We who cast the circle The circle opens as a protective seal As you step across this threshold, you enter sacred space. This circle is a boundary and a sanctuary. It protects what is vulnerable. It holds what is powerful. It marks the edge between the world as it is and the world as we will make it. When you cross into this seal, you are between worlds—protected by those who came before, guided by those yet to come, held by the mystery at the center. Here, you are safe to transform. Here, you are free to become. Step into the center. Feel the circle begin to spin. You are the axis—the still point around which the revolution turns. This is the vortex of transformation. This is where change begins. The circle is cast. The revolution begins. Step in. WE ARE THE CIRCLE We are witches, artists, feminists, queers, ancestors, and dreamers. We gather in the sacred space between worlds, where transformation is our birthright and magic is our inheritance. We know that feminism without queerness is incomplete. We know that feminism without racial justice is white supremacy in disguise. We know that feminism without class consciousness serves only the privileged. Our feminism is radical. Our feminism is intersectional. Our feminism burns down systems of oppression and plants gardens in the ashes. We recognize that patriarchy, capitalism, white supremacy, colonialism, and heteronormativity are interlocking systems designed to extract, exploit, and control. They seek to dominate all bodies, all lands, all beings that refuse their definitions of what is acceptable or profitable. We refuse. We resist. We reimagine. WE WHO CAST THE CIRCLE WE REMEMBER We remember those who came before us our grandmothers stretching back through time like an unbroken thread, back to the first people who tended fire, who planted seeds, who named the stars, who resisted conquest. We honor the crones—the elder women, the wise ones who have lived through decades of struggle and survival. In a world that discards older women, that renders them invisible—we reclaim the crone as sacred. With age comes wisdom. With gray hair comes the authority of experience. The crones have seen empires rise and fall. They have survived what tried to kill them. They have outlived their oppressors. We remember the witches burned for their knowledge and their refusal to submit. We remember the enslaved women who kept cultures alive in chains, who led rebellions, who ran toward freedom. We remember the Indigenous grandmothers who defended their lands, who hid children, who kept languages alive. We remember the factory workers who organized strikes, the civil rights activists, the artists who created new ways of being. We remember our ancestors who survived—who whispered their knowledge in the dark, who hid their magic in plain sight, who built mutual aid networks, who passed down their power through stories, through recipes, through lullabies, through the wisdom of roots and herbs and moon cycles. They dwell inside us. Their resistance flows through our veins. Their rage fuels our fire. We speak to our grief compassionately, for it is the source of our empathy and our strength. We transform pain into power, sorrow into solidarity, trauma into revolutionary love. We turn backward to move forward. WE WHO CAST THE CIRCLE