The Dream Sanctuary

Experience the healing power of dreams in this bedtime story inspired by Greek mythology and history.

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 body scan for rest and healing.

In tonight's story,

You make a pilgrimage to the famous temple of Asclepius,

Greek god of medicine.

While there,

You amble through the breathtaking landscape,

Soak in the healing waters,

And make offerings to honor the god and ask for his blessing.

As the day ends,

You find rest in the Dream Sanctuary,

Where you experience a healing dream encounter with one of the gods.

Oh sleep,

Oh gentle sleep,

Nature's soft nurse.

William Shakespeare Dew-kissed cypress scents the breeze,

A fragrance so cool,

Green,

And cleansing,

It seems to rinse your very soul.

How clear the air is here,

All these leagues and days of arduous travel from your home in Olympia.

You've watched the countryside evolve as you've walked,

Expanding and unfolding from the cramped,

Clogged arteries of the metropolis to the sweeping,

Breathtaking vistas and open landscapes.

It's as if the external change has reflected in your own body too.

With each step away from the city,

Your breathing has become easier,

Your head clearer.

The city is an extraordinary,

Stimulating place to live and learn,

But there is value you are coming to understand in resetting amid mountain and forest,

Breathing the salty,

Fresh air of the sea.

It feels like shedding your skin,

Cleansing your mind and body.

The cypress trees grow taller here than in the sparing groves of your home city.

They have more space to stretch,

And the sky seems higher.

Some of the trees are so monumental that their spiral crowns dissolve into the low hovering mists of the morning.

Soon,

You'll approach the site.

Already your surroundings have the aura of sacredness,

Your fingers tingle with anticipation and the dizzying flutter of hope.

You are not the first to make such a journey.

Pilgrims like you travel from all over the world to visit the Asclepion,

The healing sanctuary of Asclepius,

God of medicine.

The temple welcomes supplicants who seek relief from physical,

Emotional,

And spiritual ailments.

You've heard stories from such pilgrims on their return to Olympia,

Of miraculous healing waters,

Cleansing potions,

And transformative dreams.

For too long you held off on making the journey yourself,

Convinced you had too many obligations in the city,

Or that you would not experience the same healing as others.

You went on doing your work,

Making your offerings at the temple of Zeus,

And thanking the gods for the modest comfort of the life you live.

Gratitude is one of your foundational principles,

And it keeps you grounded in the good fortune you've known,

But always you've wondered what it would be like to feel relief from that which ails you.

The first step of any journey is always the hardest to take.

To leave the city and your loved ones behind,

Even for a little while,

Knowing the length and arduousness of the voyage took enormous courage.

Yet with every step you take nearer to this sacred site,

The more refined your intentions become,

The more ardently you affirm that you've made the right decision.

As the sun breaches the mists,

You overcome the gradual crest of a hill,

And your breath catches in awe.

Here you have the first glimpse of white marble and limestone,

And a spectacular elevated view of the entire complex.

There are glittering green spaces,

Shining streams,

And a network of curved walkways between buildings.

You can even see,

Like little specks from this distance,

People milling up and down those walkways,

Some under the shade of healthy pines.

Pilgrims and priests,

You suppose.

It's like a city in miniature,

You reflect,

With its structures and avenues,

But there's a freshness and openness about the complex that's unmatched in the cramped and crowded streets of Olympia.

This is a place designed to integrate seamlessly with the natural landscape,

Its curves effortlessly echoing the slope of the mountains,

And the whole place surrounded,

Enclosed by towering trees.

You are ready.

You begin to move slowly down the other side of the hill,

Where a rough path emerges,

Guiding you toward the gates.

Shrubs and trees grow sparely along the path,

Richly scenting the air.

The massive marble gates are within reach,

But there is something ahead in the path,

What might be a simple pile of stones or a rudimentary shrine.

As you approach,

You discover that the obstruction in the path is in fact a modest well.

You peer over the edge and catch your reflection,

As well as the sparkling suns in the water.

There can be only one explanation for its placement at such an auspicious spot.

So you reach a hand into the well,

Wet your fingers,

And gently touch your forehead with the cool water.

You utter a short prayer to Asclepius,

Asking that he grant you entry and healing in this holy place.

This simple gesture is an initiation of sorts,

An act of delineating the profane outer world from the sacred ground upon which you are about to step.

In asking for blessing from the well and the site's patron,

You have cleansed and prepared yourself for entry.

Already you feel lighter,

Softened somehow.

You move forward.

And now at last you reach the gates.

They almost gleam in the lengthening morning sun,

As majestic as the ceremonial gates at the temple of Zeus,

And for all you know,

Of Athena,

Which sits on the Acropolis in Athens.

There are dazzling columns,

Some unadorned,

And others topped with decorative acanthus leaves.

You climb the steps and pass through the arches,

Briefly moving under their shade and into the sunlight once again.

You have arrived.

A sigh of relief escapes your lips at the promise of rest and healing.

The environment within the gates is undoubtedly serene.

The mountains beyond fade into a comforting ridge of bluish-gray,

And birdsong dances on the breeze.

You're quite sure you can hear the dulcet strains of a harp coming from somewhere,

But you're unable to identify the direction.

A youthful,

Modestly robed man is coming down the path toward you,

A warm smile across his face.

He greets you with words of kind welcome,

And extends an arm toward you,

Which you take,

Grateful for the support after your long journey.

You learn that the young man,

Leukos,

Is a physician,

And that he'll gladly guide you through the Asclepion.

There's much to experience,

But it's best done at a slow pace as you begin your journey.

Leukos sees to it that the few belongings you've carried with you are safely taken to the dormitories.

Very soon,

He insists,

You'll have the opportunity to rest and recover from your travels.

But first,

A visit to the Temple of Asclepius is the first ritual pilgrims are expected to undergo.

The temple stands not far from the complex gates and is hewn in the same marble and limestone.

Flanked by a cypress grove,

You find that its stately columns and delicate ornamentation rival the elegance of the Olympian Temple of Zeus.

Leukos helps you climb the steps and enter the temple,

A quiet and unoccupied space.

Central,

And lit from beneath by dozens of candles,

Is a sculpture of the god himself,

Larger than life.

His bearded face is kind,

You think.

This is evident,

Even hewn from ivory.

Robes richly pigmented with gold hang on his shoulders and he leans on a sturdy staff.

Around this staff is twined a golden serpent.

This symbol of the snake wrapped around a rod is synonymous with the god of medicine and recognizable across the known world.

Your heart softens to think of the journey you've made to get here,

How grateful you are to be welcomed to such a place.

Leukos must have seen your eyes traveling along the serpent coil because he says,

Do you know how Asclepius came to bear that staff?

Though you know the symbol by sight,

You do not know the tale,

Leukos explains.

He was the son of Apollo,

Most honored god of prophecy,

Healing,

And the arts.

The young Asclepius was a gifted and miraculous child.

He learned much from his divine father,

Of course,

But spent much of his training in the care of this centaur,

Chiron.

From Chiron,

Who also taught the greatest of the age of heroes,

He learned the art of medicine and the knowledge of the secret potions and poisons of the natural world.

Asclepius looked with fondness and curiosity on all creatures,

But none with more kindness than the snake who sheds his skin.

He once showed mercy to a snake,

Rescuing it from attack,

And in return for the kindness,

The animal whispered medicinal secrets in the god's ear.

It then twined itself round Asclepius's rod of cypress and became his constant companion.

You wonder what secrets the serpent might have shared with the young Asclepius,

What mysterious knowledge it held,

And you ponder the poetic significance of the creature.

Anything that sheds its skin,

Revealing a fresher,

More youthful self beneath,

Must easily be seen as a symbol of rebirth or resurrection.

Unlike a serpent nibbling at the end of its own tail,

A circle with no beginning or end,

You come seeking the prolonging of life and the refreshment of your health.

From his youth,

Glucose continues,

Asclepius went on to heal the sick,

Perform extraordinary cures and even bring the suffering back from the brink of death.

He became a greater healer even than his teachers,

Chiron and his father Apollo,

But most importantly he was generous with his wisdom.

Asclepius and his children,

Gods and goddesses of healing,

Taught mortals of the medicinal uses of plants and potions.

They let the healing springs bubble up from the earth.

They planted in us a curiosity and a will to experiment,

And they speak with us still through the natural world and through dreams.

Before embarking on your pilgrimage,

You knew that you would be expected to make an offering at the temple of Asclepius.

Even now you see a dozen or more small,

Clay votive offerings scattered at the feet of the statue.

They are each in the shape of a human attribute,

An ear,

A hand,

An arm,

Each a representation of the feature a visitor hopes for the god to heal.

With a few words of muttered prayer,

You kneel before the statue and place your own votive offering,

Representing that part of you,

Inside or out,

Most in need of healing.

It feels cathartic to lay such a thing at the feet of the gods and the physicians of this place.

After your visit to the temple,

You are led to the dormitories,

Where there is time to rest and recover from your journey.

Fresh fruit and wholesome foods are brought to you,

And a healthy meal restores some of your strength.

Your official program begins tomorrow.

Until then,

You are welcome to sleep,

Explore the grounds,

Or spend your time as you like.

You are grateful for the respite,

As eager as you are to take advantage of the many wonderful things the Asclepion has to offer.

You have a feeling that a slow-paced introduction will be the most restorative way to ease into your new surroundings.

So as the afternoon wanes,

You relax in your private quarters,

Drifting nearer and nearer to the edge of sleep,

Listening to the buzz of cicadas outside the window.

A low breeze soon brings the scent of jasmine flowers at the onset of evening.

You decide that a stroll through the grounds will do you good before turning in for the night.

The pastoral charm of the Asclepion and its surroundings are heightened by the sparkling halcyon of the sinking sun.

All the countryside,

The mountains,

And the forests are bathed in gold and purple shimmers.

You walk along the avenues,

Under pine and cypress,

Which twist about the complex.

There are smaller temples on the way,

One dedicated to Artemis,

Goddess of the hunt,

And a sanctuary of Aphrodite,

The radiant goddess of love.

Your statue,

Which you can glimpse from the steps,

Is painted with the most luxurious hues.

The empty amphitheater,

Romantic and haunting at this hour,

Rings back the echo of your footfalls.

You imagine the kind of revelries that might take place here.

And extravagant festivals dedicated to Dionysus,

As in the great cities.

Or quieter gatherings,

Where delicate strains of music waft through the complex,

Bringing restorative vibrations to the pilgrims and patients.

Slowly and deep in contemplation,

You return to your quarters,

Lingering here and there to watch the dance of a moth,

Or take in the scent of jasmine and pine.

By the time you reach the dormitory,

The sun has disappeared behind the mountains,

Leaving only a thin crest of crimson along the ridge.

The moon,

Meanwhile,

Waxes across the sky in her silver chariot.

You sleep comfortably,

And you dream that your bed becomes the cup of a crocus flower,

With saffron threads brushing your face and hair.

Those golden threads turn to amber sunshine,

Gently sweeping across your cheeks as you stir.

You awaken,

Feeling a heaviness in your limbs that must be the sinking in of your many days of travel.

How beautifully the body persists when in the middle of a long journey,

Men entirely surrenders at the journey's end.

Attendants bring a nourishing breakfast to your room,

Along with a pitcher of the cleanest,

Purest water you've ever drunk,

Surely captured right at the bubbling source of a spring.

You feel energized,

Ready to begin your day.

So much remains unknown,

But you find Lukos,

The warm and welcoming guide,

Awaiting you when you leave the colonnaded shelter.

For all visitors to the Asclepion,

You learn,

The first full day consists of various activities intended for purifying the mind and body.

This is to prepare you for the culmination of your stay,

A process known as incubation,

Through which the god Asclepius,

Or one of his children,

Will visit your dreams.

In this somnolent encounter with the divine,

You will receive therapeutic wisdom and instructions for your healing journey.

This morning,

The complex is considerably more bustling than it was on your moonlit stroll last night,

But there is a serene,

Dreamlike quality about the place.

Other pilgrims,

Priests,

And physicians move around the grounds with an effortless ease,

As if they float,

Dancing on the aromatic atmosphere.

Lukos escorts you to the bathing house,

Where a cleansing bath will be prepared for you.

You enter a private chamber,

Decorated with columns and friezes depicting the tales of Asclepius and Apollo.

There is a basin at the center of the room.

Steam rises from the water that fills it,

Carrying the fragrance of bay laurel and lemon balm along with other scents you can't identify,

But are immediately both pleasing and clarifying.

Almost alone,

You descend the limestone steps into the bath,

Feeling your skin prickle as it meets the heat of the water.

You sink into the herb-infused bath,

Breathing deeply of the aroma and letting your gaze become soft.

The steam from the surface ripples across your eyeline,

So that when you look upon the marble frieze opposite you,

It's almost as if the three-dimensional pictures move,

Playing out the stories of the gods.

You can see the grateful serpent twining itself round the rod of Asclepius.

Chiron the centaur cultivating medicinal plants.

Apollo teaching his mysteries to the priestesses of Delphi.

The daughters of Asclepius.

You recognize Hygeia,

Goddess of hygiene,

Panacea,

Goddess of cures,

And Acheso,

The goddess of the healing process,

Among others.

You soak there in the purifying bath,

Letting the oils from the herbs open your pores and moisturize your skin.

With each deep breath you take in,

You feel your capacity for breath increase,

Your strength improve.

And with each long slow exhale,

You feel the ache and soreness of travel dissipate,

Leaving your body a little bit at a time.

Your mind untangles too,

Like the knots in your muscles.

You find yourself releasing,

Little by little,

Your fears,

Your worries,

Your regrets.

You are here,

Now,

Centered and fantastically relaxed.

You're not sure how much time passes as you soak.

The water never seems to lose its heat,

And instead your body equalizes to its temperature,

So you hardly know where you end and the liquid begins.

You are able to let go,

Soften completely,

And melt into the purifying water.

But the time does come for you to be collected.

And though you're reluctant to leave the bath,

Your cheeks flushed and mind at ease,

You feel a sense of sublime trust in the whole process.

You are robed in finer garments than you typically wear,

Clean,

Fresh textiles that feel soft and comforting against your skin.

Glucose brings you out into the grounds,

Where the sun is high and bright.

He shepherds you into the communal dining hall,

Where a midday meal is served to all the pilgrims to the site.

Here the atmosphere is cheerful,

Yet subdued,

As all your company are similarly engaged in quiet,

Relaxing activities.

You spend the day moving through various stages in the purification rite,

Listening to the music of a harper in the theater,

The soft breeze tickling the back of your neck,

A moment of prayer at the temple of Artemis,

An hour seated beneath a towering cypress in the grove.

This somehow is the most moving activity of the day.

With your back against the sturdy trunk of the tree,

The fluttering melodies of birdsong in your ears,

And the bright aroma of the forest awakening your senses,

You feel deeply supported by the tree and by the soft earth beneath you.

With your eyes closed,

You seem to absorb the tree's subtle vibrations,

Which manifest as vague,

Seemingly disconnected messages that sound in the depths of your soul.

Bend,

Says cypress.

Thrive.

Reach.

Burrow.

Be wild.

Embrace solitude.

Carry the torch.

Heal.

When you leave the grove,

It's bittersweet,

But you carry a new charge of energy,

As if the tender touch of the tree restored you in some way.

Now the day is passing swiftly into purple dusk.

Only one more rite of initiation awaits.

You'll be taken to the Abaton,

The dream sanctuary.

There,

You'll sleep and await a visit from the gods.

Down the winding path of pines,

Under the emerging stars you go,

Following your torch-bearing guide to a central rotunda.

Once you enter the structure through its decorative archway,

You move through the curves of the corridors,

Turning here and there,

Traveling deeper into the center of the building.

It is like a labyrinth,

You think,

And your mind blurs at the edges,

Surrendering to the inner paths,

Intricate patterns.

At the center,

Or what feels like the center,

Is the sanctuary,

A chamber made for rest.

It is simple and unadorned,

At least that's how it appears.

The torchlight of your guide is the only illumination within.

There is a bed at its center,

This also without ornament,

But made up with blankets and cushions that look marvelously inviting.

Soon you're left alone.

The torchlight dwindles as its bearer departs,

Leaving only a gentle spill from the doorway.

And soon this is gone,

And there is darkness,

Still and reassuring.

You climb into the bed,

Making yourself as comfortable as possible under the covers.

Here at the heart of the sanctuary,

You might be at the very center of the world.

The day's activities hum in your fingers and toes.

Your whole body relaxes into place.

Your eyes flicker closed,

And the darkness of the sanctuary gives way to the canvas of your imagination.

You can see the steam from the bath,

The wind through the pines,

The fallen leaves of cypress.

You can only hope that you are visited this night,

Like so many others,

By the god of medicine,

Or one of his sons or daughters.

But already,

In such a beautiful,

Natural place,

You have felt the strong hand of healing upon your heart.

Something in you has already been restored.

With steady breaths,

And the mind open to whatever awaits beyond the sleep threshold,

You let yourself drop down,

Level by level,

Into sleep.

There is a lake,

And you are standing on the shore,

Among the tall,

Evergreen trees.

You might be one of the trees.

A mist plumes over the surface of the water,

And all is green and gray beneath a cloud-muddled sun.

You look down toward your feet.

But instead of feet,

There are only roots,

Exposed over the earth.

In the gaps between them,

Little crocuses bloom,

Violet,

Yellow,

And white,

Each opening to show the golden threads within.

A wind rises from behind you,

And you feel your body quiver and bend,

Then settle,

Stronger than before,

Into place.

It's a strength and resilience you're not sure you've ever known.

You stand tall,

Feeling your feet in the earth and your head in the sky.

You reach out with your fingertips to enjoy the breeze through them.

The mist over the lake rolls endlessly onward,

And ripples stir in the blush and blue surface of the water.

You can hear quiet footsteps from somewhere,

But you haven't much will to turn and look to discover who's coming through the trees.

You're comfortable in the knowledge that they'll show themselves eventually,

And that they are a friend.

The sky lightens as the clouds shift,

And soon the mystery footsteps draw nearer.

She comes into view,

A maiden in gray robes with long auburn hair.

Atop her head is a crown woven from herbs and flowers.

You recognize the blue-green leaves of sage and feathery yellow flowers of alicampane.

She carries a pitcher under one arm.

The maiden kneels at the shore of the lake and lowers the pitcher to fill it with water.

Then she rises and turns to face you.

Her eyes are lovely and kind and familiar.

Her presence warms you,

Seeming to tinge the skies and mist with an edge of violet.

She comes closer and places her free hand against your heart.

You're reminded of the sensation of sitting against the cypress tree.

A restorative,

Mind-opening tranquility washes over you,

And with it,

A series of messages.

You understand,

Innately,

That the maiden is Akeso,

Daughter of Asclepius and goddess in her own right,

But her domain is unique.

She is not the goddess of miracle cures or medicines,

But of healing and recovery as a lifelong process.

She is not the cure,

But the curing.

She is the catalyst,

The agent,

The initiator.

You,

With your feet in the ground and your head in the sky,

Are equal participant in the journey of healing.

The goddess tips her pitcher slowly,

Allowing the lake water to fall over your feet,

Your roots,

Which soak it up like a healing elixir.

You look down to see the crocus flowers open wider and moss grow over your roots.

You feel strong and soft at ease.

You thrive,

Feeling the water rise through your roots and into the trunk of your body,

Easing pain,

Tension,

And soreness away.

You look up to your hands,

Which reach skyward and you see,

Instead,

Branches and deep green sprays of foliage.

You sense the spiral twist of your body,

An ever-reaching,

Ever-rinsing stance.

Where the goddess's hand touched you,

There is a spark of tender warmth.

She stays with you,

Watching the mists roll over the lake.

You understand that she will remain with you when you wake,

And through every step of the healing journey that begins in the morning.

You know there will be challenges,

But for the first time in your life,

You feel resilient enough to face them.

With the goddess by your side,

You will come to alchemize pain and grief into beauty and endless gratitude.

The wind comes again.

You bend.

Open your body and find a comfortable position where you can be still for a while on your way to sleep tonight.

Take in a deep breath and let that breath flow into all corners of your body,

Lighting up the muscles and joints.

Feel the scalp and temples open.

Release all tension,

Pain,

And discomfort leaving the space of your head.

Unfurl your brow.

Feel yourself opening up.

Soften the muscles of the face,

The mouth.

Unclench your jaw if you're clenching.

Replace tightness everywhere with softness,

Consciously releasing.

Feel how relaxing the muscles of your jaw and temples releases all other parts of the body.

How all is connected.

One system,

All together.

You might find an intention,

Or a mantra now.

A few words to hold to as a deep resolve.

Say it to yourself,

Out loud or in your mind.

In the present tense,

As if it's already true.

If nothing comes to mind,

You can use.

I walk the path of healing.

Say your mantra to yourself three times,

In your mind or out loud.

Then,

Let it go.

The muscles of the neck and shoulders release and soften.

Letting go of tension,

Discomfort,

Pain,

Anything that hurts or strains.

Let go.

Release and soften your shoulders and the muscles connecting your shoulders to your neck,

Your arms and your back.

Bring your awareness to your chest,

To the space across your heart and ribcage.

Let the breath feel the lungs and the belly.

Surrender to the natural waves of your breath.

Each inhale sending healing energy to all corners of the body.

Each exhale carrying away stored tension,

Hurt,

And worry.

Let your heart feel light.

Let healing energy radiate from within your heart,

In and out with the breath.

If your heart is hurting,

Be gentle with it.

Breathe and trust your heart.

Know it sustains you and carries all your potential for love and deep,

Deep feeling.

Cherish it.

Feel the muscles of your arms soften.

Feel the joints of your shoulders,

Elbows,

Wrists,

And fingers become loose and fluid and smooth.

Send the healing breath to the individual joints,

Carrying any pain or stress from the joints out on your exhale,

As though you're clearing away cobwebs,

Sweeping them outside.

Let them go.

Now send the healing breath into the belly,

Releasing any pain or discomfort or worry.

If anything is tying your stomach into knots,

Let the breath gently loosen that knot,

Unfurling it like the bloom of a crocus and sweeping away the cause,

Letting it ride out on the wave of your exhale.

Let the healing breath flow into your back,

Untangling the points of tension,

Relieving the pressure,

And exhaling any negative emotions that may cause you to strain.

Send the breath and healing energy into your pelvis and legs.

Soften the lower abdomen.

Acknowledge any pain you may feel in the pelvis.

Breathe into it.

Breathe into the hip points,

Into any tension,

Tightness,

Or strain in the hips.

As you send the breath to soften that space,

Recognize and release any emotions or vulnerabilities stored in the hips or hip flexors.

Carry those emotions out on the wave of your breath.

Soften and release the thighs,

And breathe healing into the joints of the knees,

Recognizing how much your knees bear.

Thank them,

And let them soften.

Embrace relief.

Breathe and exhale negativity,

Pain,

Discomfort.

Breathe into the lower legs and the ankles,

Sending any strain out by clearing out cobwebs,

Making way for constructive connections and rejuvenation.

Breathe into the soles of the feet and feel any soreness or exhaustion melt.

Send healing breath into the joints of the toes,

Waves of healing in,

Waves of negativity out.

Return to your mantra,

If you set one.

Repeat it once more in your mind,

And let it go.

Let the breath flush through the body,

Rinsing from the top of your head and radiating outward from the sweetness of your heart,

Where the goddess's hand touched you.

Soften.

Rinse.

Relax.

May your dreams tonight be the first step in a journey of healing.

Blessed Be.