Lugaidh's Son

Hear the story first, before we get to what’s below:

There’s an old Anglo-Saxon word that would be helpful in a conversation such as this. We don’t know it anymore, but you can find it in the first lines of Beowulf.

Þrym. We say it means something like “glory”—that’s how it’s often translated, anyway—but the real meaning is much harder to pin down because we don’t use words in the same way we once did. Instead of treating it as a concept, it’s more helpful to consider it a kind of feeling.

Þrym is the sensation you get standing feet away from an entire army marching into battle. It’s also something you might feel while looking up at the Sistine Chapel. Ever meet a celebrity you were a huge fan of and get star-struck? That’s þrym for you, too.

Fionn mac Cumhaill certainly had þrym; there are plenty of stories that bear that out.

Me? Eh, I’m not exactly Lugaidh’s son (although in my younger years you’d probably have a hard time telling us apart). I’m more like the guy walking up the hill to talk to Fionn about Lugaidh’s managerial style—the one so unassuming and non-central to the tale that he doesn’t have a name.

Not a complaint, just an observation. There’s a lot of peace in freedom in being that guy.

I often wonder what I’d say if I were Fionn, though. What I might tell my younger self to help him improve his aim a little. If it were me and I had the opportunity, here are some things I’d probably say:

* You’re not wrong in your assessment of the world—it’s just that you only know half the story. There are reasons why things are as they are, and no one’s the villain of their own story. So speak to the exiled hero in them; ignore the ever-present villain.

* Faith doesn’t have to be an intellectual exercise. Columba got neck-deep in freezing water to recite the psalms. People thought he was a little nuts perhaps but hey, look at him now.

* Your grandmother wasn’t quirky, she was right. Know the names of every flower in your yard. Regarding the animals and the birds who frequent your home, give them your own names and regard them as your neighbors. Learn how to listen to them.

* This world is long on reason and short on intuition. The latter you will need to work on. It has important things to tell you that can’t be learned elsewhere.

* You’re going to want to define yourself by the things you love the most. Pursue them by all means, but they can’t ever be an identity. Humans live in the Contraries, not within their definitions.

* Your world lives almost entirely in Winter North with the occasional Summer South vacation. But being a human being requires learning the lay of Autumn West and Spring East. Your culture won’t take you to those places. (There’s no money in it.)

* Walk barefoot more often.

* Practice starving your ego. It’s helpful for getting things done, not for empathy or understanding. (Don’t worry, it’ll always come back.)

* If you’re looking for some home decor, might I suggest a sign in the mud room above the front door that says “don’t judge and stop worrying so much.”

* Architecture lies to you. There is no “In Here” versus “Out There.” It’s all Out There. As Gary Snyder tries to tell us, the mountain is sitting past the forests and the hills. The mountain is also hoarding acorns on the sidewalk. The mountain is pumping gas.