To begin with there are three main definitions that I want to get out of the way

Immrama -  a class of Old Irish tales concerning a hero's sea journey to the Otherworld

Echtrae - a type of Old Irish literature about a hero's adventures in the Otherworld or with otherworldly beings

Sea Shanty -  a song originally sung by sailors, especially a rhythmic one forming an accompaniment to work

Now, there is some academic debate over the interchangeability of immram and echtrae - with scholar of Old Irish Literature, H.P.A. Oskamp having said that “a sharp distinction cannot be made between the two genres,” while other scholars, (sometimes in direct response to Oskamp) have argued that this is not the case and that the lack of distinction comes as a result of a misunderstanding of Immram Brain maic Febail (The Voyage of Bran). 

As Kuno Meyer asserts- the echtrae only denote expeditions in the otherworld- the common elements found in echtrae (otherworld music, fairy women, journey to the otherworld, the riches of the otherworld, etc.) are also found in contemporary secular literature- in short, echtrae are part of the secular literary tradition. 

Conversely, immrama, which are journeys to the otherworld, can be both secular and monastic (some scholars choose to differentiate between secular and monaster immrama and some don’t). It’s important to understand that immrama are frame-texts, which means that the “rowing about” (“immram”) is the vehicle through which all manner of episodes/incidents can be joined into the story. In a frame text, episodes can be added or subtracted so long as the frame itself is not damaged. 

Finally, we come to the sea shanty- which is one of my favorite styles of music. Sea Shanties are rhythmic work songs originally sung by sailors. These songs typically tell a story, and the kind of story they tell is something I’ll touch on in a little bit. 

The point of this post, is to have somewhere to put my thoughts on the ways in which sea shanties feel like a continuation of the immrama tradition. In most sea shanties and immrama one can find: 

a motivation for the events

a conclusion

filler material that links the frame to the secondary story

the voyage to an otherworld

Chapters: 1/6  

Fandom: Bishoujo Senshi Sailor Moon | Pretty Guardian Sailor Moon, Bishoujo Senshi Sailor Moon | Pretty Guardian Sailor Moon (Anime & Manga), Irish Mythology  

Rating: General Audiences  

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply  

Relationships: Mizuno Ami & Zoisite, Minor or Background Relationship(s), Chiba Mamoru/Tsukino Usagi, Senshi & Shitennou, Chiba Mamoru & Shitennou, Tsukino Usagi & Inner Senshi  

Characters: Zoisite (Sailor Moon), Mizuno Ami, Chiba Mamoru, Tsukino Usagi, Kino Makoto, Aino Minako, Hino Rei, Jadeite (Sailor Moon), Nephrite (Sailor Moon), Helios (Sailor Moon), Kunzite (Sailor Moon), Shitennou (Sailor Moon), Inner Senshi  

Additional Tags: Immram, Hero's Journey, Fairy Tale Style, Alternate Universe - Fairy Tale, I never set out to write ensemble fics, they just turn out that way, Weird Irish Fairy Tale matter-of-fact gross stuff, like casual reference to cannibalism, and cutting parts off magical people and creatures??, but it's literally nowhere near as gross as i could have made it, tags will probably mutate, no betas we die like men  

Human beings have an incredibly dangerous psychological flaw: we are profoundly susceptible to the ache of nostos (homecoming) and algos (pain). We call it nostalgia—the romanticized, aching desire to return to a past version of our lives.

The medieval Celts understood the architecture of this mental trap perfectly, and they hid their warning in a genre of literature known as the immram—ancient Irish voyage tales that charted a soul's journey into the supernatural realm.

The most famous of these is the Immram Brain (The Voyage of Bran mac Febail). The story begins when a mysterious woman appearing with a silver branch covered in white blossoms sings to Prince Bran of a magnificent, paradisical archipelago hidden across the western sea. It is a realm of absolute beauty, free from winter, aging, decay, or death. Driven by the promise of this pristine existence, Bran and a crew of twenty-nine men sail out into the brutal Atlantic. They find the Land of Women and the Isle of Joy, immersing themselves in a life of ease and celebration.

To the perception of the mortal crew, they remain in this paradise for merely a year. But eventually, the numbing weight of comfort fractures. A crewman named Nechtan mac Collbran falls victim to an unyielding homesickness. He misses the crisp bite of the Irish wind. He misses the rain. He misses the tangible reality of his homeland. He demands a return.

The Queen of the island reluctantly grants them passage but delivers a strict, terrifying geas: under no circumstances must any man step out of the ship or allow their skin to touch the soil of Ireland.

When Bran’s ship finally anchors off the coast of Kerry, they find a crowd gathered on the shoreline. Bran calls out his name to the people, but the contemporary inhabitants look at him blankly. They reply that they do not know him, save for the fact that "The Voyage of Bran" is an ancient, legendary tale recorded in their oldest history books.

Blinded by his desperate longing for the past, Nechtan ignores the Queen's warning and leaps from the gunwale, eager to feel the sand of his home beneath his feet. The exact millisecond his boots strike the shore, the temporal illusion shatters. Hundreds of years of compressed time crash down upon his biology. In the space of a heartbeat, Nechtan ages, withers, and turns into a column of scattered grey ash before his horrified crewmates. Bran and the remaining men are forced to turn their ship around, sailing out into the infinite horizon, forever adrift.

The foundational lesson of the Immram Brain is devastatingly clear. The homesick sailor wasn't just craving a geographic location; he was craving a specific time, a specific context, and a specific version of himself. He wanted a world that had already moved on without him.

When you try to force yourself back into a chapter of your life that has already closed, you are committing a form of intellectual vandalism against your own growth. The people have changed, the landscape has shifted, and the context has decayed. If you try to force reality to match the pristine image in your memory, the discrepancy will break you.

You can never truly go home again, because the home you left behind has ceased to exist.

An ancient Irish tale, The Voyage of Bran, tells a story of a man who sailed into the Otherworld. He spent a year in indescribable joy but even so, he became homesick. Only, when he came back to Ireland, he learned that while he was enjoying himself, hundreds of years have passed in his homeland, and he could no longer stand on its shores, as he would turn into ash. So he sailed away, never to be seen again.

We, immigrants. Uprooted from our countries of origin, thrown into a life that we chose, the life that is supposed to be better. Suck into new adventures and joys, which are often legitimate joys. And yet, a pang of homesickness stabs us.

And we can't come back. Even if we are physically able to; hundreds of years have passed, hundreds of changes which we no longer follow, strangers in our own lands. Uprooted in both places, never at home. Can we ever come back?

The Irish, writing tales of emigration since antiquity. And me, joining the fate of those who chose to live a better life, but with a perpetual hole in their hearts.

The immensity of sky,

its murmuring reflection

in flagstone rock-pools.

 No verticals to speak of,

only poles holding power-lines,

an occasional person

moving on the horizon.

The whole day

talks to me from the sky.