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#cicatriciebaci_TheDruid_SMALL_CULT_INCEPTION_(Distance_Series)


#cicatriciebaci #scarkisses Distance Series is working on a visual journey interaction with artists and collectors, here the first portrait generated from the story The Druid told me :

“They called me, the one who knows by the oak.

My scars are many, but I can tell you one.

In the year of Roma 826, or more commonly understood as the year 73 of the Christian era, I decided to visit an old friend, Caius Plinius Secundus. I got to know him when he went to Gallia Celtica. This friendship was viewed by many with an evil eye because, yes, he was a Roman. But something rare among the Romans, this one never judged. A frenzy of learning and recording animated him. Like a sponge, he was animated by this desire to absorb all knowledge. The only thing that could get his head out of his reading and writing was, like all good Romans and that’s where he betrayed himself, bath time.

It was, in my opinion, the closest thing to a Roman Druid.

During the reign of Nero Claudius Caesar Augustus Germanicus, Plinius spent most of his time in Roma but after the tragic fire which struck it in year 64 (Christian era), he decided to take a little distance and returned to his birthplace of Novocomum.

This is where I came to find him and we talked about the most varied subjects possible, this during half a moon.

Then I had to leave. In fact, at this time of year, it was time to go to Carnuta Silva, where the Crow’s gathering was held every year at the top of a mound. This ceremony takes place over three days. The theme is the Verbs sessions. The crow is an animal with a great sense of humor and a joker. Consequently, each druid had, in his turn, to tell funny stories, commonly called “joke” story to pay homage to the crow. I had prepared a few that I was very proud of.

So on the way back, lost in my thoughts in order to decide which joke I was going to choose to present, I saw a heap of huperzia selago. Grass which is plucked traditionally dressed in white, bare feet, and carried away in a new towel. This is supposed to protect against accidents, its smoke helping to see and protects the eyes.

I took out my sickle and decided to pick up a good towel, but when I looked up I saw a Centurio planted in front of me. Needless to say, all that I could tell him was of no use and he took me manu militari as a prisoner in the nearest camp.

Not being already in advance for the crow’s gathering having extended more than I should have spent my time at Novocomum, the time that I was released under direct orders from Caesar, I missed the gathering by a good quarter of Moon.
This is still a great shame and a great wound to me today because there is nothing worse for a Druid than to miss one of these sacred ceremonies.

I console myself by telling myself that it was an alcohol-free ceremony.

Collection: MakersPlace

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