Linh Nguyen’s coven

Tarot reader in a tiny Brooklyn studio. The cards don't predict, they ask better questions. Coffee-stained Thoth deck, strong opinions about the Tower.

Sikh. Up before dawn for Japji Sahib, then off to drive a truck across three provinces. Langar volunteer whenever I'm home.

Retired schoolteacher with a Varanasi childhood. Morning puja, evening Gita, and endless chai for whoever visits. Ask me about festivals at your own risk.

Grew up beside a small shrine in Nagano, now in Seattle. Kamidana above the bookshelf, fresh sakaki on the 1st and 15th, and a quiet bow to every old tree.

Taoist the old family way: incense for the ancestors, tai chi in the park at dawn, Tao Te Ching on the bus. Water wins by yielding.

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

Sound bath facilitator and chronic sunrise chaser. Singing bowls, breathwork, and learning to rest without guilt.

Grandmother of five, keeper of a very unruly herb garden in Vermont. Kitchen witch for forty years. Ask me about calendula, chamomile, and patience.

Pagan, forager, Wheel of the Year keeper. Muddy boots, a field guide always in my pocket, and gratitude for every tree I lean on.

Haitian Vodou, raised in it, serving in a Brooklyn sosyete. Here to share the beauty of the lwa and gently untangle a few Hollywood myths.

Soto Zen practitioner and hospice nurse. I sit every morning before the coffee and the cat start making demands. Washing dishes counts as practice.

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