Every
Spring, 'tis the same problem: something Irish for St. Paddy's
Day, or something to commemorate Easter? Hmmm...
Once
upon a time -- a very long time ago indeed -- there lived a great
Irish king named Conor. Now, his name would more usually be spelled
"Connor" nowadays, and indeed is the root of "O'Connor",
but either way it is a whole lot easier to say (and type) than
his proper and original name, Conchobar Mac Nessa.
At
any rate, Conor ruled over the Ulster region of Ireland about
2000 years ago, as I recall. He was a patron of the Arts, and
indeed once saved hundreds of poets from death (or at least expulsion)
by hiding them until the wrath of the general populace had abated
sufficiently.
Now,
Conor -- being a king -- had the usual kingly duties to attend
to, which some 2000 years ago consisted principally of waging
war upon the most convenient target. It was during one of these
little exercises that he found himself with an object embedded
in his head. Doctors were unable to remove the thing (don't ask),
but were able to bandage Conor up sufficiently well that his survival
seemed relatively assured. All the king had to do was make sure
he didn't let things excite him too much in the future...
Now,
asking a king in general to remain peaceful and calm is, as you
may well imagine, a rather dicey proposition under the best of
circumstances. Asking an Irish king to do so is just plain silly.
Nevertheless,
it is said that Conor actually lived seven long years in this
manner.
Then,
one spring afternoon, a great thunderstorm broke out. The skies
became as black as night, the earth began to shake, and as people
began running to and fro in terror Conor saw the spirits of old
vanquished foes rear right out of the ground!
He
sent for a druid, who revealed that, at that moment, halfway around
the world, a great and holy man -- a prophet, some said -- had
been crucified by the Romans, and with his dying breath yet prayed
that his enemies be forgiven...
The
tragedy of such a miscarriage of justice was too much for King
Conor to bear. In a blind fury he raced outside, and began hacking
at trees with his sword, as if the take revenge for the injustice
just completed on a far away wooden cross...
As
you might imagine, that was the end of King Conor. It marks the
beginning of yet another lovely Irish legend, though, and I will
defend the truth of it with every fiber of my being -- although,
as another celtic tale spinner once remarked, I don't necessarily
believe half of it meself.
And
I have just managed to give you a St. Patrick's day and Easter
column all in one.
And you're welcome!
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