When the Breton of the coast prepares to die, his impatient soul, tired of his body, burns to become an anaon and set sail. This is where the Sunset Paradise is located without latitude or longitude as the Celts found in themselves without sextant or compass.
Sunset Paradise
The Irish call it Tir na n'Og and the Bretons Bro ar Re Yaouank, which means Land of Young People, because time is not limited there.
An island, a floating land, which only experiences the same wave once, remains only for an instant above each star. It is much further away than we can say, and yet it only takes a single tide to reach it.
You can't die when the sea rises to its fullest. The last breath is exhaled at slack seas and the ebb takes the soul into the heavy foam of its returning wave.
But you need the high wind, the upstream wind, to carry in kornog. If the wind keeps the soul in the wake of the sun, it sails to the fortunate island, at the signal of a great fire which burns night and day on the highest eminence.
On the shore awaits him a procession of chosen ones in a supernatural light where all impurity dissipates and melts. All trees are green, all food is dissolved in apples, all drinks in the mead of living springs. It is an endless forgiveness, under the shade, and the most beautiful songs of fairies with blond braids rock the blessed in their transparent homes.
This is what they said in Molène……
