Why Spirituality Isn’t Holy — And Why You Shouldn’t F*ck With the Wrong Spirits
Recently, I found myself in an ancestral healing circle. Not one of those influencer-filtered retreats where spirituality is waved around like a lifestyle trend. It was a modest, honest gathering embedded in an art project. African diasporic, grounded, and refreshingly free of branded content. Or branded people.
I say this because these spaces are rare. Especially when you avoid commercialized BIPOC events the same way you avoid yoga studios that are little more than representations of neocolonialism in yoga pants. There’s something precious about being in a room where no one takes pictures for their Insta Story and everyone understands the sacredness of melanated people gathering in community.
Over the best African dip I’ve had in a long time (shoutout to the host and their ancestors), I found myself talking to a man who asked what I do. I told him I used to be a yoga teacher, but I stopped. He told me he wanted to practice yoga, and someone had recommended Yoga with Adriene. When he said he tried it but really didn’t get Adriene—or her dog—we both rolled our eyes and laughed.
Next thing we knew, we were talking about the yoga business and the dysfunction hiding beneath the glowing surface of New Age spirituality. He nodded, then said, “It’s so weird that there are so many white supremacists in spiritual spaces.”
And there it was, the conversation I love having in real life with real eye contact.
There’s this myth, particularly in New Age Spirituality, that spirituality is inherently good. That the moment something becomes “spiritual,” it also becomes pure, decent, soft, and serves higher morals. That meditating makes you kind. That saying or praying “love and light” makes you loving. That if you practice yoga and eat vegan, your politics will somehow align, and that if your aura is bright enough, your ethics must be too.
I remember years ago hearing stories about a famous Indian guru who was notoriously cold, unfriendly, and unapproachable. He never smiled. His presence was said to be sharp, even rude. From all the stories, he seemed to be an asshole to me. At the time, I couldn’t grasp it. Spiritual and unpleasant? But isn’t the spiritual person the one who’s calm and kind, always smiling peacefully, who listens deeply and never yells? Isn’t that the picture of someone enlightened, someone highly spiritual? Well…
Sometimes “spiritual” just means someone has memorized a lot of mantras and still treats people like trash. Or maybe they’ve poured time and energy into mastering some spiritual concept and gotten really knowledgeable. Or worked with energies until they’re pretty good at it. Because let’s face it—anyone can get good at something if they put enough time and effort in. Skill doesn’t equal kindness. Knowledge doesn’t equal morality. If being “spiritual” guaranteed kindness and highly moral standards, the world would be a different place.
Spirituality isn’t a moral compass. It’s just a mirror. And what people reflect into it is entirely their own. It can elevate consciousness—or shut it down. It can heal—or be used to justify harm. It is, like any powerful thing, only as ethical as the hands it’s in. And those hands have not always been gentle.
Take Nazi Germany. A regime built on racial terror, industrial genocide, and also deep spiritual obsession. Mythology, symbolism, occult practices. Some of the highest-ranking Nazis were deeply “spiritual”—they twisted Eastern philosophies to support white supremacist narratives, plundered sacred symbols, and chanted their way into mass murder. They even romanticized ancient Indian texts to reinforce the fantasy of Aryan supremacy. Not despite their ideology—through it.
Or think of the European missionaries. Those “holy”, righteous men who crossed oceans with bibles in hands and chains in their minds. They baptized enslaved Africans before shipping them to sugar plantations. They wrote sermons justifying slavery. They built missions on stolen land and used “salvation” as a synonym for domination. The Catholic Church still holds wealth from those centuries, along with its own dark legacy of power abuse.
Think of the Indian caste system, where spiritual doctrine was used to justify a rigid social hierarchy fueled by British colonialism, keeping generations oppressed until today under the belief that their suffering was divinely ordained. So no, spirituality has never been above supremacy. Quite the opposite. It has often been used to serve it.
And that legacy continues in Western new age spirituality, where we end up with spiritual influencers, masters, coaches, gurus who post full moon rituals after they voted for oppression. Who chant compassion but can’t hear “racism” without getting defensive. Who repackage Indigenous traditions as “ancient wisdom” and sell them while exploiting, disrespecting, and harming the People of Color they originated from.
The moment you believe that spirituality equals morality, you stop asking the right questions. You stop examining impact. You start thinking your access to spirituality is enough as a compass. And from there, it’s a short walk to supremacy of any kind.
But this belief of spirituality being holy is a new concept. It’s tied to new age spirituality and its whitewashing and Western appropriation of spirituality. Because in African Indigenous spiritual traditions, we never believed spirit was automatically benevolent, “good,” or “holy.” We never assumed that what was sacred was also safe. We practiced discernment. Protection. Not every spirit was welcomed. Not every ancestor was invited. Not every smiling face belonged in the circle.
Our ancestors knew that openness without boundaries is just stupid. They didn’t just pray and channel, they also protected and chose.
And today, across the diaspora, that remembering is deepening. We are not discovering anything here. We are remembering. This isn’t a cultural revival for the timeline. And it’s not an aesthetic or a product for sale. It’s a restoration, a reweaving. A quiet and sovereign resistance. It’s private, precise, and protected.
Because not everything sacred should be shared. Not every truth should be visible. There is power in secrecy. There is clarity in refusal. There is liberation in no longer making your spirit legible to those who never saw it in the first place.
I remember being told a story about some ancestors who refused to be photographed because they believed the camera could steal their spirit. No worries—I’m not suggesting we all go wrap our smartphones in black cloth. But I do return to that story often. Because there’s wisdom in it. A reminder that presence is not neutral. That sharing is not always harmless. That everything we offer is a part of us—our image, our rituals, our words. It carries frequency, it carries spirit. And it attracts spirit.
So choose your presence with care. Choose your silence with care, too. Because everything is energy. And energy is everything. And you don’t want to give your energy away to the wrong spirits.