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by James Hart
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- Yesterday9 min
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. Get full access to Penny Wagers at pennywagers.substack.com/subscribe
- 1 weeks ago8 min
Saint Melangell of Powys
Late Wednesday afternoon was not a time for phones or wallets.The cottonwoods were already shedding, sprinkling the air with motes as weightless as the late day sunlight. You can’t catch their linty stipples; snatch as fast or as stealthily as you like, they just pass around and through your fingers on their descent toward the creek. The whole span of the water was awash in their fluid bokeh.I don’t think I was ever aware that locust trees could smell like this. Had they always? I leaned closer to a flower to check if it was indeed their fragrance I was picking up. Their sweet traces followed me up the path as I shuffled toward the Detour.Mr. Wendell was up there, making the neighborhood rounds on his lawnmower. There’s an easy way to tell the town locals from the part-time renters and corporate homeowners: the latter two would always hire an overpriced, underpaid landscaping team to cut their grass while the locals called Mr. Wendell. He saw me and gave his standard two-finger salute as he rounded the next corner.I took the lane leading off the Detour so I could take another look at the Narnia lamp. Some people think Lucy met Tumnus by a lamppost in Aslan’s land, and certainly that’s the case, but it’s here, too. Just past the road that will take my daughter home from school. The lamp looks different in the mid-day light. I tell my daughter to go visit it after the sun sets. The time to check for fawns is dusk, I remind her, always in the dusk.The forest was as welcoming as always, and I was thankful for that. I was, however, having trouble keeping myself to myself. The prior insanities of the day kept encroaching onto the lane, insisting they walk with me. Sometimes that’s okay. It’s important to let them have their say from time to time. But they’ve been altogether too chatty as of late and I was here to seek some solitude.I didn’t get it. In my first few crumpled leaf-brown footsteps down the trail, I came across a robin. I love robins. Their unfinished songs remind me of early spring mornings in the house that grew me up. I’d wake to robin calls and look out my window. Watch the bright spring sunlight throw a kaleidoscope across the dewy leavings of the previous night’s frost. Robins were the sound of cold kitchen mornings and my mother smiling at the window because it was Saturday.The robin doesn’t fly away, though. He forages in the leaves, takes two steps forward and stays there. I take a step myself, careful to give him space. Again he picks at the ground, hops forward along the path and again I follow.It goes on like this for ten yards or so. Twenty, then thirty. He turns his head, then starts again, always down the path and never off it. Sixty yards becomes a hundred. He and I share the walk for the better part of a mile. He only flies away when we reach the terminus: another robin screeches and reminds him of their avian property lines. My friend flies toward the water and I hope he knows that I owe him now. We’re travel companions, he and I.Some say Saint Melangell’s story is just an allegorical teaching tool meant to explain her spiritual significance and based on a Welsh fairy tale. It’s not meant to be taken literally.What I say is that the more I encounter this kind of flat attention, utterly insisted upon throughout our world’s housing developments, strip malls and offices, the more I understand why she sought her green martyrdom in the first place. Get full access to Penny Wagers at pennywagers.substack.com/subscribe
- 2 weeks ago7 min
Fionn and the Old Man's House
As I mentioned at the start, this one’s a real beauty of the Fenian Cycle. So much to unpack in just a few short minutes.The story does of course take place in an older Ireland, before Christianization. Some folks might be quick to judge the story on those grounds. I understand the impulse, but some things I’d point out before we toss it out:* It’s precisely because of Irish Christians telling these stories to themselves over the years that they were able to survive to the present day. They obviously saw a value in them beyond entertainment, or like other entertainments, they’d have been forgotten as soon as we figured out television.* These stories span the length of Christianization in Ireland. In fact, they tell that story explicitly. Ossian’s discussions with Saint Patrick are hard not to read as a discussion between Pagan and Christian Ireland, trying to get to know one another. Honestly, I wish I was privy to what they discussed when I was younger; it would have helped clarify a lot of confusion with questions I had myself.* For this story, as with any good poetry, the images are the thing. My master’s advisor warned us once that there will come a day when you realize that who you see in the mirror is not the fullness of who you are. That you’re going to wonder where those other yous went. If they’re still in there somewhere, behind who you’re facing now. The first time that happens is roughly how this story makes me feel. For folks of a Christian persuasion, it’s my personal feeling that belief doesn’t hide us from that moment, but puts it into a better context. Get full access to Penny Wagers at pennywagers.substack.com/subscribe
- 3 weeks ago18 min
Saint Ciarán of Clonmacnoise
These stories likely seem silly today.They’re not real, right? Like, did they really happen? What does the historical record say?My answer to these aligns pretty closely with why I’m sharing them. There’s a lot we have to untangle first, though. For my part, I’m going to have to over-extend a bit, and tread a little past where my toes can touch. I hope you’ll bear with me; I think these are places we all really need to go, and the sooner we wade out into the water, the better.So let’s suppose a few things, okay? Let’s use our imaginations and suppose a few things.The Trade for Artistic ClarityLet’s start with the Council of Trent, because Back to School is still funny to me after all these years, and also because some interesting things started to happen afterward. The Church was doubling down on its defense of sacred art and stories—and let me tell you, they went nuts over the Baroque stuff—but there was also a narrowing of what might be called “artistic possibility”: clearly religious artwork was ay-okay, but there was also a call for bishops to remove art they felt was confusing in its message, borderline superstitious, inappropriate, or unclear in its purpose.Were these always clear calls to make? After all, many great stories and works of art are more embodied than they are clear. Some are mysterious, profound, provocative, fun, and contain elements of truth that cannot easily be codified. When demanding clarity, these are the things that can get left behind.Now let’s suppose something a little more heavy: let’s try to pinpoint where the world shifted on its axis.The Trade for ReasonWe’ll move up to the late 1800s, when the Age of Reason was bringing us into the Modern. Pope Leo XIII starts freaking out over what he saw as false philosophical conclusions spreading through public and private life. (Hardly the first time this has been a problem; philosophical sophistry was old and problematic even in his time.) So the Church decides to fight fire with fire. Leo writes Aeterni Patris, urging Catholics to return to scholasticism and “the golden wisdom” of St. Thomas Acquinas. This brings the Church into a more organized, rational, and definition-focused approach to faith.This didn’t happen in a vacuum. At the time, the entire western world was bringing itself into a more organized, rational and definition-heavy approach to how it perceives reality. People demanded proof, records, documentation and a scientific approach to navigating the world.Ideas that could be standardized, defined, measured and repeated at scale became the focus. In turn, the Church continued to spread, and we were able to achieve wonderful things like steam engines, latticework skyscrapers, X-rays and other advancements that helped humanity to flourish.But let’s suppose there may have been some casualties in this universal march toward progress.Inside the Church, some of the first to go were wakes, pattern days and local mysteries. These weren’t so much sworn off so much as ignored because they were seen as embarrassing. Embarrassing because they were hard to defend to a public who became increasingly trained on scientific thinking. This led to saints shifting in their roles. Instead of reminding us that we inhabit a vivid world of mystery, spiritual relationships and sacred landscapes, saints were now used as a safe model for how one should behave.A lot more could be said and suggested about the Church’s further trajectory and its parallels to the rest of the west, but let’s leave them for now and move over to post-war America.The Trade for SpaceSuppose that prior to the Great Wars, rural and urban life enjoyed overlaps that today are difficult to find.In prior centuries, urban parishes weren’t just a group of folks who all went to the same place on Sundays. They were a community brought together by a connected neighborhood, a school, a government and an ethnic identity. Out in the sticks, you had much the same. Village festivals were attended by all who lived there. People passed their parish on foot when they went to the market. They knew the name of the carpenter who constructed the doors.For these folks, the stories about their saints weren’t just some moral story—locals could show you the very spot where their great-gran told them Ciaran first met the stag. You could likely speak to Oengus’ descendants who lived not too far from Ciaran’s field.But in America, two things happened. One of course was immigration, which saved countless families from war, famine and economic hardship, but it also severed their ancestry from their sense of place. Kids could no longer point to the place where their great grandparents built their home.And then there came post-war American housing.Suppose that in addition to being kitschy, the suburbs created a radical new way to l
- 4 weeks ago20 min
Fionn and the Raven
Check out more of Joe Heaney’s storytelling on his website. I, too, have met the Short Little Man.He didn’t look anything like Fionn’s companion, of course. Things are different in North America.It was a day or two before I moved to Australia. One thing I still needed to do was drive back to my office and pick up my bike. (I built it myself, so no way was I going to abandon it.)It was a Saturday. I never visited my office on the weekend, which should have put me on my guard to begin with. Outside of routine, your office really isn’t your office. Once-familiar places can become haunts for the surreal and unexpected.I parked half a block from the entrance. All I had to do was walk up the hill, use my card to open the garage, get to the bike rack, walk my bike to my car and drive off. It should’ve taken about four minutes.I was busying myself looking for quarters for the meter—they still used change then—when he walked up to me. Started in with the whole dance that everyone who works in D.C. is familiar with. Excuse me do you have any money or spare change for some food and some etc. I absently replied with something about only having a card on me and waved him off.He was having none of it.He planted himself in front of me, looked me straight in the eyes and said, “Come on, man, I’m just trying to get something to eat!”“Yeah?” I said. “Whadda ya want?”Without skipping a beat, he said, “A burger.”Right behind him, over his shoulder and across the street, there was a Five Guys.Something you should know about Five Guys burgers: They’re a big chain in America now, but they started in D.C. I can’t vouch for the ones you’ll find in strip malls in Ohio, New York or Pennsylvania, but the D.C. Five Guys are something else entirely. Never frozen, perfectly sourced patties that come with fries freshly bathed in peanut oil. Not with a stick could you ever beat those burgers.You can’t really argue with a guy who knows what he wants. So we walked across the street and we both had some Five Guys.I remember the confusion on the cashier’s face and a couple of stolen glances by other customers, but other than that it was a fairly normal affair. He didn’t order anything extravagant and neither did I. I don’t remember whether we got our tray of peanuts. Then we ate and went our separate ways.I like this story for a whole lot of reasons. Not least because it’ll allow you to put one over on the Film Studies majors out there. “It all started with Seven Samurai, did it? Well, listen to this!” It also reminds me of the story of the Road to Emmaus. Recall that Fionn asked God to guide him before he even stepped out the door. It’s eye-opening, what that can truly entail. Get full access to Penny Wagers at pennywagers.substack.com/subscribe
- Apr 14, 20267 min
Snake Woman's Treasure
Weird story, right? Was the woman some kind of witch, or princess under an enchantment? What finally got into the bones of the old man to take to the forest that day?What I like about the story is that, short as it is, it doesn’t accommodate such questions. Instead, it invites you to practice what a Disney animator friend of mine calls confusion tolerance. Part of that is knowing that sometimes you have to ask different questions.For me, the story has a lot of time imagery to it. An old man getting older. A deadline that coincides with the shift between maximum potential to waning energies. And strange prognostications about the future told from nature’s perspective. The story reminds me of what I find myself remembering each time I spend a serious stint out in the woods: modern life has put us into orbit. We’re going a million miles an hour standing still. Get full access to Penny Wagers at pennywagers.substack.com/subscribe
- Apr 6, 202625 min
The Red Silk Ribbon
There’s a lot in this story I like to sit with.For starters, I wonder if anyone out there can relate to the fisherman father. Actually, no I don’t. I wonder if in this place and time there’s anyone who can’t.All the fish in all the world are nothing compared to the one thing you don’t even know you have. Yeah, that sits with me, too.It’s interesting that Lucas decides to be a cooper. Why a cooper? There aren’t too many of those in the old stories. But here are a few things I know about coopers:* They’re in some ways the neurosurgeons of carpentry. Coopers are not highly but unbelievably skilled.* Their work involves the four elements: earth and fire help separate air from water.* The job of a cooper is to seal in spirits.There’s a lot going on with the dead horse. Horses can be a kind of balanced perspective in the old stories: half-wild, half domesticated, and many of them can talk. What does it mean to find a dead horse in the forest? Going back to coopers again, please do watch part of the video I shared above. As incredibly precise as their work is, they don’t rely too much on mechanical measurement. Everything’s proportional—everything in their work must relate to everything else. And so their knack for balance and proportionality is learned by repetition that becomes intuition.It’s the bear who wants to call Lucas back, but it’s the fox who acts as messenger. Foxes certainly do have big Hermes energy.Fox wisdom I believe is well-understood, but look what happens in the inn. Lucas doesn’t just go all Hulkamania on the gamblers and flatten them out with folding chairs—he becomes the ant first. Ant wisdom seems to involve careful positioning and quietly going about one’s work. You don’t bring out the bear until it’s the right time and right place.The falcon has the best vantage point out of all of them, and can easily fly over its obstacles. Lucas becomes the falcon last.The three identical sisters are interesting. The king seems to have some sense of the need for a middle way for his kingdom but sacrificed too much of his village’s future to find it. That can certainly be a problem.When the mermaid returns, we now see clearly that tears and sorrow seem to bring her around. I think it would be a mistake to consider her a simply evil entity. Good luck eliminating the mermaids in your own life—try as you might to avoid them along the coast, they’ll just find you later in the forest. Mermaids are things to be dealt with.If you’re a fairy tale geek like me, you might hear echoes of The Handless Maiden in the fisherman-and-mermaid scene, or The Lindworm Prince when we get to the cauldrons. I would caution you against waving your hand and saying, “oh yes oh yes, I know that archetype, I know the lesson here.” High school, English lit and Substack posts like this one have lied to you, I’m sorry to say. Stories don’t serve you best by being analyzed, interpreted or diagnosed. Their purpose is not to be written about in some “take” or blue book. It’s a disgrace we consider them mere cultural artifacts, and any teacher who has taught you to read one in search of an Allegorical Answer Key to reveal what each character “symbolizes” hasn’t done you any favors. As I mentioned earlier, no king is just a king. The king is your future potential. The king is the culture. The king is the ego, the pre-frontal cortex, government authority and the spirit of the age. These stories are supposed to resonate in that way. They’re older than us, they’ve had entire cultures as co-authors, and they all have their own bends in the road they’re trying to walk us through. Get full access to Penny Wagers at pennywagers.substack.com/subscribe
- Apr 3, 20264 min
The Gospel Written for the Mead-Hall
Hey, happy Good Friday! I have something I’d like to read for you that I think you might find interesting. Let me know if anything here sounds familiar...Definitely not a version of the Gospel most folks would be familiar with today, is it? This is the Heliand, sometimes referred to as “The Saxon Gospel.” There are two versions I’d recommend: The prose translation by G. Ronald Murphy I’d pick up for the commntary. For a poetic translation that has some hiccups but is still excellent, check out Mariana Scott’s version through the UNC Studies in the Germanic Languages program.So what in the world is this, and why does it exist? Here’s a part of Murphy’s introduction that helps shed some light on this...Other than this version being tons of fun to read and experience, there’s something I’d like to delicately suggest here. In many churches in 2026 America, “hearing the Gospel” would entail attending Sunday services, and perhaps also breaking out the fold-out chairs in the church basement on weekdays to do Bible study. There, you might sit in a circle and read the Bible through the specific lenses of cultural scholarship, theology and personal reflection.Nothing at all wrong with that, but is that kind of thing religious, or cultural?The Wikipedia article for the Heliand suggests that it was probably written at the request of the emperor “around AD 830 to combat Saxon ambivalence toward Christianity.” Well, what’s to stop someone today from writing their take on the Gospel in poetic form and sharing that at an open mic night? Why can’t someone act out scenes on TikTok using top-down stop-motion? I’m not even on the thing and still I’d give it a like.Anyway, that’s my idle thought for the day. Hope you’re having a good Holy Week. Get full access to Penny Wagers at pennywagers.substack.com/subscribe
About Penny Wagers
I write narrative poetry that leans more mythopoetic than personal. Also essays about perambulations, coffee's effect on memory and other cool stuff. Come on in. The water's nice, so feel free to take your shoes and socks off. pennywagers.substack.com
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