Tarot, Astrology & Gen Z: The New Ritual Culture

Introduction by Barbara Brown Taylor  

For centuries, people have searched the night skies and shuffled cards in their hands, hoping to glimpse a truth larger than themselves. We built temples and churches, but we also lit candles in kitchens and whispered prayers to the moon. In every generation, the sacred refuses to stay confined. It slips out of sanctuaries and finds us where we are.

Now, in this age of Gen Z, tarot cards, astrology apps, crystals, and rituals are blooming not on the altar, but on rooftops, coffee tables, and TikTok feeds. Some dismiss these practices as trivial distractions. But I see in them the same human hunger that has always driven us toward mystery: a longing for meaning, belonging, and enchantment in a world that often feels mechanical and uncertain.

Mysticism is going mainstream not because it is new, but because it is ancient, reimagined. Tonight, we will explore what it means for a generation to create rituals outside religion, to find wisdom in symbols, to sacralize nature, and to weave myths for the future. The question is not whether these practices are legitimate, but what they reveal about our deepest human needs — and what they might be teaching us about the soul of our time.

(Note: This is an imaginary conversation, a creative exploration of an idea, and not a real speech or event.)

Topic 1: The Return of the Stars — Why Astrology Resonates with Gen Z

Nick Sasaki (Moderator):
For centuries, people looked to the heavens for guidance, from Babylonian priests to medieval scholars. Yet, in 2025, astrology is resurging—especially among Gen Z. Tonight we ask: why? Does astrology provide identity, healing, or simply entertainment in uncertain times?

Question 1: Why are younger generations more drawn to astrology than institutional religion?

Chani Nicholas:
Astrology provides language for self-discovery. Unlike dogma, it doesn’t tell you what to believe; it offers symbols you can interpret in your own way. Gen Z has grown up with instability—economic crashes, climate change, pandemics. Astrology offers both comfort and a sense of cosmic order in the chaos.

Jean Twenge:
From my research on generational psychology, Gen Z scores high on anxiety and loneliness. They also distrust institutions, including religious ones. Astrology offers community without hierarchy—memes, apps, TikToks that feel personal. It’s not just spirituality; it’s identity and belonging.

Demetra George:
Historically, astrology always flourished in times of uncertainty. In the Hellenistic era, it gave individuals a map of fate and choice. Today’s youth are navigating disrupted narratives, and astrology provides continuity—linking their personal story to something larger, even if it’s stars instead of scripture.

Carl Jung (represented):
Astrology resonates because it externalizes archetypes. Youth are searching for meaning in symbols. The zodiac provides universal patterns—the warrior, the nurturer, the seeker—that mirror the psyche. Religion once offered these archetypes; astrology now fills that gap.

Susan Miller:
And let’s not underestimate accessibility. Religion often requires commitment, membership, rules. Astrology is as close as an app notification or daily horoscope online. For Gen Z, the stars are democratic: everyone has a chart, everyone’s story matters.

Nick Sasaki:
So astrology offers agency, identity, and archetypal resonance where institutions fall short. But is it truly guidance—or projection?

Question 2: Does astrology provide authentic wisdom, or is it mostly projection and entertainment?

Jean Twenge:
Psychologically, much of astrology works through the Barnum effect—the tendency to see ourselves in vague statements. That doesn’t mean it’s meaningless. If it prompts reflection or provides language for emotions, it functions like therapy. Authentic or not, it works because it resonates.

Demetra George:
We must resist the binary of “wisdom” versus “projection.” Astrology has always been a symbolic language. Symbols aren’t fact-claims; they’re mirrors. When you pull a horoscope, you’re not predicting destiny, you’re dialoguing with archetypes. That dialogue can be deeply authentic.

Susan Miller:
For many, it begins as entertainment—reading horoscopes in magazines or on TikTok. But curiosity often leads deeper. People discover natal charts, transits, progressions. They start journaling, reflecting. The entertainment doorway often leads to genuine spiritual practice.

Carl Jung (represented):
Projection is not trivial—it is essential. The unconscious communicates through symbols, and astrology gives it a stage. Whether “true” in a material sense misses the point. Its authenticity lies in the psychic reality it evokes.

Chani Nicholas:
And astrology is also political. For marginalized people, it provides agency. Institutions often exclude or judge, but astrology affirms that your life is cosmically valid. That sense of dignity is far more than entertainment.

Nick Sasaki:
Astrology, then, is mirror, stage, and sanctuary. But let’s ask the final question: in a digital world, where astrology spreads through apps, memes, and TikTok, what role does it play in community and identity formation for Gen Z?

Question 3: How does astrology function as community and identity in the digital age?

Susan Miller:
Astrology apps like Co-Star and The Pattern have millions of users. They don’t just tell you about yourself—they connect you with friends, compare charts, create shared experiences. It’s not solitary; it’s networked spirituality.

Chani Nicholas:
Exactly. Astrology gives Gen Z a communal language. “What’s your sign?” is a playful question that opens connection. Sharing memes about Mercury retrograde or Saturn returns creates solidarity. It turns personal struggle into collective humor and resilience.

Jean Twenge:
From a data perspective, digital astrology has replaced some of the communal functions religion used to provide. Instead of youth groups, there are Discord servers for astrology. Instead of sermons, there are TikTok explainers. It gives ritualized rhythms to daily life: check your horoscope, post your rising sign.

Demetra George:
But let’s not forget its deeper roots. Astrology connects young people not just to each other, but to the cosmos. Even when mediated by apps, the act of tracking the moon’s phases, noticing Venus rising—it reweaves the thread between human life and celestial cycles. That is profound in an age of disconnection.

Carl Jung (represented):
Identity is archetypal. When young people say, “I’m a Scorpio” or “I’m a Gemini rising,” they are claiming archetypal identity. It may be playful, but it also serves the deeper function of anchoring selfhood in timeless patterns. This, too, is community—a community of archetypes.

Nick Sasaki (Closing):
Astrology, for Gen Z, is not mere superstition. It is language, mirror, and meeting place. Our speakers remind us that whether it begins in memes or ancient charts, astrology gives a generation both story and solidarity. It may not replace religion, but it reclaims awe in the stars—and in doing so, offers a cosmic belonging suited to this restless age.

Topic 2: Tarot as Mirror — Tools for Self and Community Reflection

Nick Sasaki (Moderator): 
Tarot cards, once the domain of occultists, are now mainstream. For Gen Z, they’re as likely to show up in a dorm room as a smartphone. But why? Are they mystical portals or simply mirrors of the self? Tonight we ask: what role does tarot play in reflection, identity, and community?

Question 1: Do tarot and divination practices offer real wisdom, or are they just projection?

Rachel Pollack:
Tarot is not about fortune-telling; it’s about meaning-making. The cards hold archetypes—the Fool, the Tower, the Lovers—that trigger reflection. When someone sees themselves in a card, it is projection, yes, but projection is how wisdom surfaces. The truth isn’t in the card—it’s in the conversation it sparks.

bell hooks (represented):
Wisdom lives in the act of imagination. When marginalized people use tarot, they reclaim the power to interpret their own lives, rather than accept imposed narratives. Even if the cards don’t “predict,” they provide liberation by giving voice to what’s silenced.

Pamela Colman Smith (represented):
When I painted the Rider-Waite deck, I wanted images that spoke directly to the unconscious. The cards were never just ink—they were visual poetry. People respond to them not because they’re magical objects, but because symbols awaken the imagination.

Austin Coppock:
Tarot operates like astrology—it’s symbolic technology. Whether it’s “real” depends on what we mean. It’s not a weather report of fate, but a system that mirrors cycles, challenges, and archetypal themes. Wisdom arises from pattern recognition, not prophecy.

Camille Chevalier-Karfis:
Exactly. Tarot is a mirror, not a script. I’ve seen people cry, laugh, and open up in readings—not because the cards told their future, but because they reflected something they already knew but hadn’t said aloud. Projection is not a weakness; it’s the heart of its power.

Nick Sasaki:
So tarot’s power lies less in prediction, more in reflection. But why are these rituals—cards, spreads, symbols—so accessible compared to sermons or texts?

Question 2: Why are rituals with cards and symbols more accessible to Gen Z than traditional sermons?

bell hooks (represented):
Because they are democratic. Tarot doesn’t require an institution, hierarchy, or priest. Anyone can pick up a deck, light a candle, and ask questions. It honors agency in a way organized religion often denies.

Rachel Pollack:
And tarot is playful. A sermon may feel heavy with doctrine, but tarot invites curiosity. It’s visual, interactive. You shuffle, you turn, you reveal. The process itself feels participatory, which resonates with a generation raised on interactivity.

Austin Coppock:
Also, tarot is modular. One card can be read in many ways. That openness contrasts with the rigidity of many religious texts. Gen Z prefers multiplicity—tarot accommodates plural meanings, which matches the fluidity of their culture.

Pamela Colman Smith (represented):
The images bypass intellect and go straight to the soul. You don’t need years of study to feel something when you see the Star or Death card. In that sense, tarot is inclusive—it speaks across literacy, across background.

Camille Chevalier-Karfis:
And tarot fits seamlessly into daily ritual. You can pull a card over morning coffee, journal about it, and share it on social media. It becomes rhythm, not obligation. That accessibility makes it spiritual practice without pressure.

Nick Sasaki:
So tarot is accessible, democratic, and interactive. But let’s ask the final question: can tarot serve as more than personal reflection? Can it build communal identity in a fragmented age?

Question 3: Can tarot serve as communal storytelling for a fragmented generation?

Camille Chevalier-Karfis:
Yes—when people gather for readings, the cards become shared language. One person’s “Tower moment” becomes a metaphor for collective struggle. I’ve seen groups weave their stories together through the cards, creating bonds stronger than any horoscope meme.

bell hooks (represented):
Tarot can be radical community practice. Imagine circles of women, queer folks, or youth gathering with cards. They use them not as fortune-telling, but as conversation starters about love, justice, healing. That is communal liberation—storytelling in ritual form.

Rachel Pollack:
The tarot spread is like theater. Each card is a character in a drama. When read collectively, it becomes myth-making for the group. This shared myth provides coherence when society’s larger stories—religion, nation, economy—feel broken.

Austin Coppock:
Community tarot also links the personal to cosmic cycles. A group pulling cards on a solstice, for instance, joins individual reflection with seasonal ritual. That fusion of self and cosmos builds communal rhythm, something deeply needed today.

Pamela Colman Smith (represented):
When I designed the images, I hoped they would be used collectively, not privately. Tarot is theater, ritual, and art. In circles of friends under candlelight, the deck does what art always does—create shared meaning through shared imagination.

Nick Sasaki (Closing):
Tonight, our speakers remind us that tarot is not about fortune, but reflection. Its power lies in projection, play, and participation. In the hands of Gen Z, it is less about mysticism and more about reclaiming agency—creating rituals that are democratic, accessible, and deeply communal. Tarot, then, is both mirror and stage: a way for a fragmented generation to tell stories together beneath the flicker of archetypal light.

Topic 3: Ritual Without Religion — The Power of Everyday Magic

Nick Sasaki (Moderator):
Candles, crystals, moon circles, meditation apps—rituals are thriving, but outside the walls of organized religion. Gen Z especially is shaping new forms of everyday magic that don’t require church, mosque, or temple. Tonight, we ask: are these practices trivial replacements for lost traditions, or are they the seeds of something new?

Question 1: How are Gen Z creating rituals outside organized faith, and what does this reflect?

Beyoncé:
Ritual is performance, but performance with intention. My concerts are rituals—lights, rhythm, energy that lift people out of the ordinary. Gen Z understands this instinctively. They turn playlists, moon rituals, or even skincare routines into sacred acts. It’s not about leaving religion; it’s about finding ways to mark meaning in daily life.

Raven Digitalis:
I’ve watched young people reclaim witchcraft and neo-pagan practices. They don’t want rigid dogma—they want creativity and freedom. Crystals, incense, spell jars, TikTok rituals—these are personal sacraments. They reflect a hunger for enchantment in a world where capitalism and screens dominate.

Thomas Moore:
What strikes me is their instinct for care. Ritual isn’t abstract—it nurtures the soul. Lighting a candle or journaling at dawn is not trivial; it creates rhythm and depth. Even without religion, the psyche longs for ceremony. Gen Z is responding to that longing.

Ziya Tong:
It also reflects a future orientation. When science and religion often clash, ritual becomes a bridge—small actions that restore agency. Burning herbs or pulling a tarot card isn’t about literal belief—it’s about anchoring the self in a chaotic age.

adrienne maree brown:
And it’s collective. Gen Z isn’t just doing rituals alone—they’re gathering in circles, online and offline, to co-create. These are emergent practices, flexible and adaptive. They reflect both grief for what’s lost and imagination for what’s possible.

Nick Sasaki:
So these rituals are creative responses to longing, chaos, and community. But does their improvisational nature weaken their depth—or strengthen it?

Question 2: Do these new rituals represent a loss of tradition, or the birth of new ones?

Thomas Moore:
Tradition is always in flux. What seems “new” now may become sacred inheritance tomorrow. When medieval Christians lit candles or washed feet, those were once innovations too. Ritual evolves with culture. Gen Z is birthing new traditions, not losing old ones.

adrienne maree brown:
Yes—and loss and birth are entwined. Institutional religion is declining, but ritual energy is being reborn in grassroots, queer, feminist, ecological contexts. That’s not weakness—it’s resilience. These rituals carry the DNA of survival.

Beyoncé:
But let’s be honest: some rituals are fleeting. A TikTok trend isn’t the same as a lineage. Yet even those short-lived acts can spark something enduring. A viral ritual might inspire someone to create a lifelong practice. So the line between trivial and sacred is thinner than we think.

Raven Digitalis:
I’d add: new rituals often remix older traditions. When Gen Z burn sage or wear protective crystals, they’re tapping into ancestral wisdom, even if imperfectly. Critics see appropriation, but I see hunger—an attempt to reconnect with the sacred roots our culture tried to erase.

Ziya Tong:
From a futurist lens, we should see this as experimentation. These rituals may look scattered, but they’re prototypes for what spirituality might look like in a decentralized, post-religious age. Birth is messy, but it’s still birth.

Nick Sasaki:
So these practices may be fragile, but they’re also seeds. Let’s close with the most embodied question: what role does touch, rhythm, and physical ritual play in restoring what digital culture strips away?

Question 3: How does embodiment—candles, crystals, movement—restore meaning in a digital culture?

Raven Digitalis:
Embodiment grounds energy. You can’t swipe your way into the sacred. Holding a stone, chanting a word, lighting incense—these engage the senses. They bring spirituality out of the abstract and into the body. Gen Z craves that because their lives are so virtual.

Beyoncé:
Exactly. Music is embodiment too. When people dance together, sweat together, cry together—that is ritual. It doesn’t require a pulpit. It requires rhythm, presence, and the courage to move. Gen Z rituals often start as aesthetics, but they end in the body.

Thomas Moore:
The body is the original temple. Ritual reconnects us to that truth. Touching water, bowing, breathing—all these remind us that the soul is not an idea but an experience. Digital culture disembodies us; ritual reembodies us.

adrienne maree brown:
And embodiment is political. To claim joy, to celebrate, to grieve in the body—especially in marginalized communities—is defiance. Ritual restores agency. It says: “We are not just data points; we are living, breathing beings.” That message matters in an algorithmic world.

Ziya Tong:
Embodiment also restores ecology. Crystals are minerals, sage is plant, candles are flame—ritual reconnects people to natural elements. In a climate crisis, that embodied link could be the bridge to ecological care. Gen Z may be teaching us that magic and survival are not separate.

Nick Sasaki (Closing):
Tonight, we saw how ritual survives without religion. From candles to TikToks, from moon circles to concerts, these practices are not trivial—they are the body and soul’s way of making meaning in uncertain times. Our speakers remind us that ritual is not owned by institutions; it is woven into human need. In Gen Z’s hands, everyday magic is becoming both medicine and prototype—fragile, yet full of possibility.

Topic 4: Ecology and Enchantment — Nature as the New Sacred Text

Nick Sasaki (Moderator):
In a time of climate anxiety and spiritual searching, many are turning to nature itself as a source of meaning. Crystals, herbs, planetary cycles, and ecological rituals are thriving. Is this simply nostalgia for ancient practices—or the reawakening of the Earth as our shared sacred text?

Question 1: Are crystals, herbs, and planetary cycles a rediscovery of ecological wisdom, or just a trend?

Jane Goodall:
I believe it’s both. Young people seek healing in crystals and herbs because they’ve lost direct connection with the natural world. These objects are tangible reminders that we are part of Earth, not apart from it. Even if trends seem superficial, they can lead to deeper reverence.

David Abram:
When we handle crystals or burn sage, we are not merely consuming objects—we are engaging with beings. In indigenous and animist worldviews, stones, plants, and skies are alive. Gen Z’s fascination, even if commercialized, is a yearning for dialogue with a living cosmos.

Robin Wall Kimmerer:
Yes, but it matters how. When rituals honor reciprocity—taking sage with gratitude, using crystals mindfully—they reawaken ecological wisdom. But when they become commodities divorced from relationship, they lose their power. The sacred is not bought; it is practiced.

Starhawk:
Trends aren’t necessarily shallow. Every movement begins with curiosity. If carrying a crystal leads someone to care for rivers, if moon rituals remind them of cycles beyond capitalism, then the trend serves as gateway to wisdom.

Vandana Shiva:
And let’s not forget: reclaiming these practices resists industrial monocultures. Herbs, seeds, rituals—they are acts of biodiversity, cultural and ecological. Even if imperfect, they point toward a politics of life, against systems that destroy both Earth and spirit.

Nick Sasaki:
So even if commercialized, these practices can spark real reverence. But can ritual re-sacralize our relationship to the Earth at scale?

Question 2: Can ritual genuinely restore a sacred relationship with the Earth?

David Abram:
Absolutely. Ritual is how cultures have always remembered their place within nature. When we sing to the land, circle in rhythm with the moon, or give thanks before meals, we embody ecological humility. Without ritual, nature is abstract. With ritual, it is kin.

Starhawk:
I’ve seen this in action. Activist circles that begin with ritual—calling in the elements, honoring ancestors—act differently. They remember they are not just fighting for survival, but for sacred relationship. Ritual can transform climate despair into resilience.

Jane Goodall:
And it restores hope. Ritual makes conservation personal. When a child plants a tree as a sacred act, that act stays with them. It’s not just biology; it’s belonging. Ritual keeps us from giving up.

Vandana Shiva:
Ritual also challenges power. Industrial agriculture treats seeds as property. Ritual treats seeds as sacred. When farmers reclaim rituals of planting and harvest, they resist commodification and affirm life as gift.

Robin Wall Kimmerer:
But ritual must be reciprocal. If we light sage without giving back, we mimic consumption. True re-sacralization requires reciprocity—gifting back to land, protecting waters, practicing gratitude. Ritual is not a performance; it is a covenant.

Nick Sasaki:
So ritual can indeed restore relationship, but only if rooted in reciprocity. Let’s turn to our final question: how do indigenous and ancestral traditions inform—or challenge—Gen Z’s embrace of these trends?

Question 3: How do indigenous and ancestral traditions shape, enrich, or challenge these practices?

Robin Wall Kimmerer:
Indigenous traditions remind us that these are not “trends.” They are lineages, carried through generations. When Gen Z engages with crystals or ceremonies, the challenge is to move from appropriation to relationship—to honor, not extract.

Vandana Shiva:
Yes. In India, rituals around seeds, rivers, and soil are ancestral, not fashionable. They remind us that Earth is not an object but Mother. Gen Z’s rediscovery is promising, but it must learn from elders. Without roots, ritual drifts into consumption.

Starhawk:
At the same time, we shouldn’t gatekeep wonder. Young people experimenting with ritual are trying to find their way back to what colonization tried to strip away. The key is humility. Learn where practices come from, honor those sources, and let rituals evolve with integrity.

Jane Goodall:
I’ve seen young people create hybrid rituals—combining indigenous wisdom, ecological science, and personal creativity. When done respectfully, this blending can expand compassion, not diminish it. The danger is arrogance; the hope is reverence.

David Abram:
Indigenous traditions remind us that Earth speaks, always. Ritual is simply how we listen. Whether Gen Z listens through old songs, new crystals, or scientific awe, the essential task is the same: to hear the breathing Earth and respond in kind.

Nick Sasaki (Closing):
Our speakers tonight remind us that nature is not just backdrop, but sacred text. Crystals and herbs may begin as trends, but they awaken dialogue with a living world. Ritual, when rooted in reciprocity, can reweave broken ties between humans and Earth. And indigenous traditions remind us: the sacred is not fashion, but covenant. If Gen Z listens deeply, their rituals may yet become the language of a renewed ecological soul.

Topic 5: Future Myths — What Does Mainstream Mysticism Mean for Society?

Nick Sasaki (Moderator):
Tarot, astrology, crystals—once niche, now trending on TikTok and in urban lofts. Gen Z isn’t just practicing mysticism; they’re weaving it into their cultural fabric. But what does it mean when personal rituals become mainstream myths? Are we entering a new spiritual renaissance—or merely recycling the old in glitter and memes?

Question 1: Will Gen Z ritual culture remain niche, or reshape society at scale?

Yuval Noah Harari:
Myths are the invisible architecture of society. Today’s religious institutions are weakening, but the human need for shared stories remains. If millions of young people treat astrology memes as serious self-identity, then yes, this can scale. It may not look like religion, but it will function like it—creating solidarity, norms, and belonging.

Margaret Atwood:
It’s already reshaping culture. You see it in literature, television, music. Mystical motifs—tarot cards, witches, zodiac signs—are no longer fringe; they’re central. Whether ironic or sincere, they infiltrate imagination. And when imagination shifts, politics and society eventually follow.

Roxane Gay:
I’m cautious. Yes, ritual culture is vibrant, but scale requires structure. Institutions last because they codify. Gen Z practices are fluid, decentralized, and ephemeral. That’s their strength, but also their weakness. They can reshape aesthetics, yes, but will they build enduring frameworks? I’m not sure.

Joseph Campbell (represented):
Every generation must create new myths. Old ones lose their power. Whether through tarot, or Netflix heroes, or TikTok rituals, what matters is the archetype. If the archetype resonates, it will scale naturally. The Fool’s Journey, the Hero’s Quest—they simply change costumes.

David Chalmers:
At scale, the question becomes: do these myths remain symbolic, or do people begin to treat them literally? If astrology shifts from playful archetype to deterministic worldview, it risks dogmatism. Scaling myth always risks freezing metaphor into rigid belief.

Nick Sasaki:
So Gen Z’s mysticism might scale as archetype and culture, but permanence is uncertain. Let’s ask: when mainstreamed, do these practices risk commercialization—or can they remain authentic?

Question 2: Do these practices risk becoming commodified trends, or can they stay authentic?

Roxane Gay:
Commodification is inevitable. You already see crystals sold by corporations, tarot apps monetized with ads, zodiac branding on every sweatshirt. That doesn’t mean authenticity disappears—but it does get diluted. Capitalism swallows everything eventually.

Margaret Atwood:
Yes, and satire often follows commodification. When something becomes too branded, it loses mystery. But humans are ingenious—we reinvent. Even in the shadow of commercialization, authentic pockets of ritual will survive, adapt, and re-enchant.

Yuval Noah Harari:
Authenticity is not about purity; it’s about function. If a commodified tarot deck still helps someone reflect or connect, it retains meaning. The danger is not commerce itself, but when commerce erases story—when the ritual becomes only product, not practice.

Joseph Campbell (represented):
Commerce has always surrounded myth—think of medieval pilgrimages, relic sales, or temple offerings. The key is whether the myth continues to touch the soul. If it does, authenticity remains. If not, it becomes costume jewelry for the psyche.

David Chalmers:
And yet commodification has cognitive effects. If rituals are gamified, designed to capture attention, they shift from reflection to addiction. The authenticity question is not only cultural, but neurological. A ritual must leave space for freedom.

Nick Sasaki:
So commercialization may dilute but not necessarily destroy—ritual survives if it still functions. Let’s end with the deepest question: what new myths are being born at this convergence of technology, identity, and magic?

Question 3: What new myths are emerging from Gen Z mysticism and mainstream spirituality?

Joseph Campbell (represented):
The myth of the Self as Universe. Unlike older religions that place divinity outside, Gen Z myth-making locates the sacred within. Tarot, astrology, rituals—they all affirm: “You are the cosmos.” That is both liberating and dangerous. It can lead to narcissism, but also to empowerment.

Margaret Atwood:
I’d call it the Myth of Survival. Young people are conjuring rituals in the shadow of climate collapse, digital surveillance, and instability. Their magic is not escapism—it’s resilience. The myth is not about gods; it’s about whether humanity itself endures.

Yuval Noah Harari:
Another emerging myth is the union of data and destiny. Algorithms now tell us who we are—Spotify Wrapped, TikTok feeds, AI horoscopes. Mysticism is merging with machine learning. The myth of the future may not be the priest, but the algorithm as oracle.

Roxane Gay:
And yet there’s also a Myth of Community in Difference. Unlike old religions that demand conformity, Gen Z rituals celebrate multiplicity. You can be queer, nonbinary, diasporic, spiritual-but-not-religious—and still belong. The myth is inclusivity itself.

David Chalmers:
The philosophical myth emerging is the Simulation Myth—that our world itself may be coded. Gen Z rituals, ironically, mirror this—tarot spreads, astrological charts, crystals—all are interfaces with unseen systems. The new myth is that reality is layered, coded, and symbolic.

Nick Sasaki (Closing):
Our speakers tonight reveal that Gen Z mysticism is not just aesthetic—it is myth-making in real time. Whether or not it scales into religion, it is already shaping imagination, commerce, and identity. These new myths—of the Self as cosmos, survival as sacred, algorithms as oracles—may be fragile, but they are seeds. And seeds, as we know, have a way of growing into forests.

Final Thoughts by Barbara Brown Taylor 

After listening to these conversations, I am reminded of something I’ve always known: the sacred is not bound by walls, liturgy, or doctrine. It lives in our breath, in our hands, in the ordinary rhythms of life. For Gen Z, it lives in tarot spreads, in crystals warmed by the sun, in astrology memes that spark a smile of recognition, and in rituals improvised with friends at dusk.

Some will worry that this is superstition. Others will say it lacks depth. But I believe it is the Spirit finding new vessels, as it always has. What matters is not the form, but the fruit: Do these practices help people see one another more clearly? Do they reconnect us to the Earth? Do they awaken awe and compassion? If so, then they are worthy of our attention.

The future of mysticism may not look like the religion of our grandparents. It may be fluid, creative, eclectic. But it carries the same heartbeat: a longing to belong in a vast, mysterious universe. That longing is holy. And if we honor it, perhaps we will discover that the stars, the cards, the rituals, and even the memes are not trivial after all. They are invitations — to wonder, to community, and to the sacred that has always been with us, waiting to be noticed.

Short Bios:

Barbara Brown Taylor

Episcopal priest turned writer and teacher, she explores spirituality beyond church walls, emphasizing embodied practices and everyday holiness.

Chani Nicholas

Astrologer and bestselling author, known for blending astrology with social justice and personal empowerment.

Susan Miller

One of the world’s most recognized astrologers, founder of Astrology Zone, translating cosmic cycles into accessible forecasts.

Carl Jung (represented)

Swiss psychiatrist and founder of analytical psychology, who connected astrology and archetypes to the unconscious psyche.

Demetra George

Astrology scholar and author, bridging Hellenistic traditions with modern interpretations of myth and cosmic cycles.

Rachel Pollack

Tarot master and author of Seventy-Eight Degrees of Wisdom, pioneering modern interpretations of tarot symbolism.

Pamela Colman Smith (represented)

Artist behind the iconic Rider-Waite-Smith tarot deck, whose imagery defined modern tarot practice.

Camille Chevalier-Karfis

Tarot practitioner and teacher, emphasizing tarot as a mirror for self-reflection and storytelling.

bell hooks (represented)

Cultural critic and writer whose insights on liberation, imagination, and identity resonate with tarot as a tool for self-discovery.

Austin Coppock

Astrologer and occult scholar, author of 36 Faces, known for linking tarot with planetary archetypes.

adrienne maree brown

Writer and activist, author of Emergent Strategy, exploring ritual, imagination, and collective healing.

Raven Digitalis

Neo-pagan priest and author of books on modern witchcraft, ritual, and magical community practices.

Beyoncé

Cultural icon and performer, whose concerts embody ritual, transformation, and communal spirituality.

Thomas Moore

Author of Care of the Soul, highlighting how ritual, imagination, and myth nurture spiritual life.

Ziya Tong

Science broadcaster and futurist, exploring meaning-making, ecology, and cultural transformation in the post-religious age.

Robin Wall Kimmerer

Potawatomi botanist and author of Braiding Sweetgrass, blending indigenous wisdom with ecological spirituality.

Starhawk

Ecofeminist activist and spiritual teacher, author of The Spiral Dance, a leading voice in modern ritual and earth-based spirituality.

David Abram

Philosopher and ecologist, author of The Spell of the Sensuous, known for his work on animism and ecological perception.

Jane Goodall

World-renowned primatologist and conservationist, advocating for ecological reverence and spiritual kinship with nature.

Vandana Shiva

Environmental activist and ecofeminist, championing sacred traditions of seeds, land, and ecological justice.

Yuval Noah Harari

Historian and bestselling author of Sapiens and Homo Deus, exploring myths, culture, and the future of spirituality.

Margaret Atwood

Novelist and essayist, author of The Handmaid’s Tale, weaving dystopia, myth, and feminist cultural critique.

Joseph Campbell (represented)

Mythologist and author of The Hero with a Thousand Faces, known for universal archetypes and the Hero’s Journey.

David Chalmers

Philosopher of mind, famous for articulating the “hard problem of consciousness,” probing reality, self, and mysticism.

Roxane Gay

Writer and cultural critic, exploring identity, community, and the narratives shaping modern society.