The Sanctuary

You’ve heard of this place, but you want to see for yourself.

You find the door, but you’re not sure that this unmarked door could lead to what you are expecting.  Is this the service entrance?  More than that, the dust-covered door looks like it hasn’t been used in awhile.  The handle hasn’t been turned recently.  The door is set back in the wall of the building, deep enough for a person to hide from oncoming traffic.  Dried leaves and a McDonald’s wrapper have taken refuge in the corner from the wind.  If they don’t take time to clean the entrance, what’s the interior going to be like?

You’re convinced you are at the wrong building, but then you notice a door bell button.  You look over both shoulders, hesitate, and press the button.  You hear the faintest buzz, not the expected sound of a bell.  A quiet voice emits from a speaker you cannot see.  “Solo or communal, please?”  You look over your shoulder before saying, “Solo?”

The door opens almost immediately and your senses are engaged.  First, a waft that is equal parts orange, sage, and eucalyptus, followed by a note of bergamot and, lastly, the distinct, memory-inducing scent of damp soil.  The smells are pleasing and inviting without overpowering.  Your eyes adjust to the darkness and then spot low-lit, amber-colored sconces near the high ceiling, lining a hallway.  Your skin notices warmth, not a dry heat from forced air, but a moist warmth that instantly makes your shoulders relax.  You think you hear the gentle tinkling of bells, or is that some kind of new age music in the background.

You pause to take it all in and your mind briefly wonders if this is going to be too “out there” for you, but your body pulls you over the threshold.

The assistant, who patiently allowed you time to adjust,  hands you a key and points to a wall of mailboxes.  You haven’t seen this kind of mailbox since your mom held your hand to cross the street on the way to the post office.

“Please silence your phone, place it in number 17 and lock it.  Keep the key with you, please.  Don’t worry about remembering which box is yours.  I’ll take care of that.”  After you’ve secured your phone in its own locked box, the attendant says, “This way please.”  She leads you down the panel-lined hallway toward a set of stairs.  It is dark, but not menacingly so.

On your left is a set of double mahogany doors.  You see natural light coming from under the doors, and you hear sounds – music, laughter, conversation.  The sounds are inviting, but that’s not where you want to be today.

The wide staircase is lit with the same sconces.  The stairs lead to a landing.  You turn to the right and climb a second set of stairs.  The carpeted stairs muffle the sound of your footsteps as you follow the attendant.

At the top of the stairs you reach another hallway.  Three closed doors line each side of the hallway.  At the end of the hallway, a demi-moon table holds a lit Tiffany lamp and a wide, shallow wooden bowl filled with polished stones.

You notice the ambient light coming from under each of the six doors.  The light is colored.  A different colored light glows from under each door.

The attendant tells you that the Purple and Green rooms are occupied.  She says, “You may select from the other four doors.”

. . .