Let's Walk the Path Together

There is a season in every woman's life when the familiar dissolves — when friends pass, parents fade, children grow distant, and the self you knew no longer fits the body you inhabit.

This is the threshold the ancient cultures called the journey from Maiden to Matriarch — the Wise Woman, the Crone, the one who has gathered grief like firewood and learned to keep herself warm by its embers. In Celtic tradition she was honored, not hidden. Her wisdom was the village's compass.

Hawthorn Moon is a small, intentional circle for women walking this passage. We are not therapists. We are not gurus. We are companions — empathetic, curious, listening — holding space for each other through what Jung called the Dark Night of the Soul: the necessary dissolution that precedes any true becoming.

What we are

• A peer-led circle for women navigating life and looking for a community to share the journey
• A library of practices, essays, and Jungian insights for the journey
• Regular gatherings — virtual and in-person — for sharing and witness
• A private member feed for ongoing conversation, free of social media noise

What we are not

• A substitute for therapy, medical care, or crisis support
• A space for fixing, advising, or rescuing one another
• A public forum — confidentiality is sacred here

If this speaks to where you are, then you are welcome to join us.

Why Hawthorn Moon?

The Celts revered trees as vessels of enchantment and the hawthorn was one of the most sacred. Also known as the May Tree, Whitethorn, and Sceach Gheal, the gnarled and thorn-clad hawthorn awakens each May in a veil of delicate white blossoms, a shimmering threshold between worlds.

Hawthorn whispers of fertility and eternal bonds. At Beltane (May 1st), maidens carried its flowers to draw love and good fortune, while its wind-fallen wood was chosen for ancient marriage rites, binding souls across a lifetime. Along holy wells and ancient paths, devotees tied colorful ribbons and cloth offerings to its branches, whispering prayers to Brigid for healing and blessing that linger through the turning of the year.

In the old ways, communities crafted living May Bushes — adorned with wildflowers, painted eggshells, and shimmering ribbons — parading them through villages in honor of the season’s awakening. Some evenings ended with joyous dances beneath their boughs before the branches were offered to the Beltane flames.

Beyond the fires of May, Hawthorn remains a steadfast protector. It stands sentinel near homes and sacred wells, shielding against storm and lightning. The solitary “lone bushes” scattered across the Irish landscape are almost always hawthorn — quiet dwellings of the fairy gentry, whose peace mortals must never disturb.

Legend has it that Thomas the Rhymer, the 13th Scottish mystic poet, met the Fairy Queen by a hawthorn bush. She led him into the Fairy World for a fleeting visit that turned out to be seven mortal years upon his return. Such tales are common in Celtic mythology and the hawthorn was considered to be amongst the most likely trees in which to find Fairy Folk.