Something heavy has been on my heart…well, many things. Many years ago my mentor gave me a reading list. On it were Pedagogy of the Oppressed by Paulo Freire and Man’s Search for Meaning by Viktor E. Frankl. I’ve never been able to unsee, stop knowing, turn off in my mind awareness of a painful reality for so many, including myself at certain times. As was my journey, I also became deeply interested in spirituality; without specific structure but coming from a place of ancestral knowing. Alice Walker’s The Temple of My Familiar was the beginning, my worldview shaken by Lissie, her protagonist, who could remember past lives. She resonated with me. I knew that I, too, could connect with a wisdom that only comes from a mysterious source. I welcomed and have always been grateful for that knowledge, even though knowledge can sometimes be accompanied by suffering.
All these years later there seems to be a new wave of energy around spirituality, but it’s taken an altogether different flavor. It’s like a special blend made just for middle class people who live comfortable lives. Popularly filling so many spaces, like incense, is calling out people as “low vibration.” It’s often paired with advice to “raise your frequency,” “manifest from alignment,” or encouraging the “stay high vibe.” On the surface, it sounds harmless—maybe even inspiring. But for many, it lands like a quiet judgment, a suggestion that grief, anger, fear, or despair are somehow signs of failure or spiritual deficiency.
Let’s unpack the tension between this popular language and the real, lived experiences of people across the globe. Let’s talk about what it means to feel what you feel—and still be deeply grounded, worthy, and whole.
The ideas of 3D, 4D, or 5D consciousness, vibration levels, or energetic frequencies didn’t originate on TikTok. These concepts have roots in Eastern philosophies, African cosmologies, Sufi mysticism, and Indigenous practices. But what’s become mainstream in Western “wellness” culture often reflects a heavy dose of spiritual materialism: borrowing ancient wisdom while stripping it of its communal and justice-centered context.
In many original traditions, “raising your vibration” wasn’t about bypassing pain or visualizing a Range Rover. It was about union with the divine. It was about humility, healing collective wounds, and making meaning in the midst of suffering—not pretending it didn’t exist.
When we say that someone experiencing hardship is “low vibrational,” we ignore the systemic, historical, and structural forces that create that hardship. Worse, we imply they are spiritually to blame for it.
If you’ve ever scrolled past a spiritual influencer telling you to “stay high vibe” while watching real-time footage from Gaza, the Congo, or anywhere touched by war, displacement, or colonization—you’ve probably felt the dissonance.
In those places, suffering isn’t theoretical. It isn’t a block to abundance. It is the atmosphere people breathe.
And yet, even amid brutal conditions, rich spiritual traditions have formed that treat suffering not as a punishment—but as a sacred portal.
In Congolese cosmology, suffering is woven into the rhythm of rebirth and spiritual transformation. In Palestinian tradition, sumud—steadfastness—is not just political resistance; it’s spiritual resilience. Black liberation theology speaks of Jesus as a co-sufferer, not a distant deity dispensing rewards to the upbeat.
These traditions do not shame the wounded. They sanctify them.
The phrase “you create your own reality” becomes deeply problematic when it’s used in a vacuum, divorced from history, power, or politics. While mindset and agency are real, they don’t operate equally for all.
Did enslaved Africans “manifest” their captivity? Did Indigenous children “vibrate low” into boarding schools? Did Gazan families manifest their neighborhoods into rubble? Are your feelings of anxiety and fear in the midst of massive cultural shifts and uncertainty the result of your own lack of spiritual depth?
Of course not.
When spiritual teachings ignore context, they can become tools of gaslighting—blaming individuals for collective wounds and denying the complexity of the world we actually live in.
True spirituality, in almost every culture, holds paradox: yes, you have power. And yes, you live in systems that shape and constrain that power. Wisdom is learning to hold both.
What if manifestation wasn’t about “calling in your dream life” but about collectively building a life worth dreaming?
What if:
This shift is already happening:
This is the real magic. This is manifestation with roots.
So what does this mean for you—especially if you live with privilege, relative safety, and access to spiritual spaces?
It means listening more than talking. It means interrogating spiritual language that feels too neat, too easy. It means shifting your framework:
This doesn’t mean abandoning your vision board. It means asking: Who else is in the picture? What legacy am I drawing from? Who might I stand beside, rather than manifest away from?
You are alive in a complex world. You feel what you feel.
Your tears do not make you spiritually weak. Your fear is not a flaw in your frequency. Your pain is not proof you’ve failed to align.
You are sacred, even when you’re broken open. Especially then.
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