1 Man, 1 Hunter, 1 Nomad.: senate

I lose count of the sleepless nights that have past. Night has merged into day whilst I distract my awareness and presence by watching a series called Spartacus: Blood and Sand, and Spartacus: Gods of the Arena. This excessively violent and sexually explicit story serves to remind me of some sad and regrettable truths. It appears to me, through this graphic representation, and others like it on the topic, that little today stands to differentiate our society and the lives of that of our Roman ancestors who existed over two millennia before us. Slavery in all its horrid forms. Violence, wanton and needless continues to be perpetuated in crime and entertainment. Sexual intercourse and the blessed union of love debased and lowered to depths of depravity in manners our empirical forefathers pioneered.

Many today, as then, exist as Gladiators. Enslaved by a master of their choosing, doing battle to a select crowd. Each combatant seeking favour from the mob. Encountering foe and ally, vanquishing or falling to each alike in the delusion that we have to in order to 'get ahead'. Little regard is paid to the sanctity of life. Human or otherwise. Instead it is measured, not in gold coin as then, but in debt and promissory notes. Society does this openly and without shame, publishing lists of beings and their 'worth'. I look upon the fiction, yet see the truth contained within it.
The remedy I perceive to that world, is the same as for this. Stop fighting. If all would cease and instead choose and worship life over death, that flawed and hellish 'civilisation' that was Rome and is ours today would fade forever.

I have refrained from saying 'all' lest I stand guilty of making sweeping and all encompassing statements that deceive. Not all are Gladiators. Not all are the mob. Not everyone is easily distracted by the games and spectacles laid on by those who would seek to tighten their grip and control over us.
There are humans alive today who cannot, will not be controlled. They are not beasts nor barbarian savages of Ceasar's day. But true gods. Beings of Light. Their love and kindness far more potent and affecting than any act of aggression or violence. No agent of oppressive Government or senate can ever best them.
I worship such beings. They are my gods. I believe in them and shall forevermore.

M Jones

Meeting today. After reading Robert Harris' Lustrum, a fictional account of the life of Cicero, I assumed my imaginary toga and set out to join the senate.
I resolved to no longer sit in the shadows and watch, but to take an active role and voice any concerns or opinions I may have, with very interesting results.
At one point, after I had said my piece, the meeting had to be halted and silence called to allow one of those present to shiver and shake out her anger in the corner. This being to same person who had visited us on Friday as Volunteer Co-Ordinator to spread deceit and half truths. She even asked Emma why she was here and what she contributed.
I feel no remorse at angering this woman as she angered mine. Aside from this funny five minutes, all slid along smoothly and Kit and I occupied ourselves laying bricks until the sun set.
Imbolc is nearly here and hopefully so is Spring. It can't come quick enough. There's the usual reasons, but my personal one is I have resolved to cut my hair much like a sheep is sheared. I have cultivated a wild mop of insulation with a notion of it with wool to make something. That should gross people out.
Not shaving my face has been cheap, and I do kind of like my beard. But I feel it needs to go.
Diary intervals have slipped to around every three days which isn't acceptable for my memory nor my patience when writing. I put it down to getting slack in the slow winter with nothing to report or recount. Will be better I promise, yet again.