An ode to one of the last Pagan Romans of note, an ode to what I see in Paganism. An ode, overall, to what I see beneath: the Black Sun, rising.

Namantius I understand. I finally understand you, your kind and ilk. Pro patria et familia, Gloria et in secula et seculorum! Namantius: breathe across the span of your forgotten grave and lend me your strength! You who saw the glory of the Eternal City, who felt the pulse of the Pagan heart in your chest, may you and all your kind breathe life into our limbs! You who heralded the ancestors as the bridge to the Gods, let us do as Romans did! Let us see glory as you would have us see, harden our resolve, and sharpen the spears of insight that we might pierce the heart of ignorance.

Let that blood be oblation enough for now, as we call upon our ancestors and bridge the gaps in the chain of being. Let us pray on our feet and see our labours as offerings to the Gods of Glory. Let our hands work their might upon the Earth, let our tongues usher in their language that the minds of man again might understand. What is gone is never lost, for all that is, is as it ever was – the eternal city, the eternal return, the eternal now.[…]

Ode to Namantius — The Sperg Box