Paganistan: Notes from the Secret Commonwealth
In Which One Midwest Man-in-Black Confers, Converses & Otherwise Hob-Nobs with his Fellow Hob-Men (& -Women) Concerning the Sundry Ways of the Famed but Ill-Starred Tribe of Witches.
Does Your Coven Have a Secret Name?
Even after 40-some years inside, the Craft can still surprise me.
A friend was telling me about her group.
“What are you guys called again?” I asked.
She looked a little embarrassed.
“Well, the real name's secret” she said, “but we go by N.”
Like most good ideas, the notion that a coven should have a secret name seems perfectly obvious—once someone else has thought of it. People have secret names, cities have secret names. (Rome's, for instance, is Flora.) It makes perfect sense for a coven to have one too.
Now, when it comes to covens, I feel like I've won the jackpot in the Paganistani lottery. I'm part of the oldest continuously-operating coven here in Witch City; this year, we'll be celebrating our 38th Harvest Home together.
But in that moment I'll admit to having felt some envy.
“I wish we had a secret name,” I whined to myself.
Then it struck me that, in fact, we do.
I know it; I've known it all along; everyone else in the group knows it too.
Until talking with my friend, I just hadn't realized it.
So let me ask you: Does your coven have a secret name?
Because—whether or not you know what it is yet—I'm willing to bet that you do.
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