Medusa Redeemed | Greek Mythology Sleep Story

Redeem the memory of Medusa in tonight’s sleep story, inspired by Greek mythology. In tonight’s story, you are an immortal Olympian – a member of the Greek Pantheon. You visit a deserted island where the memories of an ancient past are forever bound in stone. Here, you intend to right the wrongs of your past, makes amends, and to redeem the story of a figure forever remembered as monstrous: Medusa.

Includes a meditation for vulnerability.

Music: A Glimpse of Avalon by Flouw, Gentle Winds by Ethan Sloan, Via Epidemic Sound

Transcript

Redeem the memory of Medusa in tonight's sleep story,

Inspired by Greek mythology.

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.

Follow along with my voice for as long as it serves you,

And when you're ready,

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

If you're still awake as the story concludes,

I'll guide you through a meditation for rest and vulnerability.

In tonight's story,

You are an immortal Olympian,

A member of the Greek pantheon.

You visit a deserted island where the memories of an ancient past are forever bound in stone.

Here you intend to right the wrongs of your past,

Make amends,

And redeem the story of a figure forever remembered as monstrous,

Medusa.

This story is a retelling of classical myths surrounding Medusa and the Gorgons.

I've taken a number of liberties with the sources to offer an adaptation that fits the tone of Sleep and Sorcery,

But some of the themes of this tale may skew a bit mature for younger listeners.

If you listen with kids,

Parental discretion is advised.

I saw you once,

Medusa.

We were alone.

I looked you straight in the cold eye.

Cold.

I was not punished.

I was not turned to stone.

How to believe the legends,

I am told.

May Sarton,

The Muse as Medusa There is no moon tonight,

And the tide is quiet.

You've been waiting for the dark moon to make this journey.

It was meant to be like this.

With wings outstretched,

You ride the winds of night,

Your feathers afloat through wisps and crystals of clouds.

All down the centuries,

You've honed the skill to change your shape.

The old gods,

Like yourself,

Are all but forgotten,

And your true,

Divine form would surely overcome the mortal mind.

So you slink among them,

In other skins,

Sometimes human,

Often animal.

Tonight you fly on the wings of your favorite creature,

The owl.

Your eyes are sharp,

Even in the dark of a moonless night.

The island lies ahead,

Just beyond the horizon.

All below you now is ocean,

Poseidon's domain.

Soaring,

You ponder the seas and sunken splendors.

Do kingfishers nest on the bubbling foam,

Tending their eggs on the waves?

Does fair Atlantis lie far beneath,

Where the waters shifted and rose to overtake that once great empire?

What else lies forgotten at the ocean's floor?

Your destination,

Too,

Is a forgotten place.

It never was easy to get there,

Especially for those without a drop of divine blood.

You recall the trials your champion,

Perseus,

Underwent just to come to its shores.

It lies to the far west,

At the frayed edges of night's starry cloak,

On the threshold,

Even,

Of Hades' dark domain.

How many moons have cycled since you set that champion toward this place.

If gods are ever truly young,

You might have called it your youth,

Though you sprung into existence fully formed.

Now you suppose,

By any measure,

You are old.

Old enough to remember the rise and fall of more than one civilization.

Old enough to forget the wars you once fought,

And on which side.

But you could never forget her.

You thank the wind for its subtle resistance on your wings,

Because though you are determined to make this journey,

A part of you aches to turn back.

As long as the wind blows against you,

There is still time to change your mind.

Steal yourself.

There is nothing there but ancient memory,

And gods do not fear memories.

It does at times amuse you,

What the collective memory of humankind holds onto,

And what it lets go.

Perhaps amuse is the wrong word.

Does it concern you?

Surprise you?

Should you be at all surprised that they seem to grasp onto the most sensational details,

Both exaggerating them and flattening them into their simplest forms?

When they remember her,

It is with word and image that could never express the multitudes,

The nuances of her existence.

When they hear her name,

Only one word comes to their lips.

Monster.

It's easier that way for them.

To truly know her,

Comprehend her,

Requires dwelling on the uncomfortable,

Confronting one's own prejudice,

And expanding perspective.

You should know,

You are the one responsible for how she's remembered,

And for all these ages you've wrestled with that fact.

Her name was Medusa,

And before that name inspired fear in the hearts of humanity,

It belonged to a young priestess.

In those days,

Temples to you were numerous and thriving.

Now most have crumbled into the sea,

Or else they are preserved as monuments to a distant past.

The young Medusa tended the olive grove beside your temple.

Supplicants who came to honor your shrine were often so entranced by her beauty that they forgot their devotion.

She didn't want this.

You know that now.

But in those days you had such little sympathy,

Even for those who served you most ardently.

And Medusa was uncommonly beautiful,

This was impossible to deny.

Though she kept her gaze lowered in the presence of your statue,

Anyone could see that her eyes sparkled like gems.

Even the veil of a priestess could not fully obscure her most exquisite attribute,

The curls of long black hair that hung down her back.

It helped that she was never boastful.

There were queens across Hellas who would proudly proclaim their beauty as rivaling goddesses and nymphs,

Just as there were mortals who claimed their talents outshone yours.

Medusa never made such insults,

So for a time you looked the other way,

As long as she tended the olive trees and kept her oath as priestess,

You would not interfere.

It was when she turned the head of Poseidon,

Lord of the Seas,

That she earned your wrath.

Burned by betrayal,

You turned on the fair priestess,

Taking that surpassing beauty from her.

The once soft skin turned to scales and leathery wings grew from the blades of her shoulders.

You transformed her lovely eyes,

So often downturned,

Into rueful weapons which none could look upon without being turned instantly to stone.

And her beautiful,

Obsidian hair,

This you turned to a tangled mess of snakes.

Stripped of her beauty and endowed with lethal gaze,

Medusa fled to the island on the far side of the ocean,

The edge of night,

And the known world.

There she found others like her,

Her sisters,

The Gorgons.

You never knew,

Perhaps never wanted to know,

If they were already there,

Waiting for her,

Mirrors of her own condition,

Or if somehow they evolved from her,

Splitting like cells to flank and protect her.

It wouldn't be the first time such a thing had happened,

One into three,

Or three into one.

You remember far-reaching Hecate with her triple face,

And that mother-daughter pair,

Demeter and Persephone,

Who,

With Hecate,

Were sometimes one and sometimes three.

And you have felt your own edges blur at times,

As if remembering a deep past when you had no name and were one with all the divine essence,

Before humanity learned to draw borders and categories,

Before even the Titans were the old gods and you the new.

This is the mystery so few understand,

That you,

The gods,

Were made in humankind's image,

Or perhaps not made,

But unmade.

You were once one thing,

One vast and unfathomable quintessence.

The coming of humanity broke that essence into pieces,

Shattered the indivisible one into a thousand faces.

Like the facets of a diamond,

Or the mist that hangs round after a rain to create arcing prisms,

You reflected against one another,

Casting illusions of new gods in endless permutations.

Each of you,

A unique composite of all the stories humans would ever tell,

All the archetypes they'd ever dream.

You weave in and out of each other,

Olympian or otherwise,

Morphing and transfiguring down the passage of time.

There were times you didn't know where one of you ended and the other began,

And the divisions didn't stop.

Even when you claimed your individual name,

The stories continued to split you into aspects and epithets.

Another version of you,

Another reflection for every mystery cult,

Every shrine,

Every temple.

Why should Medusa be any different?

As you fly now,

An eerie shimmer dances over the horizon.

It isn't far.

Your destination,

The island,

The once home to the Gorgons.

But your responsibility to Medusa doesn't end with her transformation.

Part of you wishes you could say it did.

You wish her escape to the Isle of the Gorgons was the end of her story,

And you could imagine for her a long and happy,

If isolated,

Life with her sisters,

Peace in the company of those who do not fear her appearance or power.

But alas,

There was only woe in store for poor Medusa.

When Perseus invoked your favor,

Something not easily denied to the children of Zeus,

You gave advice,

Gentle direction,

And critical information.

The young man,

Boy really,

Was on a quest to kill a Gorgon,

To destroy wretched Medusa.

You nudged him toward the ancient Graeae sisters,

Another three,

Whom he tricked into revealing the whereabouts of the Hesperides,

Three again,

Nymphs who guard the Orchard of Hera.

Throughout his winding journey,

Perseus collected gifts,

Artifacts,

Boons from the gods,

From Hades,

Lord of the underworld,

He was given a helmet of invisibility so he could approach the Gorgons unseen,

From Hermes,

The divine messenger and perpetual trickster,

Winged sandals to make him fleet of foot,

From Zeus,

The magic sword with which to do the deed,

And from you,

A shield,

Polished so keenly it shone like a mirror.

And with these gifts,

Though it pains you to remember your role,

Perseus accomplished his near-impossible task.

The burnished shield allowed him to look upon the reflection of Medusa's sleeping face without ever meeting her stony gaze.

The saga,

Long past,

Weighs heavy on your heart.

This is one of the banes of immortality,

To have eternity to wrestle with your wrongs and regrets.

You've slipped through cycles of apathy,

Certainly,

But Medusa lingers,

Never quite leaving your thoughts.

There's an obvious reason for this,

You suppose.

After the triumph of Perseus,

Your shared triumph as you considered it at the time,

You had the Gorgon's face painted on your own shield,

The Aegis.

There,

The visage of Medusa struck fear in the hearts of your enemies,

Bolstered your authority,

And served as a reminder of the consequences of underestimating the Olympians.

This is the way with gods,

After all.

For all the dominion,

All the power you possess,

There is no escaping the pettiness and little envies,

These inward forces that begin so small and swell to the size of oceans.

One bad turn,

One minuscule wrong between Olympians may echo down the ages,

Through bloodlines and dynasties,

Leaving incalculable wreckage.

And you can so rarely see those consequences,

The impact on all those mortals' lives.

Even from your owl's-eye view in the golden halls of Olympus.

And this is the question with which you've reckoned for centuries,

As humankind continued to reshape the myths in their own image.

What do you owe to Medusa,

She with whom you are irrevocably linked,

Whose face you will wear on your armor,

And whose ruin you brought down out of a fleeting anger?

Tonight,

Whether you answer that question or not,

You will at least look the past in the eye,

And if you can help it,

You will not flinch.

Your feathers melt to smooth skin and your talons to sandaled feet as you finally touch down on the sands of the shore.

This island,

Which resides on the glimmering edge of night,

Seems shrouded in perpetual twilight.

It wears a glittering veil of gold and purple,

An undulating aurora.

All this time,

Such a beautiful place existed outside your reach.

You never came here,

Never looked on Medusa after her transformation.

And in all the ages since she last walked these sands,

You kept the island safely out of sight and mind.

Now you behold its loveliness with awe,

Wishing you'd had the courage to come sooner.

That this paradise should be the home of monsters.

No,

Not monsters.

You remind yourself that's not what the Gorgons were,

And that's the very narrative you're here to change.

They were a family.

You ascend the glittering dunes,

Stepping past the reeds.

Wind off the water blows through them,

And they whisper an elegant tune.

You carry the aegis,

Adorned with the face of Medusa,

But you hold it lowered at your side.

There is no one here to intimidate,

Nothing left to fear.

You're not sure what you expected to find on the island,

But at the crust of a dune you meet a family of tiny creatures,

Blanked in formation at your feet.

Sandpipers,

You recognize.

Small shorebirds that travel together,

Either flocking on wing,

Or running up and down beaches as a pack,

Digging for food in the sand as the tide goes out.

But this flock stands motionless,

Their little feet buried in the shifting sand,

All of them stone.

You encounter more surreal statuary as you move through the island's landscape.

In the waving grasses hides a motionless serpent,

Turned to stone it seems,

At the very moment it was poised to strike.

On the bow of a mighty tree,

There perches a once golden eagle,

Now a pale grey,

Poised to spread its wings and take flight.

The illusion of motion is palpable,

Though the wings and body remain forever rigid.

A fox,

Paws buried in the soil where it must have been digging when,

Stirred by a sudden sound,

It looked up and into her eyes.

This island,

You realize,

Is a museum,

A testament,

A sculpture garden,

Full of frozen birds and beasts,

A place of silence and eerie stillness,

Where the only sound is wind on waves,

Breeze through branches.

You wonder often what her life was like here,

So far from the temple where she once tended the olive grove.

You find yourself hoping that the peace and beauty of the island was,

In some way,

Consolation for how you transformed her.

But then you imagine how lonely it must have been,

Exiled away from the world,

Unable to look upon any living thing without turning it to stone.

Could she even look upon the faces of her beloved sisters,

Uriale and Stheno?

Could she behold her own reflection?

In time you reach the heart of the island,

Where trees obscure the mouth of a vast cave.

This was where the Gorgons lived.

And before the cave there are two figures,

Frozen in time,

Their arms outstretched.

Under twilight's curtain they are only vacant silhouettes,

But as you draw nearer their features come more clearly into view.

Vines wrap round their stone ankles as if holding them in place as they try in vain to rush forward.

The wings at their shoulders and the frozen crowns of serpents betray their identities.

Here are Uriale and Stheno,

Medusa's sisters,

Immortal and yet turned to stone.

They reach forward with such active energy,

It seems they could break through their rocky shells,

Reaching no doubt for their sister,

Reduced to a weapon by Perseus.

You read the sorrow and grief in their weather-worn faces,

And it strikes you that the sisters are,

While fearsome,

Quite beautiful.

Written in stone is their capacity for profound,

Even fathomless,

Love,

That anyone with such mighty capacity should be labelled monster,

That word again.

For all their faults,

Their fleeting lives,

Their childish games,

Humans have proven themselves capable of change.

And the one place you've seen that change most tangible is in their language.

You've felt it bubbling through the stories,

Retold and reformed throughout the centuries.

What earthly alchemy is it that imbues old words with new meanings,

Changes the shape of histories?

Storytellers have reclaimed Medusa's rage,

Rewritten her monstrosity,

And even,

In some cases,

Absolved your part in the tale.

You cannot undo what was done all those ages ago,

Cannot reshape the myths to cast you as ally,

Protector,

Patron of Medusa.

That is for humankind to do.

You've heard retellings wherein you gift Medusa with her wings and snakes and stony gaze,

Endowing her with divine power rather than cursing her.

And in your heart you thank humanity for the generosity in such retellings.

But what have you done to deserve such absolution?

Now in the presence of her stone sisters,

Their unending love and grief etched in their eternal expressions,

You find yourself overcome with emotion.

It is not,

You recognize,

Medusa's story that needs redeeming,

But your own.

Until now you didn't know how you planned to honor her.

You only knew that it was time to confront the past,

To face the statues of the Gorgon's Isle.

Now it comes to you as a voice from within.

Bury the aegis,

The voice whispers,

Beneath the dark moon.

Let Medusa go.

Of course.

You've borne her with you,

If only symbolically,

For so long,

Carried her image into battle and clung to her in peacetime.

You've worn her face without ever acknowledging the harm that was done to her.

Just like Perseus,

You claimed her as a tool,

A weapon of your own will.

It's time to let go,

To let her be an end instead of a means to give back her sovereignty.

You hold the aegis out before you to look upon the face of Medusa.

It is only a rendering,

And though the eyes burn with a fierce intensity,

The image alone cannot turn you to stone.

Still you feel immobilized,

Disarmed by the frontal gaze,

In the vapors of twilight,

Though no moon lends its glow,

The burnished shield still shines back,

And past the eyes of Medusa you behold your own.

Maybe Medusa was always a mirror,

For you,

For so many others.

Yes,

She is beautiful,

You think.

There is beauty in her power,

Her uncaged emotion,

Her wildness.

But it occurs to you now that if you could do it all again,

If you could make a different choice,

You're not sure you would.

You might still give her the wings and the serpents,

You might still give her the gaze that petrifies,

But you would change one thing.

You would be there,

You would teach her to use that power,

You would guide her,

You would help her love the wings and the scales and the serpents,

Because they protect that which she loves,

Because they can heal,

Because they scare away those forces that would harm her and all beloved things.

You would give them as a gift,

And not as a curse,

Or better yet,

You would give her choice,

If nothing else,

Choice.

Your eyes shine with tears as you place the aegis at the feet of the stone gorgons.

And once a wind rises from behind you,

Sweeping soil and sand over the shield,

Half burying it there at the mouth of the cave,

They are reunited,

Three again,

And one.

You almost reach out to clasp their stony hands,

To take the place of their sister,

With whom you are forever entwined,

But instead you go.

You've done what you came to do.

This was the ritual,

The pilgrimage,

The mirror gazing,

The burial of that which you would let go.

Medusa was with you through it all,

And now you turn to leave the island alone.

You feel lighter,

And strangely lonely,

Unguarded,

But the vulnerability is refreshing,

An openness you've never felt.

This must be what forgiveness feels like.

You steal a glance back at the cave before it leaves your line of sight,

And you squint to make out the silhouettes of the gorgons.

From here,

Though it could only be a trick of the endless twilight,

There might be three figures,

Standing with hands clasped.

With your heart full,

You retrace your steps through the solitary paradise,

But where once a stone snake poised low in the grass,

Now there blooms wild,

Flowering parsley,

Prickly ivy red with berries,

Winds round the branch whereupon you first saw the stone eagle perched.

Delicate dianthus blossoms where the fox was digging in the earth,

And peppering the dunes where the stone sandpipers once stood.

There are sweet-smelling asphodel,

Medusa's garden,

Flowers again,

Souls set free from stone.

When you go forth from the island,

Into a world where the old gods are little more than symbols and stories,

You will endeavor to be more like Medusa.

Not monster,

But muse.

Not monster,

But mirror.

You can no longer use her as a shield.

It's time to bring your own face to the fight.

Embrace the sacredness of your wildest self,

Your most unchained emotions,

The transformative power of rage,

And the alchemical process of forgiveness.

As your arms turn again to wings,

And your sandaled feet to talons,

You lift off from the beaches and depart the island of twilight.

Wind combs your feathers,

Lifting your heart.

With the lightness of all you've let go,

The brightness of spirit that comes from the profound experience of catharsis,

You fly.

Soften your focus,

Let your mind become pleasantly fuzzy,

As if you are melting your thoughts away with a slow and steady breath.

Let the body soften,

Sinking into your support,

And allow the mind to move with the body into profound relaxation.

As you scan your body,

Guided by the sound of my voice,

I invite you to imagine that with every part of your body you soften,

You are removing a piece of armor,

Allowing the body to be vulnerable,

And trusting all the while that you are safe,

That it's okay to let go,

It's okay to rest,

To put down the shield,

And to feel into your authentic self.

Soften deeply into the hands,

Sending a gentle,

Steady breath to the palms,

Almost as if you are breathing through your palms.

Relaxing the thumbs,

Index fingers,

Middle fingers,

Ring fingers,

Pinky fingers,

Everything just becoming loose and easy.

Letting away tension like you are removing a piece of armor,

Or wearing away stone.

Relaxing the wrists,

Forearms,

Elbows,

Upper arms,

Shoulders,

Neck,

Loosening in the muscles of the head and face.

Letting the breath be your guide.

Embrace softness in the chest,

Opening your heart,

Removing the armor.

This is a space of such power and vitality but it also feels so vulnerable.

Find the sweetness,

The tenderness,

In relaxing this part of your body.

Trust that it's safe to open your heart and to feel your authentic emotions.

Let the softening extend and expand to your belly,

All the muscles along the spine,

Breathing into your entire torso,

Allowing the breath to find the areas of tension and massage them away from the inside.

Taking off the armor,

Softening the stone.

Relax deeply in the hips and lower back,

The pelvis,

The buttocks,

The thighs,

The knees,

Your lower legs,

Ankles.

Relax the heels,

The soles of the feet.

Breathing deeply here as if you're breathing through the soles of your feet.

Relax in the big toes,

The second toes,

Third toes,

Fourth toes,

And pinky toes.

Feel the whole body becoming relaxed,

Sinking to the rhythm of your breath.

Take a moment to thank your body for its willingness to soften.

It isn't easy to let go of tension,

To remove our guards,

To release.

Stone softening,

Armor melting away.

As you move toward sleep,

I invite you to set an intention for the darker months of the year,

For the season ahead.

Consider something you'd like to nurture in this time of quiet and darkness.

Something that can be planted now,

That will mature beneath the frost,

So that when spring comes again,

It's hearty and ready to bloom.

This could be a personal quality you'd like to cultivate,

A project,

Or even a person you want to devote effort to in the months ahead.

Visualize yourself planting a little seed that represents this intention,

Covering it with fertile soil and watering it.

Hold this image in your mind for a few breaths.

Direct the energy of your breath toward the seed in the soil.

Shine your inner light upon it,

And trust that it will grow and flower.

When you're ready,

Let that visualization go,

And simply sit with your intention.

Let it suffuse you,

Your body,

Your breath,

Stirring in the fertile soil of sleep.

Imagine how you might move forward into the season ahead,

With more emotional freedom,

With peace and vulnerability,

With lighter armor.

What gifts might you open yourself to by letting down your shield,

And feeling into the depths of your emotions,

Your deepest,

Most authentic self.

How might you be muse and mirror,

Protector of those you love.

Let your breath carry you deeper into relaxation.

Into safe,

Nourishing sleep.

Good night.

Reviews

Wonderful, well done! 💜

This story accompanied me on my walk. It was a very interesting spin on the legend. With the interference of passing traffic, however, there were parts I didn't hear, so I definitely want to play it again. But, another amazing tale. The relaxing meditation ended it off beautifully. Something to look forward to each time you end a tale. Thankyou 🤗 so much. Warmest regards, Léna. 👍🏼💓🐈‍⬛🐆🐨

It was amazing I love how we had a backstory and a storyline so good would recommend to others by the way I’ve been thinking of An idea for a story A young boy goes to school but his favorite subject is history he learns about Greek mythology and when he goes to sleep he dreams of working with say…..Zeus and when he finishes his quest he moves on to the next Greek god that needs help if you take this into consideration thank you very much but if it’s not what you lookin for than it’s fine and one last thing if there any thing like tales by the tavern fire than pls tell me that’s my favorite of allllll time

Intriguing and full of wonder. A story to be listened to again and again.

Beautiful meditation 🌹 Thank you for sharing your thoughts and talents 🌹😘

Very cool story, even though I didn’t quite get to sleep, very lulling… thank you!🙏🏼❤️

Excellent as always