Wonderful reminder of what embracing myth and ritual in our lives truly offers. Different traditions may work in unique threads, of disparite colour, yet the blanket, once woven, serves the same.
In ancient times, so the story’s say, the fate of the King and the fate of the land were one. The King, born mortal, ascended to become God’s representative on earth after being wedded with the sovereign spirit of the land. From this moment on the King’s life was no longer his own and his life became a life of service and ultimately ended in sacrifice.
The grain growing tall and turning gold heralded the end of the King’s reign on earth, and at harvest time every year, although some say every seven years, the harvest festival would end in blood shed and the greatest of sacrifices. The blood of the King would saturate the land, his life force seeping into the soil replenishing what had been taken by the people with scythe and sickle. His people gathered, watching and waiting in silent reverence, would approach as the life ebbed…
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