By Ravensworth (Lady Nyt)
On the night of November 3rd, 2013, beneath a new moon in Scorpio, the first spark of the Wild Blackthorn Tradition was lit. The Samhain fires had barely cooled, the veil still thin, and we, Lord Onyx and I, stood in sacred space to weave together two lineages, two living rivers of Craft.
From the Jolean Tradition, guided by my first priestess, Lady Teara, came the Celtic-eclectic current rooted in 1734 and the Earth Mother’s Child Church of Wicca. From the Draconian Tradition, under the mentorship of Lady Lionrhod and Lord Ash, came the fierce, wyrd wisdom of Welsh-Celtic and Wysardan paths. These streams joined that night, mingling into something wild, protective, and sovereign. The child born of that union was the Wild Blackthorn.
The Words That Began It All
During that first rite we spoke of vision and creation, of love and freedom, of forging a new social order grounded in the divine feminine’s compassion and the divine masculine’s courage. We invoked the Morrígan, the Phantom Queen, to stand as our patroness, and called upon the Blackthorn tree, symbol of strength, purification, justice, and fate.
“The Blackthorn gives us the authority to banish. It brings with it destiny, fidelity, guidance, independence, influence, and magic… The strong hand of fate and of outside influences that must be obeyed.”
Those words, spoken twelve years ago under that dark Scorpio sky, still echo through every circle we cast.
The Years of Growth and the Turning of the Wheel
Twelve years.
A full cycle of the zodiac, a dozen moons of years, the wholeness before rebirth.
From that single circle have grown many: groves and covens, circles and classrooms, each carrying the essence of that original vow. We’ve walked through seasons of light and shadow, laughter and loss. We have watched seekers become dedicates, and dedicates become initiates. We’ve seen our priesthood rise and our Wysards refine their arts.
The Wild Blackthorn has flourished in Orlando, Tampa, Asheville, Danbury, and in the desert winds of Nevada and Arizona. Our circles have stretched across states and through screens, into new friendships and distant hearths.
Every seeker who has stood in our circles has carried away a spark, and those sparks have kindled new fires in places we have yet to see.
Lessons from the Thorn
The Blackthorn is a teacher of paradox. Its blossoms are soft, its thorns sharp. It protects and it prunes.
Our Tradition has known both blessings and trials, seasons where circles broke, where paths diverged, where trust was tested. Yet from every wound, new shoots have sprung.
The lesson of the Thorn is resilience.
It grows in wild places. It thrives in poor soil. It flowers even after frost.
So too have we.
Every turning of the wheel has deepened our magic and matured our understanding of what it means to be a living tradition. We have learned to teach with patience, to speak with integrity, and to lead with open hands rather than closed fists. We have learned that lineage is not a chain; it is a root system.
The Living Grove
What began as a single vow beneath a new moon has become a living grove of witches, priests, and wysards, united by shared intention and bound by shared experience.
Each year our tradition grows more distinct, more self-aware, and more connected to the mystery that first called us. Our rituals have evolved, our theology refined, our cosmology expanded into a rich synthesis of myth, magic, and metaphysics.
We have built not a community. Specifically, one that values both depth and discovery, reverence and rebellion.
And though faces have changed, the spirit of Blackthorn endures: fierce in protection, wild in freedom, rooted in justice and wisdom.
Looking Toward the Thirteenth Year
The number twelve marks completion, the closing of a cycle. The thirteenth year now approaches, the number of transformation, of witches, of crossing thresholds.
May the year ahead open new paths, forge new friendships, and strengthen old bonds. May our tradition continue to grow as a light in the deep places and a flame at the world’s edge.
We honor the founders, the elders, and every student and seeker who has shared in this journey.
We honor the Morrígan, our guide and patroness, who watches with sharp eyes from the branches of the Blackthorn.
Twelve years beneath the Thorn, and still we rise.
So mote it be!
Beneath the Blackthorn Moon
Great Queen of the Raven’s Wing,
Morrígan of the whispering dark,
You who have watched our steps these twelve long years,
through bloom and thorn, through circle and storm,
We call you once more beneath the new moon’s gaze.Remember the vows made in your shadow,
when first we set our blades to the briar
and carved our names into the living wood.We have walked through joy and fracture,
through the flowering of friendship
and the pruning of loss.
Each wound has bled its lesson;
each scar has become a sigil of power.Bless again the hands that cast the circle,
the hearts that teach, the voices that sing.
Bless the seekers who wander our way,
and the elders whose roots hold us steady.May the thirteenth turning open new paths.
May they be paths in truth.
May they be paths in wisdom.Beneath your black wings and the Blackthorn’s crown,
may we continue to grow wild and true,
our faith a flame that endures the frost.So mote it be.
Where the Blackthorn Grows Wild 