So You Felt the Fire—Now What?

-

 

If you’re here from the Torchbearers post—if your soul stirred, your bones hummed, and you whispered “Finally” into your coffee cup—then this is your sign:

It wasn’t just a post. It was a summoning.

And you, witch, priestess, druid, hedge-rider, animist, rootworker, mystic—you heard it.

Now you’re standing at the edge of the woods, torch in hand, wondering what comes next.

Here’s the answer:

We’re building it. Together.
Slow. Intentional. Human.
No apps. No filters. No algorithms telling us who we are.

Just the steady work of connection—one witch to another. One story. One candle. One thread at a time.

🖤 From My Inbox to the Flame

Since that first post went up, my inbox has been flooded—and not in the “oh that’s cute” kind of way. I mean truly, beautifully overwhelmed. Dozens of you reached out. Witches in the wilderness. Priests who never stopped holding sacred space. Solitaries who have quietly tended their altars for decades.

Your stories cracked me wide open.

The grief. The grit. The sheer love still burning in hearts that have weathered so much. You reminded me why we do this. Why it’s worth starting again.

So if you emailed already: thank you. Deeply. You are already part of this. I'm still responding to emails. Thank you. You've given me hope.

But First—The Tech Gremlins.

Some of you tried to comment or follow the blog and got slapped with a “sign in with Google” wall.
Yeah. I see it too. I don’t know why Blogger’s suddenly asking for emails and passwords like it’s 2011 again.

So until we sort that nonsense out:

📬 Email me directly

If you want to be part of what’s coming—if you want to stay in the loop or help shape what this network becomes—send a simple email to:

👉 burntsageandblunttruths@gmail.com

Just let me know you’re in. That you heard the call.
I don’t need a resume. I don’t need a title. I just want to know you’re here.

What Happens Next?

Here’s what’s brewing in the cauldron:

  • A newsletter-style update for those who email—so no one misses the next post.

  • Private invites to help shape this movement from the ground up.

  • A gathering of voices: essays, rituals, tools, truths from folks who’ve been in the trenches of the craft.

  • And eventually—a directory of torchbearers.
    Not public. Not searchable. Just a quiet way for those of us holding the fire to know we’re not alone.

Because we’re not building followers.
We’re building kinship.

And you’re part of that—if you choose to be.

You can also share the living daylights out of this blog. And my email. Let's talk, I mean really talk about what it means to be a torchbearer in this day and age. 

You felt the call.
You lit your torch.
Now let’s walk together.

Email me.
We’ve got work to do.



Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

🔥 The Torchbearers: A Call to the Witches Who Stayed

-
Image
  This isn’t for the trend-chasers. This isn’t for the moon-phase influencers, the aesthetic covens, or the ones who skimmed a Llewellyn book and declared themselves a High Priestess on Tuesday. This is for the ones who stayed . The witches who ran public rituals and built community spaces on shoestring budgets. The ones who got their degrees in theology, anthropology, history—anything to understand the bones of what we do. The ones who studied by candlelight, held circles in basements and backyards, and never once filmed themselves doing it for clout. You know who you are. You’ve been looked down on for not dressing the part. For stepping outside in jeans and a t-shirt instead of flowing robes and Instagram filters. For walking through metaphysical shops and not needing to announce your power—because it lives in your bones. You’ve had fifteen-year-olds talk over you on social media, dismissing your decades of practice because they watched a tarot video or learned abo...
Read more
-
Image
  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 ...
Read more

Who the Hell Am I?

-
Image
🌿 Who the Hell Am I? I’m a Gen X witch with dirt under my nails, fire in my gut, and a sharp tongue that’s survived decades of bullshit—and isn’t done talking yet. I walk the crooked path with a pocket full of herbs, a heart full of ancestral memory, and a deep, simmering refusal to play nice for the sake of anyone’s comfort. My practice is rooted in earth medicine and rebellion—because I believe healing and resistance are intertwined. I blend old-world magic with modern-day grit, call on the spirits, trust the plants, and speak truth even when my voice shakes (and trust me, sometimes it does—rage and grief both live here). I’m an herbalist by calling, an activist by necessity, and a smart-ass by birthright. I don’t do love-and-light unless it’s flickering over the ruins of outdated systems. I honor the sacred, but I don’t bow to gurus. I honor the ancestors, but I don’t romanticize the past. I honor the plants, the land, the stories—and I try not to take myself too seriously in th...
Read more