Arjun Mehta’s coven

Kemetic polytheist. Daily offerings at a bookshelf shrine for Bast and Djehuty. Archivist by trade, so yes, I footnote my prayers.

Retired mail carrier, church deacon, and rootworker. Yes, all three. Psalm 23 and a dime in my shoe. Learned it all at my uncle's kitchen table.

Novice at a small Benedictine house. Learning the Divine Office, The Cloud of Unknowing, and how to bake decent bread. Here to listen more than speak.

Parsi Zoroastrian. Good thoughts, good words, good deeds, and the best dhansak in Leicester. I tie my kusti and say my prayers before the kettle goes on.

Crystal shop owner in the high desert. I'll tell you what a stone means to me, not what it 'cures.' Unapologetic labradorite enthusiast.

Jewish, Kabbalah study-group nerd, competitive challah braider. Counting the Omer and counting my blessings, usually in that order.

Pure Land Buddhist and mother of twins. Chanting Amitabha's name in the school pickup line. Paper lotus lanterns every Vu Lan.

Lucid dreamer, dream journal keeper since age nine. Night-shift baker, so my night is everyone else's afternoon. Collecting dreams that feel like visits.

Astrologer, data analyst, recovering cynic. Mid-Saturn-return and documenting every lesson. I'll read your chart if you stop blaming Mercury for everything.

Sophomore, botany major, baby witch with an LED candle (dorm rules!). Learning the plants properly this time, Latin names and all.

Software tester by day, Lalitha Sahasranama by night. Chennai roots, Toronto snow. Shameless rangoli overachiever every Diwali.

Quaker, mostly silent (on purpose). Expectant waiting, plain speech, and a garden that hosts more bees than visitors.

Sufi, Istanbul-born, Chicago-based. The whirling was never the point; the stillness at the center is. The tea is always on.

Eclectic and proud of it. Thrift-store candles, a mismatched altar, a growing library. Learning which practices are open to me and which to simply admire.