For my weekly writing spot on this site, see the One-Minute Mystic, with a new meditation posted every Monday. Also see The Village, the story of Misty Longings, England's most beautiful village, posted episode by episode earlier this year.       I recently led a retreat in Glastonbury, but if you don't believe me, I do understand. At the ancient Myth and Legend auction, Glastonbury bought a job lot – and has been wealthy and incredible ever since. Or put another way, incredibly rich. Glastonbury Abbey, the "gravitational centre of Britain's legendary universe", feeds wonderfully off the separate but entwined tales of Joseph of Arimathea and King Arthur. The dull historian will say that Joseph never left the Holy Land and that Arthur – in his imperial form as described by legend – never even existed. But so what? Because these two men – the Not-there and the Non-existent – somehow met at Glastonbury. Joseph – allegedly – was a wealthy businessman, who made his money in the metal trade. So he was naturally drawn to the high quality lead in Somerset in AD60. (Lead, kindly light.) When his boat ran ashore in Glastonbury marshes, he disembarked and climbed a little. Having brought with him a staff grown from Christ's crown of thorns, he thrust it into the ground, and announced he and his followers were "Weary All!" The thorn staff took miraculous root, and can still be seen on Wearyall Hill. But it didn't end here. Because some said that Joseph was Uncle of the Virgin Mary and therefore also of the boy Jesus, and that he once bought the young boy to Glastonbury on one of his business trips. Yes, Jesus was here. And of course later, Joseph hid the Holy Grail – the cup used at the last supper – in Chalice Well, at the foot of Glastonbury Tor. In fact, there are a lot of rather Tor stories about. Then add to this intoxicating mix, the Arthurian legend. Was Camelot really to be located at the nearby fort of South Cadbury? It does at least look like there was life there in the 6th century, when the real Arthur was reckoned to have lived. And his great quest in life was for the Holy Grail. But the "discovery" of Arthur's bones, with those of Guinevere, in the abbey in the 12th century? This we know: the monks of Glastonbury had a well-developed sense of pride in their own house; never saw themselves as anything but pre-eminent amongst the religious communities of the land; and re-wrote history freely. Certainly Arthur's bones were a commercial masterstroke, as was their choice of the anonymous Joseph as their founder. The secret of legend-making lies here: the blanker the slate, the more there is to write on it. And what of the retreat itself? Can any good come out of Glastonbury? I liked the general air of myth and the scarcely believable; such a climate corrodes our tediously mechanistic minds, and encourages the search for the scarcely believable in ourselves. I come back from the Isle of Avalon with fantastical stories of brave hearts, bold inner quests and glittering discoveries. That's Glastonbury for you – and it's a shame to myth out. More writings © Simon Parke