

And the last thing you'd expect to find carved into a mountainside.

From the lit flame in the basin to the carelessly strewn instruments,

You'd venture to guess that whoever works in this place recently,

And perhaps unexpectedly,

Left.

Did they hear you coming and retreat deeper into the mountain?

You mean no harm or injury to them,

And in fact,

You feel a spark of excitement imagining them.

For judging by the accoutrement you recognize,

This workshop can only be the domain of an alchemist,

One who experiments with elements of the natural world,

Seeking to uncover the mysteries of creation.

An alchemist does more than meddle with elixirs of immortality or tarry toward the transmutation of lead into gold.

An alchemist is a master of magic and of natural philosophy,

A keeper of arcane secrets.

You,

Like the alchemists,

Are driven by a desire to uncover the unseen world,

To pull back the veil and unlock hidden knowledge of a world was made,

The journey of the soul,

The innate magic of the elements.

But such pursuits have always seemed,

To you,

Like fairy stories,

Captivating,

Enthralling,

And ultimately little more than myth and legend.

So now,

To glimpse an alchemist's tools beneath the torchlight,

How your heart leaps,

How your imagination thrills.

You might be dreaming still,

You know.

All of this has the quality of a dream,

But it also carries the prickle of destiny,

Of the inevitable.

If it is a dream,

You wouldn't want to wake just yet,

Not when it feels as if something miraculous is within your grasp.

You could,

If so inclined,

Gather up these tools and secret them away.

Surely the alchemist has notes hidden somewhere too.

What a gift it would be to pour through the discoveries of someone immersed in the esoteric.

You feel the spark of ambition light within you,

Imagining untold riches and greater wealth in the form of knowledge.

But the spark wavers,

For knowledge and wealth gained by deception are worthless in your estimation.

You entertain the thought,

No longer,

And consider a more noble approach.

You resolve to find the alchemist who toils herein.

If anyone has the answers you seek,

It is they.

Perhaps they even summoned you here,

To this strange mountain,

And garlanded your wrists with silver serpents.

So deeper into the mountain you must go,

It seems,

Through the channel that extends before you.

You take a moment to warm yourself once more by the basin of fire,

As if your body might absorb some of that radiant heat and carry it forth.

You admire the flame's reflection on the glassy belly of the bowl,

So silvery and run through with crystal veins.

The craftsmanship is extraordinary,

The whole enormous vessel seemingly carved from a single seamless agate stone.

You watch the fire a while,

So mesmerizing and meditative in its chaotic motion,

Flames leaping and receding in a gradient of color.

And then,

Your breath catches,

For it is only now that you notice them,

Scurrying at the bottom of the basin,

Leaping in and out of the flames,

Or perhaps a dozen tiny,

Lizard-like creatures.

You'd be forgiven for missing them,

Because they move with the same undisciplined haste as the tendrils of flame,

And their bodies are the color of fire,

Shifting between searing shades of blue-white,

Vermilion,

And gold.

With a rush of excitement,

You recognize the creatures as salamanders,

Beings of such unassuming appearance and awesome power.

You wonder how many people in the world have observed firsthand their mythic ability to withstand the heat of the fire.

Legend has it,

They're created from fire,

Each one a spontaneous spark made from some unknowable equation.

Any alchemist must greatly desire to understand that mystery.

As you stand there,

Transfixed by the maelstrom of newts,

One breaks from the pack and scampers out onto the rim of the vessel.

You blink in sheer amusement as the creature locks eyes with you.

Then,

The salamander's tiny eyes flick to the side,

Gaze falling on your torch flame,

And innately,

You come to an understanding.

If you want to find the alchemist,

You will need help.

With little hesitation,

You lower the head of your torch toward the edge of the vessel,

And the tiny salamander leaps into its flame.

Now you have not only a light,

But a guide.

And with a tiny tug at the torch,

Almost imperceptible but undeniable,

Your salamander guide indicates that your object indeed lies further down the path,

Deeper into the mountain.

The torchlight bobs,

Illuminating several feet ahead,

And flickering against the rugged walls of the tunnel.

You tread carefully,

But you meet no obstacle to your passage.

Down,

Down,

Down you go,

The path curving ever so slightly here and there.

Leading steadily on,

You feel comforted by the salamander's presence,

As if you carry a guardian in the flame.

After a long while walking,

You come to a branching of tunnels.

It is the first time the path has forked,

And the first time you've faced a decision more complex than simply choosing to venture on.

You look to your salamander friend,

Curled cozily within the flame at the end of the torch.

He angles his head,

Left and right,

Then left and right again,

As if weighing the alternate outcomes.

You hold the torch out to one side,

Then the other,

Angling the light to throw a little further in either direction.

As you hold it toward the passage on the left,

The glow picks up something more than glinting limestone.

If you're not mistaken,

Water refractions twist and glow against the walls of the tunnel.

Some body of water lies that way.

You feel the tug again at your torch.

The salamander wants you to take the path to the left,

To the water.

Will you find your mysterious alchemist there?

You go on.

By the light of the torch,

You discover the source of the water refractions almost immediately,

For the path transforms into something more like a bridge,

A human-made stair that spans across the length of a pool of water.

Under the light of your fire,

The black water takes on an undulating luminescence,

And you strain your eyes,

Attempting in vain to see the bottom.

Though the path is wide and sturdy,

You walk with extra caution.

You're mesmerized by the serene movement of the water.

How its reflection ripples across the walls of the cavern,

The sound of it lapping lightly against limestone.

Then the quality of the light changes,

And your eyes flick to the head of the torch,

Which is unmistakably dimmer than it was before.

The silent salamander,

With only a tilt of the head,

Manages to convey a message to you.

You understand that he's gone as far as he can go.

You won't deny that the prospect of losing your fiery friend concerns you.

It was good for a time to not be alone.

And what if you reach another fork in your path?

Do you trust your instincts enough to choose the right way to go?

With gratitude and more than a little reluctance,

You lower the torch toward the ground.

The fire reaches ever upward.

You feel its warmth acutely on your face.

The salamander leaps from the torch and onto the stone,

Little flames still flickering about his body and tail.

From your point of view,

He might be made of the fire itself,

A creature of change,

Impulse,

And passion.

You lower your head,

Hoping to convey your thanks for his company.

The next moment,

He whips round and scampers off,

Back the way you came.

You watch as the fiery,

Glowing shape of him recedes further out of sight,

Fading to an amber speck down the tunnel,

And finally disappearing.

You are alone again.

Now you turn to face the path that lies ahead.

Your torch only lights it so far.

Mystery awaits.

But perhaps so does your alchemist.

You close your eyes and think of fire.

Think of determination,

And passion,

And drive.

You call on fire for the courage to continue your strange adventure.

Opening your eyes,

You take a step forward.

And then,

Many things happen at once,

All in the space of an instant.

As your foot falls against the stone path,

It meets a shallow puddle of water,

Causing you to momentarily lose your balance.

You catch yourself quickly,

Binding steady footing again.

But in doing so,

You lose grip of the torch.

You try to fumble for it as it falls toward the ground,

But it slips through your fingers.

And,

To your dismay,

Over the side of the bridge,

Plunging into the pool of water and extinguishing on contact.

But your heart has no time to despair over the loss of the light.

For in the chaos of this moment,

Something changes.

From the unseen depths of the water,

There comes a bloom of greenish glow,

Bubbling from somewhere just below you,

And spreading within seconds to light the whole body of water in a cool,

Shimmering,

Blue-green aura.

That luminosity washes over the walls of the cavern until all is a coruscant aquamarine.

With the whole of the chamber alight,

You look toward the other end of the bridge that spans the water.

Your heart sinks to see that the path appears to end there.

You'll have to double back and into the darkness if you want to find your quarry.

But then,

She comes.

As if born of the glow and the depths,

The head and shoulders of a woman emerge from the water.

And it is from her that the sheer,

Bluish light originates and radiates.

Her skin is glass-like,

Iridescent,

And though it holds her shape distinctly,

It appears in constant motion and reflection.

It's as if.

.

.

No,

That's exactly it.

She is a being made entirely of water.

A wonder to behold.

You're looking for something,

She says in a voice as clear as a mountain stream.

As she speaks,

You perceive tiny ripples in the water around her,

The sound waves carried throughout the whole of her body.

For the vast pool is,

You understand,

All an extension of her.

Yes,

You say,

I am looking for the alchemist.

And at this,

The water maiden smiles.

No audible laughter sounds,

But still you see the tiny undulations in the pool,

As if she's inwardly chuckling.

You open your mouth to ask her what she finds so amusing,

But before you can get the words out,

She plunges once again beneath the surface of the water.

Or,

You suppose,

Her form dissolves into the shape of the pool.

You watch the amorphous source of the glow travel deeper,

Then disappear beneath the bridge you stand on.

You turn around just in time to see the woman's head resurface on the other side.

Can you help me,

You ask quickly,

Hoping to get your request in before she dives again.

Did they come this way,

The alchemist?

Oh yes,

She says in a playful tone.

How can I find them,

You ask.

But once again,

With a splash,

The maiden disappears into the pool.

You whirl around,

Awaiting her re-emergence,

But she does not appear immediately.

You look back the way you came,

Wondering if you should give up on securing her assistance and just turn back.

A drop of water,

Cool and unexpected,

Falls on your head,

Then another falls on the stone beside you,

Another on your shoulder,

Like the first drops of a gathering rain shower.

You hold out your hand,

Just in time to catch the next drop.

It too glows with that bluish-green incandescence.

As the next drop falls,

You squint,

Almost disbelieving what you see.

Each tiny bead of water that falls from the ceiling of the cavern is in the shape of the water maiden,

As if her very essence is manifest in every luminous drop.

You turn your eyes upward and marvel at what you see.

Water traveling up the walls of the chamber,

In glistening streams that crosshatch like webs,

Then trickling down from the zenith like rain.

The droplets gather in puddles beside your feet.

When you peer into their glowing,

Glassy surfaces,

You can see minute,

Feminine forms swimming within.

You're reminded of salamanders scampering in and out of the fire,

Beings made of fire.

Then the puddles collecting on the stone bridge join and splash,

Spilling back over the sides,

And the water maiden once again shows her smiling,

Mischievous face.

Now the object of your quest momentarily leaves you,

As curiosity and amazement cloud your mind.

You crouch down to come closer to this strange nymph.

Who are you,

You ask,

Your eyes aglow.

I am an undine,

She answers.

The very word undine melts into your mind,

Conjuring depth and movement,

Ripples,

Waves,

Fountains,

And the bubbling springs.

Undine.

We are spirits of the water,

Bringers of dreams,

Guides to the unconscious,

Keepers of memory.

You notice that her speech is less playful now,

And more musical,

Lulling.

As she speaks,

You feel your mind soften.

All thoughts of pursuing the alchemist fade into a pleasant buzz of obscurity.

Your shoulders relax and your body becomes light,

Almost floating.

With every honeyed word the undine utters,

A gilded,

Edged memory awakens within you.

Memories of childhood and adolescence,

Your life playing out like a familiar song,

And stranger memories too.

Dreamlike remembrances of the mythic you.

Ancient warrior,

Demigod,

Magician.

These blend together in your mind's eye,

Rewriting the story of your life,

Your lives.

You seem to swim through this fluid,

Mutable identity.

It is blissful,

In truth,

To ride the current through a thousand revisions and iterations.

And before long,

You find a willingness to succumb to the unconscious tide,

To become endlessly entangled in the cascade of collective memory.

All you need to do is let go,

Drift.

It's like falling asleep.

With ease,

You approach the point of surrender.

And then,

With the softest flutter of warmth,

The smallest inner flame of courage,

You reconnect to the stone beneath you and the cool air on your face.

And you turn back from that point of complete letting go.

You come back to the here and now,

Banishing countless past lives and mythic imaginings to the depths of your unconscious.

You realize that here,

In the material world,

You are leaning forward,

One arm outstretched toward the Undine,

Your silver wristlet picking up her serene glow.

You are reaching for the water.

You could stay,

She says,

Her voice lilting and sweet,

Though now with an edge of guile.

I can show you more,

Past,

Future.

The waters of memory run deep,

Hold many secrets.

You can't deny the offer is tempting,

To float,

Languid,

On the river of consciousness.

What arcane knowledge might you discover in that waving peace?

Wouldn't it be sublime,

You think,

To live in a dream?

And yet,

Something holds you back.

For what good are dreams without a waking world in which to apply their lessons?

And what if you're alchemist?

Would you end your journey here and forgo the object of your quest?

I cannot stay,

You say to the Undine.

I need to keep going.

Her glassy eyes are sorrowful,

But resolute.

She looks as if she might make one more plea.

Instead,

She holds out an arm,

A wavering hand,

And presses it to your cheek.

Her touch is cool,

Invigorating.

You feel renewed clarity,

A sensation opposed to the languor with which she tempted you.

But this is also one of water's great gifts.

It can cleanse and energize.

As she removes her hand from your face,

She smiles sadly,

And then she softens,

Dissolves back into the water.

You watch in wonder as the surface recedes,

The vast,

Deep pool seeming to shrink away,

To drain before you.

Water pulls back,

But does not entirely disappear,

So the Undine's glow remains as well.

In the quivering light,

Your next step is revealed,

A secret stairway leading downward from the end of the bridge.

Moving with caution and a mounting thrill,

You take the stone steps down,

Down,

Down.

At the bottom,

There is a small landing,

Water lapping at its edge.

When you reach the landing,

You notice carvings in the limestone wall before you,

Graven symbols.

Some,

Like a crescent moon and sunburst,

Are recognizable,

While others,

Bisected and inverted triangles and esoteric glyphs,

You've never seen before.

In your presence,

Each of these carvings seem to emit a ghostly white light.

At the very center,

The largest of the carvings,

Is a circle enclosed by a square,

Enclosed by a triangle,

Then another circle.

And all this,

This matrix of symbols,

Is contained by the glowing perimeter of what must be a door.

You trace your fingers along the carvings,

For there is no knob or knocker to be seen.

There must,

However,

Be some way through.

You're sure of it.

The outer grooves of the central geometric icon appear to be deeper set than the rest,

You notice.

And so you place a hand firmly upon the inner circle.

Then,

With confidence,

You press against it.

The stone yields to your touch,

Pushing inward with a smooth scraping sound.

And a deeper rumble follows,

As the whole door pulls slowly back,

Revealing a recess in the rock.

The steps continue,

Bleeding deeper down into the mountain.

Before you go on,

You steal a glance back at the settling waters.

The Undine does not show her face,

But the surface glitters playfully,

And you imagine it's her way of encouraging you onward.

You are close now.

You can feel it.

You take the steps down.

It is dark on the stair,

But your eyes have adjusted,

It seems,

To the darkness.

Either that,

Or a faint light source exists that you cannot yet identify.

Whatever the case,

You can well make out the next few steps before you,

But little else.

Down and down and down you travel for a long time.

But just as your joints begin to groan from the descent,

Your feet find steady ground.

You are deep within the belly of the earth now,

You think.

And there ahead,

Some furlong away,

There is a reddish-orange light,

Fire,

Or something like it.

Aware of a more acute and tingling sense of déjà vu,

You move toward the glow,

Almost gliding toward it across the rugged stone.

As you draw near,

You perceive silhouettes that move against the light,

Passing before it now and then.

Shadows loom in its throw.

Human figures,

If you're not mistaken.

Have you at last discovered the hiding place of the alchemist?

But as you approach the fire,

You find that it is not a fire,

But a forge.

A pit of molten metal that shifts and bubbles and burns.

And those figures,

Which cast such hulking shadows,

Are in fact tiny men and women,

So small they might scarcely come up to your knees.

They are lit softly from below by the warm glow of the forge,

And you note their studious expressions.

All are absorbed in activity,

Tinkering,

Tempering,

Metalworking.

A recurrent knocking sound,

Which echoes faintly all around you,

Alerts you to their presence,

Further off,

Perhaps in the tunnels,

Mining the ore of the mountain.

You watch as one of the little folk carries a vessel of ore pieces,

Gripped in iron tongs,

Over to the pit,

Holding it there to melt the metals.

Beads of sweat form on his brow,

But his hands are ever steady.

And now it occurs to you who these beings are.

You've met the Undine,

Nymph of the water,

Salamanders,

Creatures of the fire.

Before you even set foot in the cave,

You felt the presence of the representatives of the air,

Sylphs.

All of these magical entities belong to one of the four elements,

The building blocks of the natural world and the matter of alchemy.

The ones before you now,

These diminutive spirits,

Are the folk of the earth.

They are gnomes.

And surely,

As they are working so diligently in the forge,

Toiling with metals and transformative fire,

They must know the whereabouts of your unseen alchemist.

So,

You step forward into the light and you utter a greeting.

A dozen tiny gnomes pause their labors and two dozen dark,

Shining eyes look to you.

The gnome closest to you sets down his tools and stands,

Then lowers his head briefly in something like reverence.

You're here,

He says,

A note of relief in his voice,

Safe and sound.

How curious you think that the little gnome knows you,

Was expecting you.

Are they servants of the alchemist?

Are you at last going to find the architect of your dreamlike descent?

I'm looking for the alchemist,

You say with firm confidence.

You pray the gnomes have answers and not just trickery or further trials up their sleeves.

But a chuckle rises and ripples through their ranks.

What is it,

You ask,

Feeling once more left out of the joke.

Why do you laugh?

The chortling subsides and the gnome before you clears his throat.

It's just that,

He begins,

The alchemist is here.

A tingle runs up your spine and a rush of excitement.

Where,

You say,

Turning all the way around,

Searching with your eyes.

But you see no other human form.

Can it be that one of the gnomes is the one you seek?

The laughter comes again but quickly diminishes.

I'm sorry,

Says the gnome.

We don't mean to laugh.

We know you can't help it.

The elixir alters your memory and it's been so very long.

At these words,

Something kindles deep inside you.

A stirring of knowledge locked away within,

Like faint wisps of wind or light through a keyhole.

You look down at your hands,

At the silver bracelets,

The serpents who devour the tips of their own tails.

Then you look to the forge,

Burning bright in the heart of the mountain.

Suddenly,

You understand the nagging sense of deja vu that's held you in its grasp since the moment you awoke.

You've been here before.

You've traveled this path before.

Once.

Twice.

Perhaps a thousand times.

You've been swept along the winds of fate,

The tides of memory,

The flames of ambition.

You've arrived here again and again at this deepest place in the belly of the earth.

All at once,

It's as if floodgates open in your mind,

The barriers self-imposed,

Breaking down.

Your head fills with symbols and complex equations,

The memories of a thousand experiments.

Your body remembers the twists and turns of this mountain labyrinth,

The shape of the veins of ore that run through its rocks.

This is your mountain.

You are the one you seek.

You are the alchemist.

And with this realization,

You remember your calling,

The knowledge and transformation you so ardently crave.

You've no interest in riches or immortal life on earth.

You are after a deeper alchemy,

An alchemy of the soul.

This journey,

One you've repeated now countless times,

Is your magnum opus,

The purification of yourself from the lofty winds above to the solid ground below.

This is the endless quest for the transmutation of your soul.

Sylph,

Salamander,

Undine,

And Gnome,

These are your elemental companions.

They are guides,

Stewards,

Bestowers of trials.

So many times you've failed their tests,

Succumbed to temptation,

Lost yourself in fear,

Desire,

Regret,

And ambition.

You've turned back from the entrance of the cave,

Stolen away the tools of the workshop,

Become lost on the current of the unconscious.

And upon each failure you drank the elixir of forgetting,

Like the waters of the river leafy.

Upon each failure you woke again on the side of the mountain,

Without your memories,

To start the trials again.

With each waking you looked to the serpents encircling your wrists,

Lead and copper and tin and silver,

Always different,

Never gold.

Now standing among the gnomes before the forge in the belly of the mountain,

You wonder,

Have you at last passed every trial?

You are tugged from these thoughts by the voice of the gnome before you.

It's good that you've come now,

He says,

Gesturing to another to join him.

She scuffles over,

Clutching a basket in her hands.

It's something we found in the mines,

Something new.

You peer into the basket,

In the glow of the forge,

The contents,

Irregular pieces of ore,

Glimmer and reflect against each other,

So they almost seem lit from within.

With such effect,

It's hard to perceive whether they are black,

Or purest white,

Or a deep red.

It's the ore of a metal you've never seen.

Your breath deepens and your heart skips a beat.

The gnomes have turned up a new material,

A new essence.

We've melted some of it down,

Continues the gnome,

And found that it behaves rather strange,

Not like anything we've seen before.

The thrill,

The ache for knowledge,

A new substance with unusual behavior,

Mined from the depths of a mountain,

Steeped in magic.

This could be the key,

You think,

That unlocks the secret you have so long pursued.

It could be the key to creating the philosopher's stone,

To changing matter at the fundamental level,

To a universal solvent,

A universal cure.

But as you gaze covetously at the pieces of ore,

The glint and flicker of the metal stirs up a recent memory.

It reminds you of the way the Undine's glassy eyes glistened as she offered you eternity.

This is,

You recognize,

Another test.

Your heart aches for there is nothing so tempting as an easy answer.

How many times have you dreamt of the philosopher's stone simply falling into your lap?

But alchemy,

And indeed the very experiment of humanity,

Is not the domain of the easy.

It is all in the work.

To toil,

Study,

Try,

Fail,

Test,

Adjust,

Conclude,

Transform,

And begin again.

This is the process.

It is the great work.

Turning away from the shining ore,

You reach for the leather cord that hangs from your neck.

Until now,

You'd forgotten it was there,

Not noticed it tucked within your clothes.

A small glass vial hangs from its end,

Filled with a pale glittering liquid,

The elixir of forgetting.

You unstopper the vial,

Breathe in a deep resounding peace,

Hold it to your lips,

And drink.

Dawn breaks over the peaks with threads of peach and periwinkle,

Twinkling through droplets of mist.

All sparkles behind your eyelids in the moments before you wake,

Stirring softly under morning's kiss of moisture.

In the breath of time before you open your eyes,

That impossibly brief,

Yet achingly long breath of time,

Dream images swim and swirl in your mind,

Mingling with your memories to spin whole myths of your existence.

In that span of time,

You are an ancient warrior,

A demigod,

Magician,

And more,

Fresh from wild adventure and feats of daring do.

And then you open your eyes,

And you are you.

Your soul returns from parts unknown,

The dreaming country,

And fills your body once more,

As if pouring in through the crown of your head,

Lighting up the sleepy spaces of your neck and shoulders,

Trickling down into your fingertips,

Into your hips and legs,

Into your toes.

You are you,

And you are here upon a mountainside,

All as tranquil and strangely familiar,

As if your deepest self knows this place.

You notice a substantial weight on your wrists,

And you look down at them.

Banded around each one is a thick bracelet,

Each depicts a serpent with seemingly hand-engraved scales,

Holding the tip of its own tail in its mouth.

You rotate your wrists before your eyes,

Watching the glint of sunrise against the solid gold.

A cloud of mist moves across the valley.

The mountain sings in harmony with itself.

And all you feel is wholeness and peace.

Take a deep breath in,

And settle into a comfortable position.

Let your limbs be heavy,

Your face soft,

And your mind open.

Bring your awareness to your body,

The sensation of the body lying on the support beneath you.

Feel the points of contact between your body and the surface grounding here.

Breathe and relax.

I invite you to visualize a sunrise,

Threads of light making their way over the eastern horizon.

Notice the colors that break over the edge of the light softens against clouds.

Visualize a gentle breeze rustling through the trees of a vast forest,

The dawn tinging the forests and the treetops with gold.

Imagine the clouds drifting by,

Casting their shadows on the earth below.

Drink in the tranquility of the scene,

And let your body feel light.

As light is missed,

Let the wind carry you.

If you like,

Imagine what wind would look like if you could see it with your eyes.

Drift,

Soften.

Let the body feel light,

And breathe in clarity,

Peace,

Wisdom,

And wonder.

Now let that go.

In your mind's eye,

Visualize a flickering flame,

A burning candle,

Or a crackling campfire.

Watch the interplay of color at the core of the flame.

The blues,

Whites,

Yellows that dance amid the amber light.

Let your body feel warm,

Soft and easy,

Inviting tingling sensations from your toes to the crown of your head.

Breathing in courage,

Passion,

Dedication,

And a willingness to transform.

Kindle a spark within,

Soften,

And let that go.

Now I invite you to visualize a body of water,

Ocean waves lapping the shore,

Or a tranquil lake glistening under the sun.

The water in constant motion,

Whether in roaring waves or tiny ripples.

Breathe with that motion,

Acknowledging the constancy of your body and breath,

All the muscle memory you carry in this body,

And all the history you hold in your mind.

Soften into the undulation of your breath,

The cycles of inhale and exhale,

Washing away any unnecessary thoughts,

Mental or emotional or physical tension.

Wash it away on the tide.

Remember that all things within,

Without,

Above,

Below,

Move in cycles.

Let that go.

And finally,

Visualize the land,

A peaceful forest glade,

A rocky mountaintop,

Or a grassy plain.

Feel the earth beneath you,

Feel the roots of the trees,

The seeds ready to sprout.

Watch how the light changes the landscape of your inner eye.

Listen to the songs of the stones and the flowers.

Breathe in stability,

Support,

And also the energy of growth,

Of slumber and rebirth.

Feel the life cycles of plants and the growth of crystals and metals in the profoundest depths.

Let your body feel blissfully heavy,

Sinking into your support.

And let that go.

Breathe in the clarifying energies of air.

Breathe out.

Breathe in the transformative energy of fire.

Breathe out.

Breathe in the intuitive energy of water.

Breathe out.

Breathe in the grounding energy of earth.

Breathe out.

Connect the cycles of your breath.

Inhale flowing seamlessly into exhale,

To inhale again,

Moving through the complementary energies of the classical elements,

Letting the breath nourish your body and purify your mind.

In sleep,

We alchemize these energies,

Restoring the body and the mind,

Harmonizing the above,

The below,

Without,

Within.

Breathe.

Good night.