The Mindfulness of Tidying Up

The following excerpt is from Shoukei Matsumoto’s Work Like a Monk: A Buddhist Guide to Embracing What Matters. Written as a dialogue, with two people exchanging words and listening deeply, this excerpt represents insights Matsumoto learned from real-life encounters and the working people he came across in his duties as a Shin-Buddhist monk.

I was probably in elementary school when I last swept fallen leaves with a bamboo broom. In Japan, from elementary through middle school, everyone cleans together daily, which I’ve always thought is a good practice.

“Japanese people traditionally attach gratitude to cleaning. On one level, it’s removing kegare (Jp; defilements), as in dirt, but on another, it’s replenishing kegare, as in low energy. It’s about truly paying attention and caring for both others and ourselves.”

I recalled how the connection between Japanese people and cleaning has, on occasion, been highlighted worldwide. In one such incident, after a World Cup football match, Japanese fans were shown cleaning the stadium seats on their own initiative. It was explained to the watching global community as “Japanese good manners,” but I would suggest that they weren’t doing it just to show politeness. Rather, it was like a greeting, an expression of gratitude for having been there, sharing the moment with everyone.

“Cleaning is also a way to connect with a place. When you clean a space, it becomes sacred to you. For those fans who cleaned the stadium, that spot will always hold special meaning. By tending carefully to our surroundings, we build a bond with the space itself and, by extension, with each item we handle.”

I was struck by how well kept Japanese temples often are. Everything—rooms, wooden floors, old pillars—is kept neat and polished through daily effort.

“In Japan’s temples, cleaning has long been considered foundational practice. Simply sweeping fallen leaves and straightening up, beginning from the nearest spot, is already a meaningful undertaking.”

I realized that this, too, relates to the mindfulness of being here and now.

“Our surroundings connect us with who we are. Messy surroundings can scatter our minds and pull us away from the present. Grounding ourselves in the here and now means bringing harmony both to us and to the space around us.”

Cleaning draws me back into the present moment while also creating harmony with my environment. Although I don’t mind cleaning, my room sometimes piles up with clutter when I’m busy, and I know many people struggle with it.

“It’s normal to think, ‘Why bother? It’ll just get messy again.’ But for us at the temple, cleaning isn’t simply a task to remove dirt or bring order to a messy area. It’s a daily habit that nurtures our awareness of interbeing, just like chanting or offering a greeting.”

Some feel more comfortable amid chaos. I asked the priest whether we should aim for a certain standard.

“Existence simply is. Our minds are what label it good or bad. If someone finds peace in disorder, that’s fine. ‘Order’ is personal. There’s no final goal.”

Watching people cleaning around the temple, I noticed how refreshed and alive they all seemed.

“It’s a process you can enjoy creatively, not just a chore with a fixed endpoint. It fosters self-reliance—freedom in its literal sense.”

I suggested that some might hire a cleaning service or use a robot vacuum, and questioned whether there is anything wrong with relying on someone or something else.

“Nothing at all. Temples sometimes ask parishioners to help or even use a cleaning robot. We live in a network of connections. Work, child-raising, or caregiving can leave little time, and our bodies don’t always cooperate. Looking after our environment together can be a joint endeavor, drawing on one another’s help as needed.”

So, even temples can have cleaning robots!

“What matters is that practice differs from mere duty. No one else can meditate on your behalf; no one else can experience ‘here and now’ for you.”

The same way no one else can live my life for me, I suppose.

“Even small acts count—straightening your desk or cleaning dishes. Everyday routines, like cleaning, are all forms of samu—mindful work that aligns you and your surroundings at the same time.”

Which explains why the temple priest always wears simple samu robes, ones that are for everyday routines as opposed to special rituals.

Cleaning and Humility

If cleaning is a practice without a clear endpoint, what exactly are we aiming for? If we’re just moving leaves from one spot to another, what does it accomplish? Sometimes it feels like we’re imposing human order on natural processes.

“Long ago, whenever disasters or national crises arose, an imperial decree would instruct people to clean shrines and temples. People believed that calamities happened because the places of deities and Buddhas were in a state of disorder.”

I choose my words carefully. From a scientific angle, I say, the second law of thermodynamics explains that molecular motion tends toward increased disorder over time. Pour milk into coffee and leave it alone, and they eventually mix. Without care, objects decay, mess accumulates, and entropy increases. In our bodies, this could manifest as neglect, leading to tooth decay or infections. So, in a sense, doesn’t cleaning fight against the natural progression of things?

“You have a point. Cleaning is, by definition, artificial. Sometimes destructively so—pulling weeds, for example, is arguably violent toward other life forms. But life itself is a pushback against entropy; we sustain flow and balance in our bodies and minds by breathing, eating, and renewing ourselves. That cycle of entropy and renewal is what it means to live, and when that balance is lost, death follows. In that sense, there is both positive and negative.”

There’s a Japanese saying: “Darkness lies at the foot of the lighthouse,”—meaning that by focusing too much on the distance, we may fail to illuminate what’s right at our feet.

So, even as entropy is always happening, life perpetuates these ongoing cycles that preserve order.

“Exactly. And that’s why cleaning teaches us humility. Our bodies and minds are woven into nature, and we exist by relying on countless other forms of life. Recognizing these gifts—accepting the richness that sustains us—goes beyond notions of positive or negative.”

I realize that cleaning isn’t just about tidying up. But if it’s something so profound, I wonder aloud, where should I even start?

“Right at your feet. When clutter piles up, we can’t see what’s in front of us—both physically and in terms of our wider awareness. The more our minds are scattered, the more likely we are to miss what’s important.”

There’s a Japanese saying: “Darkness lies at the foot of the lighthouse,”—meaning that by focusing too much on the distance, we may fail to illuminate what’s right at our feet.

Perhaps it’s best to begin here, step by step.

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Reprinted from Work Like a Monk by arrangement with Tarcher, a member of Penguin Group (USA) LLC, A Penguin Random House Company. Copyright © 2026, Shoukei Matsumoto.