🔥 The Torchbearers: A Call to the Witches Who Stayed

 

Missing My Circle Under a Distant Moon

There’s a certain kind of homesickness that doesn’t have a zip code.

I’ve been thinking about my circle back in Kansas City—the women and men who held space with me, cast with me, wept, and laughed under the same sky with me. The ones who passed the salt with the tequila with the exact same reverence as a sacred chalice, who knew the exact moment a spell had landed by the goosebumps on their arms. My witches. My soul family. I miss them more than I expected.

It hits me in strange ways. Like when I see the moon at her fullest, glowing behind the evergreens here in Washington, and I instinctively reach for my phone to text someone in the group—"Are you feeling this too?" But we’re scattered now. Different time zones. Different lives. Still tethered, but not in the same room, not around the same altars or fire pits.

Back in Kansas City, we’d gather around tables cluttered with gaming decks, tarot decks, bundles of drying herbs, and whatever potluck magic someone brought in Tupperware. We didn’t always have a ritual plan. Sometimes, we’d sit in the circle and just be—and that was the magic. Candles flickering. Laughter echoing. The comfort of being wholly seen, witchy warts and all.

Here, I’m finding beauty in the solitude—the misty forests, the stars above the mountain ranges, the quiet pull of moonlight through lodgepole pine. But it’s not the same as that circle. That circle of women and men who know your shadows, who hold your hand when your spell breaks open your heart, who’ve seen you ugly-cry in the middle of a working and didn’t even blink.

I light candles alone now. I stir my coffee clockwise and whisper intentions into the steam, and it works. Of course it works. Magic doesn’t vanish just because the circle’s been stretched thin by miles. But I miss the warmth of shared breath. The way we used to sync our energy like a tide. The way one person’s prayer could ripple out into the whole room like a chant caught in the wind.

To my circle—if you're reading this—I miss you.

I miss your cackles and your incense blends. I miss how we could get feral in the best way—dancing in the backyard around the fire pit, doing the "Ho-Down"at random times and laughter woven tight. I miss the way you held me through big transitions and brutal heartbreaks. I miss the way we pulled each other back into ourselves when the world got too loud.

I’m still casting. Still calling down the moon. Still building altars in hotel rooms on tree stumps and even on the dashboard of rental cars. If you ever rent a Hyundai Kona and it smells like rosemary and sage, you're welcome.

But damn. I miss circling with you. I've met no one up here like you. 

So tonight, I’m lighting a candle for each of you. One by one. No spell, no ceremony—just love. Just remembrance. Just gratitude for the wild, weird, wonderful magic we made together. And when the wind shifts and the flame flickers just right, I’ll know you're out there too. Still casting. Still loving. Still mine.

Blessed be, always.

🕯️💫🌕