GLORÍ Pathway Quiz

Welcome to the GLORÍ Pathway

This isn’t just a quiz. It’s a sacred invitation — a walk toward clarity, resonance, and spiritual alignment.

Across 15 questions, you’ll reflect on where you are, how you’re showing up, and what’s shaping your spiritual rhythm right now. It’s not about who you’ve been — or who you hope to be — but about honoring the truth of who you are in this moment.

Choose the answers that feel most honest to your current self, even if they feel tender, unfinished, or complex. There are no wrong answers — only the ones that aren’t true for you.

On the other side of this journey is your GLORÍ Pathway — a revealed archetype that helps name your sacred ache and guides you toward your most attuned spiritual frequency.

Whoa there! You haven’t answered all the questions yet. Take a breath and go back to complete them before moving forward.

GLORÍ

Where are you in your spiritual journey right now?

I'm barefoot with questions, but I haven't walked away.
There's tension, but not abandonment. I'm unsure, but still here—listening for Spirit in the soil. I don't talk about it much. But my altar knows my name.
My faith is quiet, private, and real. What I do in silence roots me more than what I say out loud. I broke it open. Now I'm rebuilding what's true.
The beliefs I was given no longer hold me. But Spirit does. And I'm not afraid to start again. I'm grieving what used to feel sacred.
I still believe something holy is out there, but I'm mourning what I've lost. I came with questions, not answers. I'm healing. Gently. Softly. With Spirit at my side.
I'm tending to the wounds of my past beliefs. I want peace, not performance. Presence, not pressure. I buried old beliefs. I'm not who I used to be.
But I'm still here. Still sacred. Still becoming. I'm wide open. I don't know what I believe — but I'm listening.
I'm here with wonder, not a map. Curiosity is louder than certainty.

What are you spiritually hungry for right now?

Direction — just a glimpse of where I'm going.
You don't need a map. Just a light in the distance and a reason to follow it. Growth, quietly. No audience — just roots.
You're not here to prove anything. You're growing deep, not loud. Peace. Rest. Something that won't perform for me.
You want a spirituality that cradles you, not critiques you. Clarity — I need to understand what I actually believe.
You're trying to sort through the sacred noise and find what still rings true. Power. I want my spirituality to change the world.
You're not just hungry for Spirit — you're hungry for justice. Validation. I want to feel like I'm not spiritually broken.
You're seeking assurance that your wandering isn't wrong — just sacred in its own way. To break open into someone I've never been before.
You're hungry for rebirth. You're ready to become.

Which of these spiritual moods feels most like you right now?

Please select all that best describe you

I'm foggy but still reaching.
I can't name where I am, but I haven't given up. I'm wandering with one eye on the stars. I'm deep in ritual. Rooted. Intentional.
I'm not loud about it, but my practice is consistent and sacred. I know where my altar is — and it knows me. I'm in a season of holy defiance.
I'm pushing back, breaking open, and unlearning what held me back. My spirit is in motion. I'm deep in reflection — grief, questions, and memory.
This moment feels heavy, sacred, and full of old wounds I'm still working through. I'm slowly softening. Gently tending to my spirit.
I'm not trying to fix it all — I'm just honoring what hurts and what needs care. I'm breaking through something old — becoming something new.
I've been undone by belief, and now I'm rebuilding what's mine. I'm wide open. Absorbing everything I can.
It all feels sacred — the books, the playlists, the breathwork, the signs. Spirit is speaking everywhere.

Which statement best finishes the sentence: "God is..."

a force I feel, even if I can't explain it.
You don't need to define God — you just know something sacred is there. my elders' whisper, my roots, my ritual.
God shows up in what's handed down, lit up, and honored at your altar. freedom, rage, justice. Not peace at any price.
God doesn't pacify you. God fuels your fight. a mystery I'm learning to meet without fear.
You used to be afraid. Now you're approaching sacred mystery with trembling curiosity. lowkey a colonizer in the way I was taught. So I'm reconsidering.
You're questioning the Divine's framing — not rejecting God, but rejecting God's misuse. something I haven't figured out yet.
You're not rushing the answer. You're letting wonder speak first. a soothing presence. Gentle. Unconditional.
You meet God in softness — not through sermons, but through stillness and survival.

Which spiritual foundation feels most important to keep?

The ancestors — they're my root system.
You draw strength from who came before you. They are your sacred ground. None — I'm actively dismantling what I inherited.
You're tearing it down to rebuild what's true. Even your foundations are up for revision. Ritual — it holds me even when I'm unsure.
You don't have all the answers, but you keep showing up. Your practice is your path. Questioning. I keep what holds up to my spirit's scrutiny.
Your discernment is sacred. What survives your questions becomes your truth. Love. If it doesn't lead with compassion, I don't keep it.
You're guided by softness and care. Your sacred filter is tenderness. Imagination — that Spirit can meet me anywhere.
You're not clinging to form — you're clinging to possibility. You believe in divine fluidity. Truth-telling. Even when it costs me everything.
You keep what confronts. Your foundation is honesty and holy defiance.

How do you know it's time for a spiritual change?

Something breaks. I lose trust, faith, or myself.
You feel it in your body first. What once felt sacred now feels unsafe. I get angry. I can't keep quiet anymore.
Your rage is sacred. It's the sound of Spirit saying, "No more." I feel a call to explore — even if I don't know where I'm going.
Wonder whispers louder than fear. Curiosity is your compass. There's no lightning moment. Just silence, then shift.
You don't explode — you unravel. The change is slow but sacred. I get restless. My spirit starts scanning for a way out.
When the ground feels too familiar, you know it's time to wander again. My rituals start feeling empty. That's when I know something shifted.
You're tuned into the rhythms of your practice — and you feel when something is off. I crash. Then I rise. Change always begins with breaking.
Every transformation comes from a holy undoing. You resurrect by necessity.

What's hardest to release or unlearn?

Letting go of my elders' faith feels like betrayal.
There's love in what you're leaving. It's not just about belief — it's about memory, family, and grief. The shame — about sex, desire, or not believing right.
You're not just shedding theology. You're shedding harm. This is a body-deep reckoning. The obedient version of me that never asked why.
You're not rejecting your past — just rewriting it with questions instead of rules. The need to be certain. I'm learning to live without clarity.
You've left the black-and-white and stepped into holy gray. It's disorienting, but sacred. The fear. Of hell, punishment, or getting it wrong.
You've been walking on eggshells with God. Now you're trying to walk free. The idea that my sacred practice has to look like anyone else's.
You're learning to trust your own rhythm and rituals — even if no one else sees them. The silence. I was taught not to speak truth to power.
You're unlearning how to stay quiet — and reclaiming your sacred roar.

Which spiritual practice sounds most nourishing right now?

Please select all that best describe you

Lighting a candle, journaling, crying in the tub. No answers, just presence.
You don't need to be fixed — just held. You want to be with Spirit in the softness. Marching, praying, and manifesting a just world.
Your practice is protest. Prayer and action are the same breath. Reading sacred texts with a highlighter and a side-eye.
You're reclaiming scripture from the people who misused it. This time, you're reading it with your ancestors, your body, and your truth beside you. Making moon water, pulling tarot, and protecting my peace.
Your ritual is rhythmic, rooted, and deeply personal. You make magic out of the mundane. Burn it all down. Then journal what survived.
You're clearing the ground for your rebirth. Destruction is your devotion. Sound bowls, affirmations, and voice notes to God.
You're weaving wonder into your practice — open-ended, intuitive, sacred. Browsing prayer candles, spell books, and Sunday sermons — seeing what Spirit stirs first.
You're standing at the edge of a new path, sampling sacred tools until one calls you deeper.

How do you relate to your ancestors or lineage right now?

Please select all that best describe you

I don't do ancestor rituals, but I feel them with me.
You're not formal about it — but there's something in you that knows they're near. I call on them in secret. It's not for show.
Your relationship with your ancestors is sacred and private. You don't need to perform your reverence. I talk to them, honor them, keep them in the mix.
They're part of your day-to-day sacred rhythm. You speak their names with love. I want to heal my lineage without reliving its pain.
You feel the weight of what was passed down — but you're trying to carry it differently. I'm rebuilding what colonization tried to erase.
You're doing spiritual restoration work. This is sacred resistance. I'm curious but nervous — I don't know what's okay.
You want to connect, but you're still learning what's yours to claim. I've buried belief systems with my ancestors. And started over.
You're grieving what had to be let go — but from that loss, you've made something new.

What makes you side-eye most church spaces?

Please select all that best describe you

Respectability politics. I'm not performing holiness for y'all.
You don't want performance — you want power. You came to Spirit as you are. Any space that punishes curiosity gets a no from me.
You've got questions, and you're done being made to feel wrong for asking. Spaces that shame emotion or honesty make me shut down.
You're tender — not weak. You don't need a stage, you need a space to feel. Control tactics — fear, shame, obedience.
You're sensitive to coercion. You want liberation, not manipulation. Judgment around sex, gender, or identity.
You're not here to be boxed in. You're sacred exactly as you are. Too much money talk. Not enough care.
You're looking for compassion, not a cash flow. You want Spirit, not spectacle. Cultural erasure. Jesus can be Black, y'all.
You want reverence that feels ancestral, embodied, and real.

How do you process spiritual insight when it hits you?

I don't. I push it aside — too much to deal with.
You feel the insight, but it overwhelms you. You're still building capacity to hold it. I journal. Light the candle. Let it wash over me in silence.
You turn inward. You know Spirit speaks clearest when you're alone and still. I talk it through with someone I trust.
You need a witness — someone who won't judge how heavy this insight feels. I need time to think, research, and cross-reference before I receive it.
You've been hurt before. You want to be sure the insight is safe before letting it land. I let it move me. Even if I don't understand it yet.
You trust the feeling before the meaning. You let the mystery dance through you. I cry. I breathe. Then I go sit in the sun and feel held.
Insight opens something tender. You process it through softness, not speed. I channel it into action. Insight with no impact isn't sacred to me.
You need your revelation to ripple. You turn Spirit into strategy.

Which of these feels most like sacred space to you?

My altar. Even when I'm not sure what I believe, I return.
Your sacred space is where you show up — not because you're certain, but because it still holds you. Protest. When we fight for justice, Spirit is there.
Your sacred space is in the streets — where power meets purpose. My grandmother's house — gospel, greens, and prayer.
Sacred space is memory. It smells like love and sounds like survival. Wherever I'm allowed to wander without shame.
The sacred is wherever you can breathe freely. Wonder is your sanctuary. Anywhere the truth is spoken — mic, pulpit, or kitchen table.
Your sacred space is wherever lies die and truth gets loud. The bathtub. The forest. My journal. Wherever I can be soft.
Sacred space is where your nervous system exhales. Where no one asks you to be tough. Any space that says, 'take your time.'
You're not in a rush. You're looking for room to explore without urgency.

How do you respond to people who question your beliefs?

I love a good discussion — if it's respectful.
You don't need agreement, just curiosity. You're here for the dialogue, not the debate. If they're harmful, I check them. I don't shrink.
You don't explain yourself to harm. You speak truth without apology. I say what they want to hear. I don't want the smoke.
You're not being fake — you're being safe. You're protecting your sacred until it feels safe to share. I doubt myself. It makes me spiral a little.
Criticism cuts deep. You're still tender with your truths. I take a breath. Then I walk away.
You don't argue. You protect your peace and let your spirit stay soft. I don't respond. I let my practice speak for me.
You're not performing faith. You're living it — quietly, consistently, sacredly. I used to explain. Now I just smile. I survived the theology they're still trapped in.
You're past the need to prove. You've come too far to turn back for a debate.

How do you feel about church today?

Please select all that best describe you

It's complicated. I've drifted, but I still peek inside sometimes.
You're not sure where you stand, but you haven't fully let go. There's still a trace of curiosity or longing. I honor Spirit at home. My sacred space isn't in a pew.
You've built quiet rituals outside the church walls. You still commune — just differently. That building couldn't hold me. I left—and I'm not going back.
You've rejected the institution and claimed your liberation. Spirit isn't behind a pulpit anymore. I needed silence, not a stage. I'm still grieving what I lost there.
The sacred used to live there — and maybe still does — but it broke your heart. You're mourning, not attending. I'm tender about it. Sometimes I miss the music, but not the pressure.
There's nostalgia, even love, but also pain. You're healing on your own terms. I study the text now, not the pastor. I want to hear God for myself.
You've stepped away from the authority but not the sacred. You're reworking what was handed to you. I don't attend — but I visit altars everywhere: concerts, trees, kitchens.
Church isn't a building. It's wherever you meet Spirit. You're gathering holy moments in unexpected places.

Pick your holy playlist starter.

Lo-fi Kendrick reading Psalms while I burn frankincense.
You find the sacred in slow blends — scripture, scent, and sacred bars. Beyonce's Black Parade but it's communion.
You've turned your rebirth into a ritual. Power and sacredness go hand in hand. A playlist that makes me Google every lyric for hidden truths.
You search for the sacred in subtext — always reading between the lines. Silence. Or gospel on low while I cry in the tub.
You want music that can hold you through your healing — soft, sacred, and true. A beat that makes me wanna praise dance and hex my ex.
Your sacred sound has rhythm, rage, and revival all in one. Whatever plays when I click vibe — I just let Spirit shuffle it.
You don't overthink it. The sacred finds you in the randomness. Something dreamy with synth and surprise lyrics. If it feels weird, it might be holy.
You crave sound that sparks wonder — spiritual vibes with a twist.

We see you. And you’re not just one thing.

Those first questions gave us a glimpse of your sacred posture—how you're showing up to the Spirit, your people, and yourself.

What comes next will help us listen deeper. These next few questions will help clarify which GLORÍ Path feels most aligned with your spirit’s unfolding.

Take a breath. Settle in. We’re walking this with you.

You’re so close to clarity.

Your answers reflect a beautifully complex spirit. Multiple GLORÍ Paths are calling—and we need just a few more questions to listen for the clearest one.

Trust the process. Let Spirit speak.

This is your moment.

You've walked with honesty. You’ve opened yourself to the divine ache of self-discovery. What comes next is your GLORÍ Path—a sacred key to help unlock what Spirit is saying in this season.

Breathe. Receive. This is holy ground.

Welcome to the GLORÍ Pathway

GLORÍ

Where are you in your spiritual journey right now?

What are you spiritually hungry for right now?

Which of these spiritual moods feels most like you right now?

Please select all that best describe you

Which statement best finishes the sentence: "God is..."

Which spiritual foundation feels most important to keep?

How do you know it's time for a spiritual change?

What's hardest to release or unlearn?

Which spiritual practice sounds most nourishing right now?

Please select all that best describe you

How do you relate to your ancestors or lineage right now?

Please select all that best describe you

What makes you side-eye most church spaces?

Please select all that best describe you

How do you process spiritual insight when it hits you?

Which of these feels most like sacred space to you?

How do you respond to people who question your beliefs?

How do you feel about church today?

Please select all that best describe you

Pick your holy playlist starter.

We see you. And you’re not just one thing.

You’re so close to clarity.

This is your moment.

Your result will appear here

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