Fabienne Joseph’s coven

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.

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

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

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.

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.

Raised without religion, now quietly curious. Reading everything, practicing nothing yet. Thanks for letting me ask the beginner questions.

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.

Third-generation rootworker from the Georgia Lowcountry. Psalms, Florida Water, and a swept-clean front porch. My grandmother's ways, carried with care.

Druid of the oak and the drizzle. Welsh learner, hedge-layer, birdsong counter. Awen comes when I stop trying so hard.

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