Why DIY Devotion Doesn't Work

We are not seekers anymore—we are shoppers, not always really shopping, perhaps just window shopping.

In an age where attention spans have shrunk, just enough to handle the brevity of TikTok videos. Commitment is measured in minutes. We’ve taken the sacred and turned it into a sampler. Spirituality has become a bizarre buffet. A little of everything….mindfulness, a little bit of mantras, a pop of psychology, a sprinkle of astrology—and we call it spirituality. Add to that a dash of Zen, a spoonful of Krishna, a whiff of Jesus, topped with a sprinkle. Of Rumi and a side of “I read The Secret once.” Voila! We call it “my own spiritual path.” 

In reality, it’s more like spiritual fast food—convenient, quick, comforting… and utterly devoid of nutritional value. In an age where belief is Branded, and Devotion is digitized, Salvation comes with a subscriber count. the sacred has lost its solemnity. 

We no longer surrender—we curate. We no longer practice—we personalize. And in doing so, we amputate the limbs of truth, only to parade around with the prosthetic of convenience. This is not progress. This is polished confusion. We have built a cluttered, confused, commoditized mess.

We’ve mistaken Liberation for laziness and Discipline for dogma. The ancient wisdom that was meant to awaken the soul? We’ve repackaged it as weekend retreats, self-help jargon, and Instagram aesthetics.

Spirituality is a furnace, not a scented candle. We’ve gone from Agni to aromatherapy. A shift from chanting powerful mantras to mumbling affirmations, forwarding them and adding a “Yes” in the comments. We moved from revering gurus to following influencers with ring lights and discount codes. 

Our altars are cluttered, our minds are chaotic, and our souls? Chronically disoriented.

Let’s be honest. Most of us treat spirituality the way we treat IKEA furniture. We open the box, glance at the manual, chuckle, chuck it aside and declare, “I don’t need this. I’ll figure it out.” Three hours later, we’re sitting on a lopsided chair that squeaks every time we try to find peace.

But here’s the inconvenient truth: Transcendence is not comfortable. It is not casual. It is not convenient. It demands Surrender. Sweat. Silence. Structure.