Why I No Longer Debate Spiritual Concepts
When two or more people with different spiritual ideas and backgrounds sit in the same room, there’s a high chance they’ll talk themselves in circles until the end of time. Or at least until someone gets hungry.
I’ve officially opted out of these kinds of conversations. Let others debate whether enlightenment is a state, a process, or a marketing strategy. I’ll be outside, sitting in the sun, playing with my kid, petting my dog, or writing something that actually moves me. Because at some point, I realized: not everything needs to be a debate about who’s “right.”
It’s a bit like this: one person is standing in Australia saying, “It’s daytime,” while another sits in Switzerland insisting, “No, it’s night.” And then they argue about it for hours. Technically, they’re both correct—just not in the same time zone.
We’ve already learned that not everyone loves the same recipe. Not everyone loves dessert, and some people like their pasta cooked for six minutes while others prefer eight. Personally, after eight minutes, I think it’s baby food—but if someone enjoys it that way, who am I to care, as long as they don’t serve it to me?
Spirituality is like pasta: thousands of variations, endless opinions. Some people drown it in sauce, others know that less is more, and a few insist on reinventing the entire recipe.
From the beginning, I’ve avoided including rigid spiritual concepts in my writing because I don’t want to follow or represent any specific tradition. I also avoid engaging with comments, messages, or requests that ask questions about specific traditions or concepts. First of all, because I am not an expert. Second, my work has always been about spirituality as a whole—never about one “true” path or the “right” method. Mainly because, in my view, there isn’t one.
New Age spirituality, in particular, has a way of turning people into experts of their own dogma. They get so attached to their version of “truth” that everything else becomes invalid. And I find it exhausting. There’s nothing “high vibrational” about spiritual arrogance, dominance, or superiority.
Recently, a white man (self-proclaimed expert in everything) shared my story about Buddha and Jesus and felt compelled to explain how meditation really works—as if I hadn’t quite grasped it. I didn’t bother replying; I have better things to do than argue with spiritual mansplainers. But the moment stuck with me, because it perfectly illustrates this obsession people have with believing they’ve cracked the divine code, mastered the ultimate technique, and now hover somewhere above the rest of humanity. And then they need to evangelize everyone else. Sounds familiar?
People love to feel superior—also in spirituality, especially in spirituality. Maybe because it’s such a convenient stage for the ego to perform while pretending not to have one.
And what so often gets left out of these debates is that spirituality doesn’t exist in a vacuum. How someone lives, interprets, or even defines “spirituality” is shaped by culture, geography, privilege, and lived experience. A person raised in a Sudanese village will not approach spirituality the same way as someone from Amsterdam who discovered yoga in Bali. Colonization, capitalism, and migration all leave fingerprints on how we understand the sacred. Some people inherit their practices, others spend years trying to reconnect to what was taken from them. There’s no universal formula for transcendence—only context.
I genuinely wish these people lost in their own spiritual bubble a brief moment of clarity. The kind that humbles rather than elevates. The understanding that no one has “figured it all out.” That spirituality is lived and felt differently by everyone. And that no one, absolutely no one, owns the truth.
If this resonated with you, moved you, or made you pause and reflect – consider this your cue. I’ve set up a virtual tip jar via Buy Me a Coffee. No monthly commitments, no strings, no memberships required.
Your sweet kindness helps keep the thoughts flowing, the energy exchange intact, and the glow of my inner goddess alive. It won’t fix capitalism, but it might buy me five minutes of joy (or at least a cortado).
Gracias. Thank you. Jërëjëf. Merci. Obrigada. Danke. Arigatō. Medaase. Grazie. Hvala. Tack. Asante. Shukran. Teşekkürler. Dziękuję.
