Vodou plays a central role in my spiritual life, walking hand-in-hand with my witchcraft practice. I work with the spirits, honor the lwa, and engage with the tradition in a deeply respectful and dedicated way. Like many others who walk this path, I understand that some knowledge—particularly the inner, initiatory mysteries of Vodou—is not available without formal initiation. That said, many practitioners openly perform rituals and invite the public to participate. So it raises the question–how “closed” is Vodou, really?

There is a clear line between practicing Vodou as a spiritual tradition with devotion and respect, and being brought into the deeper current through initiation. The latter opens access to secret rites, the structure of sosyetes, and the complete transmission of lineage teachings that cannot be gleaned from books or observation alone.

But here’s the nuance: Vodou has never been entirely hidden. In fact, it is both private and public. Rituals like fèt lwa (spirit feasts) and seremoni (ceremonies) are often held in open spaces, and it’s not uncommon for initiates to invite guests, observers, or community members to participate. Vodou emerged from communal necessity and resistance, and it thrives in connection with spirits, ancestors, and people.

A great example of this openness can be seen in the work of Sallie Ann Glassman, a respected Mambo Asogwe based in New Orleans. She regularly holds public Vodou rituals, including ceremonies for St. John’s Eve and major lwa feast days, which are open to the community and often attended by both practitioners and the simply curious. Her work demonstrates how Vodou can be practiced with transparency, respect, and accessibility—while still maintaining the integrity of the tradition.

So, is Vodou closed?

The answer is both yes and no.

Yes, in that there are sacred teachings, spirits, and rites that are only shared through initiation and within the walls of a sosyete. These inner workings are protected for a reason—they hold power, lineage, and responsibility.

But also no, because Vodou is not elitist or exclusionary. Many practitioners, even those who are not initiated, maintain deep relationships with the lwa and practice respectfully. Public rituals, open education, and spiritual community support are part of the living tradition. Vodou is adaptive, communal, and resilient. Which brings me to another question I’ve been considering:

Has Vodou become more solitary in modern times?

There’s no doubt that spiritual practice as a whole has become more individualized. The rise of digital platforms, solitary study, and personalized spirituality has shifted the landscape. Some practitioners connect with the spirits privately, especially if they don’t have access to a local community or are not yet ready for initiation.

However, Vodou by its nature is community-centered. While solitary devotion is certainly possible—and sometimes necessary—Vodou is designed to be practiced in community, where the spirits are fed through collective energy, drumming, dancing, and ritual service. Sosyetes remain strong, especially in Haiti, New Orleans, and among diasporic communities. Initiation still holds meaning, and public celebrations of the spirits continue to thrive. So yes, modernity may at times encourage a more solitary path, but Vodou remains rooted in community, connection, and living tradition.​

Vodou isn’t a monolith. It lives differently in Haiti than it does in New Orleans, and differently still in the homes of solitary practitioners around the world. But one thing remains true: it demands respect, humility, and a willingness to listen to the spirits, the ancestors, and the elders who keep the tradition alive.

Whether you’re a devotee, an initiate, or someone simply curious about the path, approach Vodou not as a trend or aesthetic, but as a powerful, living current of spirit.

If you’re called—listen. But listen well.