Why Asian Americans are turning to spirituality

When I step into Earth Angel Crystal, a crystal shop and energy healing center tucked away in Long Island City, New York, I’m searching for more than just an experience—I’m looking for guidance, something to help me regain clarity during a period of personal uncertainty. The air is thick with the scent of lemongrass incense, and every surface shimmers with an ethereal glow cast by a variety of crystals. My head feels light. Is it the incense, the sparkling crystals, or something else—something unseen?

Just as I begin to question the sensation, Daisy Tamberino greets me with a bright smile. A natural psychic medium who’s been in touch with angelic forces since the age of 6, she guides me to a private room dominated by a massive, raw aqua crystal that practically hums with energy. This sets the scene for my “chakra-balancing” session—an experience designed to cleanse my energy and realign my spirit.

After I take my shoes off and sit on a white chair with my eyes closed, Tamberino begins by wafting herbs and incense around my body, as if sweeping away invisible cobwebs of stress. She calls upon Archangels Michael and Gabriel, their names uttered with reverence, to guide my healing journey. Her voice is soft, almost musical. “Please help Tina with her writing career and let her see the beauty in simplicity,” she says, her words almost seeming to dance on the air. My eyes remain closed, but I can sense a pink and purple glow surrounding me, wrapping me in a soft, otherworldly light.

When the session ends, Tamberino tilts her face toward me, eyes closed—as if receiving yet another message from above. “Your heart chakra is blocked,” she whispers. “You need to let go and allow yourself to receive unconditional love.”

Her words strike a chord—something about them feels right. She has tapped into an emotional blockage I hadn’t consciously recognized. I leave the shop feeling lighter, though I know the real work—opening myself up—is just beginning after this spiritual awakening.

As I leave the shop and wander home, a notification buzzes on my phone—a TikTok alert that my favorite astrology blogger was live. I laugh at the timing, realizing that my fascination with spirituality isn’t just a passing phase but something that has become a constant presence in my life since the pandemic. And I’m not alone. This growing obsession with the mystical, something that had initially felt so personal, is shared by many people.

As society bounces back from a time when human interaction was abruptly halted due to the pandemic, we are still struggling to find our footing. Spiritual workers have turned to social media platforms to share their practices on astrology, crystal healing, tarot, and angelic readings. These practices offer a way to rediscover ourselves and reclaim a sense of power and control over our lives. What was once dismissed as quirky or “woo-woo” has now become a refuge in a world that feels increasingly unstable and disconnected.

But this resurgence is more than just a trend. It’s a movement led by a new generation of AA+PI spiritual workers who are reclaiming their ancestral wisdom, while challenging societal norms. We are witnessing not just a revival of old mystical practices, but a radical reshaping of what spirituality looks like in the 21st Century.

The politics of spiritual revival

At a time when traditional religion is losing its influence, particularly among younger generations, spiritual practices like astrology and shamanism are filling a profound void. Last year, in its first-ever survey on spirituality, Pew Research found that 22 percent of adults in the United States now identify as “spiritual but not religious.” These individuals are more likely to focus on inner reflection and centering themselves, compared to those who identify as both religious and spiritual of 48 percent. The survey also found that 83 percent of respondents believe in a soul or spirit beyond the physical body, and 81 percent believe in a spiritual force beyond the natural world, even if it can’t be seen.

Jennifer Kim, a Korean American shaman based in Long Island, has witnessed this shift firsthand. “People are much more open now,” she says. “When I went through my own initiation to become a shaman back in 2016, there was still a lot of stigma surrounding shamanism. But thanks to popular Korean shows featuring shamans, there’s more acceptance. Especially among younger generations—some are moving away from traditional Christianity or Catholicism and seeing a spiritual path that feels more authentic to them.”

Kim’s experience reflects a broader cultural shift. Many mainstream religious institutions fail to address the complex and diverse needs of modern society. In contrast, astrology, shamanism, and other metaphysical practices offer something more personal and flexible. But this rise in spiritual practices isn’t just about rejecting religion—it’s about finding a deeper connection to self and community.

Growing up in a devout Catholic household, Kim was taught that shamanism was something to be ashamed of—superstitious and inferior. It wasn’t until she experienced years of shamanic sickness—marked by nightmares, chronic pain, and sleep paralysis—that she finally accepted her calling as a mudang, a Korean shaman.

“Embracing my path wasn’t easy,” Kim recalls. “Living in the U.S., I was distanced from my cultural roots. It was hard to maintain traditional practices in a Western context. The community, the food, even the musicians for the ceremonies—it just wasn’t the same here. I had to find my own way, blending the traditional with my Korean American identity.”

In finding this balance, Kim has created a practice that resonates with her unique experience. She has customized her ceremonies to fit her life in New York, often integrating the natural world around her—the mountains, the ocean—into her rituals. Kim’s journey illustrates how modern AA+PI spiritual workers are not just preserving ancient traditions but evolving them to meet the needs of their diasporic communities.

Exploring the intersection between Western and Chinese astrology

For Alice Sparkly Kat, a Chinese American astrologer, astrology is more than a tool for divination—it’s a living, evolving language that shapes how we understand the world.

“Astrology is about ecology,” Kat explains. “It’s about understanding how we care for each other and the world around us. Astrology helps us build the kind of society we want to live in, but like any language, it’s constantly changing.”

Reflecting on their early years before they began their practice in 2015, Kat shares, “I didn’t understand why I was alive, and I felt like I had to justify my existence. There are parts of me—my race, my queerness—that aren’t always seen. Astrology helps me claim those parts.”

Astrology wasn’t something Kat had always planned to pursue. “It’s not something you can major in,” Kat jokes. It wasn’t until later in life that they discovered their grandfather had been deeply invested in Chinese astrology, particularly in the ancient Chinese divination text I Ching, usually translated as Book of Changes. He left behind books that Kat now cherishes.

“After he passed, I started noticing these connections in my family’s history,” Kat says. “My dad’s side of the family practiced traditional Chinese medicine, and it was all passed down orally through rhymes. Some of that knowledge was lost, but every now and then, my dad would mention something like, ‘Your metal energy is high, you should eat spicy food.’”

Over time, Kat began to see connections between their Western astrology practice and their Chinese heritage. “There’s a lot of mutual influence from global trade and the Silk Road,” they say. “For example, the Bagua in Chinese astrology is very similar to planetary joys in Hellenistic astrology. It makes sense—there was trade between the Han Dynasty and the Romans.”

While Kat has started studying Chinese astrology to reconnect with their heritage, they have no intention of merging this with their Western astrology practice. “I’m not creating a new system,” they clarify. “I’m learning. Chinese astrology is river-based, which is fascinating. There are overlaps, but it’s about respecting each system’s context.”

"Depending on where you are in the world, you see different constellations and experience different seasonal changes. That diversity should be part of how we understand astrology."

This deep dive into astrology has led Kat to consider its future. “I’d love to see more astrological systems from the Global South integrated into mainstream practice,” Kat says. “Because depending on where you are in the world, you see different constellations and experience different seasonal changes. That diversity should be part of how we understand astrology.”

For Kat, astrology isn’t just about personal insight—it’s about creating space for exploration and connection. “Astrology helps us see the world in new ways,” they say. “It’s about more than just trying to divine yes-or-no answers. It’s about understanding ourselves and our place in the world, with all its complexities.”

Healing through identity and resistance

For many AA+PI spiritual practitioners, it’s not just about personal healing—they’re reclaiming agency and identity in a society in which they’re often marginalized. This is especially true for queer and BIPOC individuals, who find a space in these practices to explore their identities outside the constraints of mainstream religious or cultural expectations.

Oak Kalawakan, a queer Filipinx American astrologer and holistic chef, sees astrology as an “organizing system for processing the immense labor of self-dissection that marginalized people have to do.” Their practice blends astrology with ancestral healing and food, using culinary arts as a medium for spiritual connection.

After a near-death health condition at 22, Kalawakan immersed themselves in holistic healing practices and credits astrology for helping them find purpose and clarity.

“I don’t see a difference between the work that I do with astrology and my work with food,” Kalawakan says. “It might look very different, but I personally feel that if I am sitting with a client, holding space for their life, or if I am cooking for a retreat of 20 people, I am still holding space for sustainment and nourishment of people’s lives.”

For Kalawakan, astrology offers not just emotional and psychological insight but a way to connect with cosmic ancestry. “Even if you don’t know the stories of your bloodline, there is cosmic ancestry that weaves your being together,” they say. Kalawakan's emphasis on ancestral healing reflects a broader trend among AA+PI practitioners—the desire to reconnect with the past while forging a new future.

Pushing back against commodification

Still, the commercialization of spirituality, particularly on social media, is a contentious issue for many modern practitioners. The commodification of spirituality reduces deep, often sacred practices into consumable, marketable products.

“Spirituality has become trendy,” Kim observes. “Platforms like TikTok are filled with tarot decks and manifestation classes, but sometimes this trend dilutes the significance of these practices.”

Many social media-driven spiritual practices focus on aesthetics rather than the deeper, transformative work of spirituality. “Growing intuition takes time, patience, and consistency. It’s not something you can buy,” Kim adds.

As AA+PI spiritual workers reclaim their traditions, they are also shaping the future of spirituality. For practitioners like Kat, Kalawakan, and Kim, this future is one of inclusivity, where marginalized identities are not just acknowledged but celebrated, and where ancient wisdom is evolving to meet modern needs. And while social media platforms may dilute the significance of these practices, they also provide access to a wider community of seekers, connecting us in ways that help us rediscover the sacred in everyday life. The future of spirituality, they believe, lies not in products but in relationships—with the self, with others, with ancestors, and with the Earth.