This resurgence might seem ironic in a world so defined by science, data, and material progress. But perhaps it’s precisely because of that rationalism that spiritual practices are flourishing. As traditional religion recedes, especially among the young in the West, a new spiritual ecology has taken root. It’s decentralised, symbolic, and deeply personal. There are no dogmas — just vibes, alignments, and intuitive rituals. What matters isn’t doctrine, but resonance.

Astrology, tarot, crystals, and even spells have become tools for making sense of life’s chaos. They offer a way to narrate experience, to locate oneself in a universe that feels increasingly indifferent. And they’ve found a natural home in the architecture of the internet. TikTok teems with micro-sermons on planetary motion. Instagram astrologers post daily horoscopes in pastel hues. Etsy is awash with charm kits and moon journals. The algorithm, like fate, knows what you’re looking for — even before you do.

Critics are quick to dismiss all this as unserious. Pseudoscience. Placebo. Escapism. And on one level, that’s fair. There’s no empirical proof that crystals “vibrate” or that Jupiter’s placement alters your career trajectory. But to reduce these practices to gullibility is to miss the point. What they offer isn’t knowledge in the scientific sense — it’s structure, narrative, and a sense of personal agency. They make emotional experience legible.

For many, especially those alienated from institutional power — women, queer communities, people of colour — these mystical practices provide not just comfort but empowerment. They represent a reclamation of inner authority. In a world where so much feels externally dictated — by algorithms, economies, politics — the ability to consult the stars or cast a card offers a kind of psychological autonomy.

This isn’t a return to superstition, but a re-enchantment of daily life. And perhaps that’s the point. When the world feels disenchanted, when every system seems cold or broken, the symbolic becomes sacred again. Not because it’s literally true, but because it gives shape to longing. It turns anxiety into ritual. It turns randomness into rhythm.

Whether one believes in it or not, the resurgence of mysticism reveals something important: the hunger for meaning didn’t die with religion. It just changed form. And in the quiet rituals of stars and stones, a generation is trying — earnestly, imaginatively — to find its place in the cosmos.