In this issue you will find:
A recipe for lighting a magic ass fire
A hopeful and ambitious reading list for 2026
An excerpt of a poem to break your heart
Hi.
Oh, it has been all resolutions and anti-resolutions and apathy around resolutions and earnest intentions this week, hasn’t it? Recaps and roundups. Lists, lists, lists. The new year discourse swirls around and around like a dog chasing it’s own tail until it doesn’t, until we all get bored and move on to the next thing. Meanwhile, the volume on the United States bullshit boombox got cranked up to 11 yesterday. Pardon me, but what the ever loving fuck.
I want a thousand things for this year and here are a few: in 2026 I want to go deeper. I want to connect, swim down into the dark and look back up and see the sparkling sunlight glittering through. I want to float in the dark river and see all of the stars, all of them. I want planets and plants, spells and altar work, hearthwork and ancestor veneration and folk medicine. Goddesses and poetry. Radical magic practices and radical community and connection to people who also think that getting more weird is the way forward. Who agree that going deeper into the velvet dark and brambly hedge is the only way through. (Oh and reading actual books like a maniac. Like I used to. More on that below.) Here in the hedge we observe the holidays on the Wheel of the Year, we make herbal medicine, we read poetry, we have fun. But I want more.
The thing is that in order to really go deeper we have to do the work. With our bodies. And hands. And voices. As much as I want to just sit and read and think and believe it into being, real transformative magic requires action. Movement. Somatic involvement. I’m not talking hot yoga and hiking to the top of a mountain kind of somatic involvement. I’m talking using our actual hands to build a little in-real-life altar and then using those hands to light a real candle kind of somatic involvement. Armchair witch no more! I need a fire lit under my ass. No one is going to light it for me.
To that end, I offer us all three simple tools to light the magic ass fire. A basic, customizable recipe to practice with our actual hands and bodies, to welcome this year of practicing, diving deeper, getting more weird.
Recipe to Light the Magic Fire for 2026
The Tea (kindling)
Drinking a hot cup of something that came from the Earth creates a tether between us and the land. It is, as they say, grounding. A particularly magical blend for me is equal parts of nettle, tulsi (also called holy basil), and peppermint. Use what you have, if it’s a Traditional Medicinals bag of Cold Care, drink that.
The Altar (logs)
Find a spot in your home where you can leave a hanky-sized piece of fabric with some stuff on top of it for a little while. Find a hanky-sized piece of fabric. Bonus points if it’s special in some way. Beloved dead grandma’s actual hanky? Perfect. Crocheted pot holder from your oldest friend? Put it to work. Throw it down there. Next, get something that represents each of the Big Four elements, that is: fire, Earth, water, air. So candle (fire), cup of…water (you got it), dish of garden dirt OR a couple of those crystals your buddy gave you last year (Earth), and stick of incense (air). And a lighter to light said incense. (Air can be a little tricky but easy swaps for incense are a pen, knife, or feather.)
The Spell (spark)
I have found this part to always be a little intimidating or embarrassing (why? no one is watching) but it gets easier with practice. Which we are going to do. A spell does not have to be complicated. A spell is just an intention + words + action. That’s it. So decide on what you want, in this case, to light a fire under my ass to consistently do the work of magic (intention), write it out (words), and then light the candle, read the words, and burn the paper (action). Safely! Practice fire safety, people. Burn your paper over the sink.
*An extra level-up is to first ask for help with realizing the intention, or speak an invocation. That is, invoking someone or something or some force or person or entity and asking them to help you accomplish what you’re trying to do. I do this, but you don’t have to. If you ask for help you gotta offer something in return, that is, leave something that person, entity, etc might like on the altar. It’s good practice.
Okay. Drink the tea, make a little altar, ask for help (or don’t), set an intention, write it down, say it out loud, burn the paper. PEOPLE WE ARE MAKING MAGIC NOW.
COME ON, 2026. DO YOUR WORST.
A Reading List for 2026
Another very magical thing I know to do to go deeper is read books. I won’t go into it as I suspect all readers of this newsletter are the same but I used to be A Big Reader. Guess what happened? I had kids (amazing and wonderful but man what a time and attention suck), and I got an iphone (a scourge). A Big Reader I ceased to be. I mean I have still read books (mainly on the Kindle app on my phone, in the dark, waiting for a baby/kid to sleep or praying a baby/kid does not wake up, or listened to books in audiobook form) but My Reading Life has really just limped along, anemic and faltering, for probably the past 10 years. I am determined, in 2026, to return. I am a firm believer that purchased e-books, e-books from the library, Kindle apps on phones, audiobooks, real books, all count as reading. I am mainly trying to read more physical books because I want my kids to see me reading physical books, but again, it all counts. I have chosen 11 I really want to read this year that are outside my normal poetry and non-fiction stuff I have going all the time. This seems ambitious, but let’s see how it goes.
I finished Bread of Angels by Patti Smith right at the New Year. Counts.
Long Island Compromise by Taffy Brodesser-Ankner. Currently reading softcover.
Art Work by Sally Mann. Currently audiobooking.
The Salt Stones by Helen Whybrow.
Wreck by Catherine Newman.
Wuthering Heights by Emily Bronte.
Something by Leigh Bardugo. Shadow and Bone?
A Psalm for the Wild-Built by Becky Chambers.
Pachinko by Min Jin Lee.
The Great Alone by Kristin Hannah.
Adult Braces by Lindy West.
The Practice of Attention by Cody Cook Parrott.
A Poem for Today
From To Begin With, The Sweet Grass
by Mary Oliver
3.
The witchery of living!
is my whole conversation
with you, my darlings.
All I can tell you is what I know.
Look, and look again.
This world is not just a little thrill for the eyes.
It's more than bones.
It's more than the delicate wrist with its personal pulse.
It's more than the beating of the single heart.
It's praising.
It's giving until the giving feels like receiving.
You have a life--just imagine that!
You have this day, and maybe another, and maybe
still another.See you next week! xo, Robin
"United States bullshit boombox" might be one of my favorite phases ever muttered! "Magic ass fire" is a close second. This was brilliant.
Can’t WAIT for Cody’s book to come out. Would love to book club that one. Also, “To that end, I offer us all three simple tools to light the magic ass fire.” made me snort. Thank you, as always, for your impassioned and practical magical teachings.