Marcus Tullius Cicero

I had planned to wax eloquent on metaphysical subjects today, but I haven’t slept well in a few days and the words will not come. I’m quite content to daydream about my pillow and blankets and stare into space.

For some reason, Cicero is on my mind today. My mother used to call my siblings and I “Cicero” because it’s a fun name said with a Georgia accent and rhymes with words like know and go.

My first introduction to Cicero the orator was through Colleen McCollough’s Masters of Rome series, which I began to read warily, having hated The Thorn Birds. Though the Roman Republic and Empire came to vivid life through her books, Cicero is given a somewhat unsympathetic portrayal. I did not become a fan of Cicero then.

Then, about two years ago, I began to read Cicero. His own words, not what was written about him. I can’t judge his politics or policies, but I find a kindred spirit in him at times. I think I could split a bottle of wine with him and happily argue an evening away with the ancient orator.

I may have to watch HBO’s Rome to see him portayed there, and perhaps gain new insights about his nature.