Why we must die

When I saw the Viewpoins quesiton in Your Mythic Journey that asked to write a myth about dying, I couldn't ignore it. For one, our family likes myths and folk tales - I'm trying to read one to my wife and kids every night. So I sat down and came up with a piece. Then I decided to present it to my family as a Malagasy myth - and they actually believed me after listening to it. I was honest and did disclose the scam, though.

There were times when men were gods and women were goddesses. They cruised between the sun and the moon and the stars, they could see the past and the future, they knew everything there was ever to be known. They did not have body and they never died. Men and women with no body circled the earth and watched the oceans roar in anger and calm in relief, the mighty volcanoes breathing fire and dying in exhaustion, the mighty trees growing and the doe leading her fawns to a spring. But they could not touch a trunk of a tree, smell a flower or taste a fruit. They couldn’t feel the heat of a fire or the cold of a rain. They didn’t know mother’s kiss or lover’s embrace. So one day they went to Zanahary, the supreme god, and asked him to turn them into physical beings. “I can do that”, said Zanahary, “but then you will be mortal. You will be born helpless and crying; you will need food and shelter; you will struggle against heat, cold and wild beasts. You will know hate and frustration, need and illness. You will spend your life trying to obtain knowledge yet you will remain ignorant. And at the end your body will age, your mind will darken, and then you will die.” Men and women agreed.