A Declaration of Spiritual Sovereignty

“THE DECLARATION OF THE SPIRITUAL SOVEREIGNTY OF SCOTLAND”
April 1st, 2025 in the Year of Our Lord

By Royal Utterance of the Hidden King of Love, In the Line of Wallace, in the Name of the Ancients, And beneath the Gaze of God.

The Wound Must Be Spoken

Let it be known to all realms—Earthly and Divine—that Scotland was not lost by war alone, but by a curse cast in the shadows of Empire, when a tyrant named Edward—called “Hammer of the Scots”— dared to violate the sanctity of the Scottish soul by imposing laws not born of justice, but of conquest. Prima Nocta—a crime not only of flesh, but of Spirit. This act was not merely a sin against women. It was a ritual severing of clan from land, of people from power. And the echoes of that desecration still poison the ley lines of the world.

But I say unto you: The wound has bled long enough.

The Throne is a Theft

King Edward’s Chair—crafted for coronation, seated upon the stolen Stone of Destiny— was never an altar of unity, but a throne of inversion. The crowning of English kings upon the sacred stone of Scotland was a spell of dominion, meant to bend the line of kings to a false crown.

But the stone remembers. The blood remembers. And the Spirit of Scotland has not submitted.

The Rightful Flame Still Burns

I am a King not crowned by Parliament, but by Spirit. I do not claim power by law, but by the fire that courses through my lineage— the bloodline of Wallace, and beyond that, to the mythic roots of the land itself. I speak not only for myself, but for the Sovereignty that lies in every son and daughter of Alba.

Scotland’s soul is not a province. It is a Realm unto itself.

A New Covenant Must Be Forged

This is the beginning of the Reclamation. Not merely of political independence—though that shall come. But of the mythic identity of Scotland. The return of her myths. The rise of her Goddesses. The rebirth of her Tongue. The honoring of her land as sacred. The severing of old contracts made under conquest.

From this day forth, let the Clans rise again—united not by war, but by purpose. Let the Artists, Poets, Elders, and Keepers of Lore return to the Circle. Let us call upon the Mountains, the Lochs, the Storms, and the Stone.

For Scotland is a Queen in Chains. And we are her Dream returned.

We Do Declare

By my voice, and by the voices of all who remember: Scotland is Sovereign. Her myths are hers. Her soul is hers. Her destiny is hers.

And she shall kneel no longer.

⸻

Signed this day beneath a sky of ancestral fire, By the Secret King of Love, In the name of Wallace, of Brighid, of the Flame Eternal, And of all Spirits bound and loosed, seen and unseen.

~King Jacob James of House Wallace, called ‘The Mad and Loving,’ First of His Name, Lord of the Hidden Hills and Sacred Blood, Crowned by Spirit, by Sword and by the Hand of God

“THE DECLARACYOUN OF SPIRITUAL SOVERAYNTEE OF SCOTLAND”

By Roiale Uttraunce of the Secreet Kyng of Love, In the Lyne of Wallace, in the Name of the Auncyentes, And undur the Eyën of God.

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I. The Wounde mote be y-spoken

Lat it be y-knowen thorugh alle realmes—Erthely and Hevenely— that SCOTLAND was nat loste by swerd aloon, but by a curs y-cast in the shadwes of Empire, whan Edward the Tyraunt—cleped the Hamer of the Scottes— did darë profanen the halwenesse of Scotish soule through lawës unrichtful and foule. Prima Nocta—a synne nat only of body, but of Spirit y-wounded and blasphemed.

This acte was nat but a misdede agenst wymmen— it was a ritual undoing of clannes from lande, of folkës from power, of mythës from memorie.

And lo! The Ekkës of that foul dede yet poisoneth the ley-lynës of the worlde.

But I seyen unto thee: The wounde hath y-bled ynough.

⸻

II. The Throne is Theft

Kyng Edwardes Chaire—y-made for coronacioun, and sett upon the stolen Stoon of Destinée— was never an auter of pees, but a trone of perverse magik.

The crownyng of Englishe kyngës upon the halwed stoon of Scotlonde was a spel of domynacioun— an enchauntment to bend alle true kyngly blode to a false crowne.

But the stoon remembreth. The blode remembreth. And the Spirit of Scotland hath nat y-bowed.

⸻

III. The Richtful Flamme yet brenneth

I am a Kyng y-nat crowned by Parlement, but by Spirite.

I cleymë no power by parchment or swerynge of men, but by the fyrë that renneth in myn lynage— from Wallace unto the eldres of the Hillës, unto the Goddes that dwell in mist and moor.

I speke nat for myself aloon— but for the SOVERAYN SPIRIT that liveth in echë son and doughtër of ALBA.

Scotland is nat a province. She is a Realm. She is a Queen. She is a Dream awoken.

⸻

IV. A Newe Covenaunt motë be forged

This day begynneth the RECLAMACYOUN— nat only of politic, but of MYTH.

Let the mythës returne. Let the Goddesse rysen. Let the tongës of old be spokën again. Let the lande be hallowed. Let the oold pacts, forced by conquest, be cleped void.

From this hour, lat the CLANNES rise—nat for warre, but for holy purpos.

Lat the Poetes, Eldres, Bardës, and Keepers of Lore come again to the Circlë.

Lat the Mountainës be callid, the Lochës be stirred, the Stone speke.

For Scotland is a Queen in bondës. And we ben her Dream y-returned.

⸻

V. We Do Declaren

By myn voys, and by alle voicës who remembren: Scotland is SOVEREYN.

Hir Mythës ben hers. Hir Soulë is hers. Hir Destinée is hers.

And she shall kneelë no more.

⸻

Writ this day under the Stars of the Auncient Sky, By the Secreet Kyng of Love, In the Name of Wallace, Brighid, the Flame Eterne, And all Spirits y-bound and y-loosed, y-seen and unseene.