spirituality

Walking the Edge – Part II: The Fire Beneath the Thorn

A Witch’s Journey Through Power Series

There comes a moment in every witch’s path where the wind changes.

You are no longer simply learning. The spells you cast begin to ripple outward. Your words take on weight. People turn to you for insight, for healing, for justice. And the power you once touched with trembling hands begins to move through you with ease, sometimes unbidden.

This is not mastery.
This is the dangerous middle.

The Moment When Power Answers

In the beginning, power is something we reach for. We read, we train, we practice. We cast the same spell again and again, tweaking the moon phase or the herb blend, trying to catch the current just right.

But then… something shifts. A whisper moves through you, a knowing rises in your gut. The work deepens because you are becoming more refined.

Your aura takes on a gravity of its own. Ritual becomes less about calling and more about opening. Your presence stirs reaction, resonance, or resistance.

And with that shift, the world begins to test you.

The Ladder to True Power

We speak in the Wild Blackthorn Tradition of a progression; a ladder of fire, climbed not in haste but with care:

Knowledge – The gathering of lore, theory, tools, and stories. Books and breath.
Experience – The doing. The failed spells. The moments of awe. The nights of doubt.
Actualization – The integration. When the witch no longer works the spell, but becomes it.
Wisdom – The still point. When discernment is sharper than desire.
Power – Not the lightning. The conductor. The one who knows what to do with the storm.

This is not a linear journey. We rise and fall through these states. But when one tries to leap ahead, when power is seized without wisdom, when understanding blooms without humility, something fractures.

This is where obsession is born. And obsession is not power, it is power turned inward, festering.

The False Fire

There is a kind of power that masquerades as mastery. It is loud, impressive, and intoxicating. It commands attention. It often gets called “influence.”

But true power does not always shine. Sometimes it walks barefoot. Sometimes it bleeds. Sometimes it waits in silence until the moment is right.

Beware the gleam that demands your gaze. In magic, as in life, the brightest thing in the room is not always the most powerful. Sometimes, it is the trap.

The Peril of Outer Praise

Power wants to be witnessed. This is part of its nature—it radiates. But the desire to be seen as powerful is not the same as being powerful.

There is danger in chasing recognition before the soul is ready. In every tradition, we see those who begin to shine a little too early—and who then reshape their magic around being seen rather than becoming whole.

This happens in subtle ways:

We post a ritual and check for likes.
We speak in circle hoping for admiration, not alignment.
We wear our title louder than our integrity.

The desire for outer validation is often a mask for unworked insecurity. When we seek applause, it’s because some part of us doubts our worth, and would rather hear others say it than learn to believe it ourselves.

But this kind of validation feeds the wrong fire. It grows the ego, not the spirit.

And ego, once fed too long, becomes a hungry ghost, always needing more. It will whisper that you are wiser than your elders, more gifted than your peers, immune to correction. It will resist stillness. It will panic at silence.

This is not sovereignty. It is spiritual inflation.

The Witch’s power must rise from within, not depend on a mirror held up by others. Otherwise, when that mirror breaks, and it always does, we are shattered with it.

The Forge of Becoming

You must be tempered, Witch. And that tempering is never comfortable. There will be days when the magic feels like fire in your mouth. When your spirit aches from holding boundaries. When you are tempted to use the Craft for validation, revenge, or escape.

Those are the crossroads. Not whether you can cast, but why.

Power without ethics is violence.
Power without devotion is vanity.
Power without will is waste.
But power with all these? That is the mark of the Witch whole.

A Vision: The Path of Ash and Ember

Close your eyes and walk with me.

You stand at the edge of twilight on a mountain pass older than maps. The air is sharp with myrrh and woodsmoke, and beneath your feet, the stones are warm with something ancient, something watching.

To your right, the land falls away into a golden plain lit by sunset. A wide road stretches across it, paved with sigils and scattered with broken wands, dulled blades, and tarnished crowns. Here walked those who hungered for power, who cast great spells and gathered titles—but whose works crumbled for lack of root.

To your left, a narrow path coils upward into mist and shadow. It is hard going. The ground is uneven, the stones slick with old blood and weathered tears. Thorn branches clutch at your sleeves. Along the trail stand cairns, one for each who walked the path to its end. Some bear names carved in languages long dead. Others are unmarked, known only to the stars and the Gods.

Here and there you glimpse offerings: a braid of hair, a ring of iron, a tooth, a prayer etched in salt. These are the tools of the true initiate, not trophies, but sacrifices.

Then, from within the thicket of blackthorn to your left, a voice stirs. It is dry as wind, sharp as bone, and yet somehow your own:

“Will you carry the fire, or be consumed by it?”

The forge is not at the summit.
It is within the climb.

The Power of Restraint

The witch who knows their own limits, and tests them with intention, is already walking toward wisdom.

We must build not just spellcraft, but soulcraft.

Restraint is not weakness. Patience is not passivity. These are disciplines of the deep magician, who understands that a spell well-timed is worth a thousand flung in frenzy.

Power must be shaped, not hoarded.
It must serve something greater, or it will devour its bearer.

The Witch as Keeper of Fire

You are not here to burn the world down.

You are here to carry the ember forward.
To protect the spark.
To light the beacon when others are lost.
To warm. To forge. To cauterize.
To know when to let the fire die into coals… and when to breathe it back to life.

In Part III

In the next part of this journey, we will begin preparing the vessel:

Ethical grounding
Psychic hygiene
Shadow integration
Ritual techniques for strengthening will
And a meditation on the “Guardian at the Threshold.”

But for now, I leave you with this: What in you is still flammable?
And what in you has already survived the fire?

The Edge and the Spiral, A Witch’s First Reckoning with Power

Power Begins at the Edge

The Witch’s First Reckoning with Risk, Growth, and the Call of the Spiral

Most of us begin the path of witchcraft with small, beautiful things.
A phase of the moon, an herb tucked under the pillow, a card drawn in curiosity.
A whisper, a candle flame, a sense that something more is possible.

These are good beginnings.
Gentle. Curious. Sacred in their own way.

But there comes a time, sometimes after years, sometimes overnight, when something shifts.
The dream becomes a hunger. The candlelight isn’t enough. You want more than spells that look pretty and rituals that feel safe.

This is where the edge appears.

The First Reckoning

There’s no flashing sign that says, Power this way.
Instead, there’s a tension in the chest. A feeling that what you’re doing isn’t wrong, but it isn’t enough, you could go deeper. Maybe it happens in ritual, when your voice shakes as you call the Goddess, and something answers back. Perhaps it’s in a dream, when you wake, sobbing with a name you’ve never heard still on your lips. Or it could be when the world cracks open; grief, love, illness, birth, and the veil thins without warning.

And suddenly, you know: This path is real.
And real means risk.

You are standing on the edge.
And something inside you is asking if you’ll step forward.

The Path Isn’t Straight, It Spirals

No one hands you a map for what comes next. You don’t become powerful all at once.
It doesn’t matter how many books you’ve read or how many tools you own.

Power unfolds in spirals.

You begin with knowledge; learning names, signs, symbols.
You move into experience; casting, contacting, stumbling, trying again.
You start to understand the deeper structures and the “why’s”
Then, sometimes slowly, sometimes all at once, you grow into wisdom.
And from that wisdom, you begin to touch true power.

You come back to the same ideas again and again, and each time, they meet you deeper. The moon isn’t just a phase. It becomes a mirror.
The spell isn’t just a charm. It becomes a choice.

And here’s the truth no one glamorizes:
The people who succeed at this path, the witches, the magicians, mystics and healers who truly grow, have failed more than most people have even dared to try.
They’ve stumbled. Been humbled. Risked. Gotten it wrong. Chosen again.

Every scar is a sign of movement.
Every mistake is part of the spiral.

Power Will Ask Something of You

This is the part few people say out loud.

Awakening isn’t always beautiful, it breaks things.

You might lose the version of yourself that always played small.
You might lose people who loved that version.

You’ll face your fears. Those of failure and of success.
And you’ll meet your shadow, one who is not the villain you fear, but a wounded protector.

Because here’s the truth:

We all have a dark side.
It is simply hidden, not evil. Built from old pain and forged in moments we had to survive.

If you repress it, ignore it, pretend it isn’t there, it will find its way out anyway.
And when it bursts free, it will do so without your consent, or your control.

But if you turn toward it, if you meet it, name it, embrace it, you begin to reclaim your full self.

Your shadow has shielded you.
It carried the weight you couldn’t bear at the time.
It knows your wounds and your power.

When you embrace it, when you do the slow, brave work of integration you don’t become less.

You become more.
More whole.
More honest.
More powerful than you ever imagined.

You Don’t Have to Be Ready

You don’t need to know everything.
You don’t have to be perfect. You don’t need a coven, a title, a perfect altar, or the current aesthetic.

You need one thing:
A willingness to keep going, to be reshaped, to listen deeply to yourself, to the land, to the gods.
A willingness to walk forward even when the path vanishes into mist.

Because power isn’t a destination.
It’s a devotion.
And it begins the moment you say:
Yes, I will walk.

A Note for the Ones Still Standing on the Edge

If you’re here, if you’re reading this…
If you’ve felt the edge under your feet and the pull of something deeper.

Then you’re already on the path.

The spiral has already begun.

So take one breath.
Take one step.
And trust that you are not alone. We’ve walked this way too.
And the road ahead, while steep, is full of wonder.

What Witches Can Do Now – Standing in the Time of Apophis

“The serpent rises. But we rise higher.”

The warnings have come. The old systems are trembling. This is a time of unraveling, but also one of choosing. Witches are not spectators to collapse. We are part of what must come next.

This path was never meant to be comfortable. We walk it to remember who we are and to stay close to the land and its spirits. Many of us have lived through fire and come through stronger. We’ve listened in silence long enough to know: “This isn’t the end.”

It’s the beginning. And we’re being called to show up.

So what do we do now?
We hold fast.
We cast when needed.
We protect those we love.
We remember what matters.
We begin again.

The Circle Is Not Just a Spell—It’s a Stronghold

There was a time when the circle was for celebration and communion. A space to speak with the gods, practice our craft, and welcome change.

Now, our circle becomes something more: they become bastions of protection, thrones of our sovereignty, centers of transformative power, a place to remember what is real.

The Witch’s Circle is not escape, it is reclamation.
It says: Within this space, truth lives. Within this space, I am whole. Within this space, the old ways still live in me and through me.

Cast your circle as often as you need to. It doesn’t have to be elaborate. Some days, a single candle is enough. Or a quiet moment to breathe and draw strength from the Earth. A simple phrase. A hand resting over your heart. A clear boundary spoken aloud: “Only truth may enter here.” This, too, is a shield.

Discernment Is a Sacred Art Now

Apophis doesn’t always come in an obvious way. Sometimes he looks like distortion, illusion, doubt, and misdirection.

We live in a world full of noise. Everyone’s talking, few are listening. Witches can’t afford to get swept up in it. We need to tune in differently. Not through blind belief, and not through constant skepticism, but with something deeper.

Discernment asks more of us. It’s a quiet skill, sharpened over time. It comes from checking in, using your tools and gifts, yes, but also questioning yourself honestly.

Try it:
Ask your deck what’s hidden, not just what’s ahead.
Use your mirror to reflect, not just for visions, but to show your choices.
Name the lies you’ve heard out loud, then name what you know to be real. Lies in repetition often drown what we know to be true.

It’s not always comfortable. But it’s sacred work.

The Web Must Be Woven Now, Not Later

If you’re alone, reach out. Don’t wait for the perfect time or the perfect group. Start with a message. Share tea or a small meal. Make space to speak.

A coven does not have to wear robes and chant in the woods. It is a place where we are safe to speak, to be seen. In many respects, our covens and small groups become family.

Witches know how to endure. We’ve practiced solitude. But this moment calls for more. Don’t try to weather everything alone. We need one another. Now more than ever.

And While You’re Building—Go Deeper

Some have stayed on the edge of this path too long. Lighting the same candles. Reading the same books. Always planning to go deeper, but never quite starting.

That time has passed.

Beginner practice is valid, but it’s no longer enough. Not with what’s unfolding around us. The gods are restless. The land is in pain. There’s no more room for hesitation.

This is the moment to learn more. To stretch yourself. To risk something and, in doing so, to grow in power.

Years ago, I was told I wasn’t ready. I stepped forward anyway. I built what I needed, found my footing, and completed what would become my first true Great Work. Not because I had approval, but because the fire wouldn’t wait. Every serious witch will reach that moment eventually. And if no elder has told you before, I will.

You have permission.

To leave the safe edge of things.

To take a step forward.

To push yourself in ways you had not imagined.

To begin building something real.

Magic was never safe. That’s not the point. But risk is where growth happens. It always has been.

That doesn’t mean being reckless. It means choosing the path of power, again and again. A path built on learning, effort, experience, and understanding. Power doesn’t come through force. It arrives quietly, when we’re ready to carry it. A culmination that brings wisdom.

A Simple Oath for Those Ready

If this speaks to you, speak it aloud. All you need is a flame, your breath, and a moment of truth.

The Oath

I wasn’t called to skim the surface.
I didn’t come here to play small.

I’m choosing to show up.
To learn what I need to.
To remember who I am.

I’m a Witch.
And I’m ready.

Light your candle. Touch the ground. Breathe. Say what’s true.

Where the Blackthorn Grows Wild