Why the lingo of spirituality leads to nothing.
Filed under: Linguistics of Light and Low Self-Awareness
It’s not the spirituality that’s the problem — it’s the grammar of transcendence. Spiritual people don’t talk; they vibrate sentences. They don’t feel tired; they’re “holding space for fatigue.” They don’t argue; they “invite you to sit with that.” It’s language as air freshener: a cloud of vague benevolence designed to mask the faint odour of moral superiority.
1. Euphemism as Ego Armour
The spiritual lexicon exists to avoid conflict while quietly asserting control. When someone says, “I’m setting a boundary,” what they usually mean is, “I’m done listening to you.” When they say, “I hear your energy,” they’re saying, “You’re wrong, but I’m enlightened enough not to say it directly.” Every word is a way of not saying what they mean — the linguistic equivalent of a smile that lasts one beat too long.
2. The Cult of the Soft Verb
Spiritual speech replaces action with gentle suggestion: “Let’s honour that., “Let’s trust the process,” or “Let’s allow what wants to emerge.” The result? Nothing happens, but everyone feels momentarily wise. It’s not communication; it’s emotional Pilates — endless stretching, no movement.
3. The Inflation of Meaning
Ordinary words can’t survive spiritual inflation. A walk becomes a “journey.” A conversation, a “container.” Drinking tea turns into “grounding in the now.” The more they talk about authenticity, the less anything sounds real.
4. The Discourse of Discomfort Avoidance
The lingo functions as a protective shield against unpleasant truths. Rather than admitting disappointment, anger, or boredom, the spiritual speaker reframes it all as “a learning edge.” It’s emotional gentrification: bulldozing messiness and replacing it with open-plan positivity.
5. The Sound of Privilege Whispering
Let’s be honest: this vocabulary thrives where real problems don’t. It’s the language of people who have time to “manifest abundance” because their rent is already paid. It turns politics into personal growth and suffering into “an invitation from the universe.” Annoying, yes — but also a little obscene.
In Conclusion: Namasté, Ironically
Spiritual lingo is annoying because it pretends to be universal while being deeply self-referential. It speaks of connection, yet isolates; it promises depth, yet floats just above meaning. It’s not enlightenment — it’s customer service in cosmic drag. I recommend a simpler mantra: say what you mean, mean what you say, and if you must “align your energy,” please do it quietly, in another room. Thank you.
