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Long Hair and its symbolism and Legendary Power


To get an idea about long hair and what it has meant since ancient times, I think Hades. I think Apollo, Medusa, Samson and Delilah, Tantalus. Also Queen Chlotilde, Rapunzel; Indian and Celtic Sun Gods … Belief in the power of long hair reaches into antiquity .


Long hair was a symbol of the sun’s radiant power.

Ancient sun gods and solar heroes from India to Ireland all had long hair.

Apollo never allowed his to be touched by a razor.

Eve needed long hair to cover her nakedness.

Samson’s long hair gave him super human power which he used to destroy his (and God’s) enemies.

Lady Godiva used her long hair to cover herself as she rode naked on horseback  through the town.  ...”

King Clovis and Queen Chlotilde were 6th century Merovingian rulers. The king dies, leaving behind his wife Clothilde and two sons. But it’s the grandsons who are to inherit the throne with Queen Clothilde as their guardian. The queen’s second son gets jealous. He sends a message to the Queen to say he’s planning the coronation of the grandsons and please send them to their uncle. When the young princes arrive, they’re seized and held captive. A note is sent to the Queen. With it comes a sword and pair of scissors. Does she prefer to see her grandsons live with their hair cut short, or would she rather see them die? The Queen chooses the sword.


 Hair means love and permanence. Lovers exchange locks of their hair because it’s like if I can’t have you, let me carry away a strand of your hair ...


I’m Georgia back with more comments. I think of hair and its power, erotic or otherwise. Images come to me of Helena as an owner of a famous hair salon. Clients lining up to get inside. A hundred staff. Coffee tables stacked with magazines, their front covers graced with her photo. Another image follows this: a handsome man on her arm and big diamonds on her fingers. My mind flits to the Captain who wanted to marry her and offered to fund her business. But what Helena’s got she’s achieved all by herself. Obviously she’s had an inner voice that has commanded, has suggested great things to come if she obeyed it. 


I’m at Helena's salon, standing arrested in the doorway listening to Greek music spill from it. Venturing in, I absorb a place brimming with laughing, chattering clients, a Greek mythical world springing from its walls: Aphrodite, Artemis, Lady Godiva streaking across one wall. I blink at Silent Sylvia’s ponderous breasts, at tiny Isabel’s skinny legs skipping from one client to another. My eyes range over etchings of exuberant Greek figures, over the embroidered cushions, a vase of green flowers, a black rose rising from it. I look at last at Helena, a large woman with plump cheeks and dark eyes snapping, at her busy hands, her feet tapping to her music. 

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