The Art of Reverence in Motion
Body, Bow, and the Space Between in Shinto
How do we greet the divine without words?
Have you ever tried bowing and clapping at a shrine—or even at home?
In this post, I invite you to explore the meaning behind these simple gestures, and how Shinto helps us feel the divine not just through words, but through presence.
You’ll learn about ritual etiquette, the concept of ma, and how even everyday sounds can become sacred.
And if you're preparing for a visit to Japan, this practice may become a quiet companion on your journey.
Beyond Words
In my previous post, I wrote about norito (Shinto ritual prayers), and the one before that was about ema (votive plaques). In both, I shared my experiences as a Shinto priest. Written characters and spoken words are both means of resonating with the kami—the divine.
But words aren’t the only way to reach the divine. In Shinto, the quietest gestures—like a bow or a pair of claps—can also become a form of prayer.
Where the Body Leads
The way we use space, rhythm, and gesture is deeply shaped by culture. Anthropologist Edward T. Hall called this proxemics—the study of how different societies structure interpersonal distance, time, and bodily expression.
In Japan, for instance, bowing is an everyday practice that serves not only as a greeting but also as a subtle way to adjust the emotional atmosphere between people.
In schools, when the teacher steps up to the podium, all students stand, straighten their posture, and bow together.
It’s a mutual expression of respect that sets the tone for the learning environment.
The same kind of ritualized respect is found in extracurricular lessons, martial arts, and even sports competitions.
I studied the Western instrument violin from the age of three, using the Suzuki Method in Japan.
The very first thing I was taught wasn’t how to play a note, but how to hold the violin between my elbow and side, stand with good posture—and bow.
Through this, even as a small child, I feel I naturally learned to show respect—toward my teacher, and toward the music itself.
My spirit was guided by my body.
Western handshakes and Japanese bows serve similar purposes—they’re both rituals of greeting.
But while a handshake aligns the energy of two people through direct touch, allowing an instant construction of relationship between “you” and “me,”
a bow places ma—a meaningful space—between us.
It is through the quality of that ma that the relationship is shaped and adjusted.
It’s not just about you and me; it’s about the ma—the shared atmosphere that holds us both.
The angle, speed, and fluidity of a bow can convey layers of respect, humility, or familiarity.
The Same Gesture, Offered More Deeply
What we now call “manners” or “greetings” may have begun not in social custom, but in something older and quieter—
a way of acknowledging the presence of something greater, woven into everyday life.
In Shinto, bowing is not reserved for special places or moments.
It is the same gesture we use with one another—
but when offered to the kami, it deepens.
The difference is not in kind, but in depth.
A respectful nod becomes a full, deliberate bow.
A shared motion becomes a moment of quiet reverence.
Because the kami are not separate from our daily lives.
They are here, within the world we move through—present in the same space, breathing the same air.
When that bow is paired with clapping, it becomes a prayer known as hairei.
This is a practice anyone can take part in—whether you're a priest, a visitor, or someone who simply pauses to bow before the sky.
Let us take a closer look at this elegant, wordless liturgy.
The Etiquette of Worship: Hairei
The Sacred Bow: Rei and Hai
At most Shinto shrines, worshippers follow a simple but deeply symbolic sequence: two bows, two claps, one bow (ni-rei, ni-hakushu, ichi-rei). While some shrines have local variations, this is the most common form.
The word rei is a general term for bowing, but within ritual etiquette, there are several distinct types. The most formal and reverent is called hai (拝), a 90-degree bow performed slowly and mindfully—once, and then again.
Keep your back straight and relaxed, as if a string were gently pulling you upward from the top of your head. Then, hinge forward from the hips in a slow, graceful motion. The movement should be smooth and flowing, not stiff. As a guideline: take about two seconds to bow and two seconds to return. Let the return be just a little slower—this gentle pause adds a quiet depth of reverence.
In professional Shinto ritual, bows are further classified: hai, yū (揖), shōyū (小揖), and others—each used according to the ritual context and the role of the person performing it. The double hai is reserved for the most sacred moments: when standing before the kami.
Even visitors who are not priests stand in direct relationship with the divine when they offer their prayers. So, they too perform this highest form of bow—twice.
The reason for the number two is unclear (as is often the case in Shinto), but perhaps it conveys the idea of abundance through the simplest possible plural.
If 1 means “exists,” then 2 means “exists infinitely.”
Since we never bow deeply twice in succession to another person, this clearly signals: This bow is for the kami.
The Cleansing Clap: Hakushu
The hakushu—two claps—follows the double bow. Clapping serves a purpose beyond sound: it purifies. The two claps are performed slowly and deliberately.
The first—pom!—is sharp and cleansing. Then, with intention and care, the second follows. Because the claps are not rushed, a quiet space arises between them. This is ma: a meaningful silence.
To create a pure ma through clapping, the hands themselves must first be pure.
This is one reason why we wash our hands at the shrine before praying—
so that the claps we offer can carry clarity, not defilement.
Ma is shaped by the vessel that holds it. In this case, that vessel is sound.
The kind of ma we create depends on the way we clap.
The two claps act as a frame, holding a moment of sacred stillness.
This quiet interval is not an absence, but a sign that the space has been purified.
When a pure ma is offered to the kami,
a quiet resonance occurs between deity and human.
Closing the Ritual: The Final Bow
The final bow is a quiet echo of the first—but deeper, slower, as if time itself were pausing. Let your body follow the motion, but leave your spirit resting there, as a parting gift to the divine.
This video was filmed before the New Year’s season, as a reference for visitors preparing to pay their first shrine visit of the year.
On this day, there was construction work going on in the park next to the shrine, so you can hear some background noise.
And yet—don’t you feel a sense of stillness after the ritual claps?
Finding Sacred Rhythm in Everyday Sounds
One morning at five o'clock, I was sweeping the road around the shrine with a bamboo broom.
A cheerful woman who always comes to pray at the same time stopped and said to me,
"I love the sound of your broom sweeping. It clears my mind—perfect for the morning."
The sound of the bamboo broom scraping the ground isn’t music—it’s just noise, really.
But if you focus your senses on the pauses between each sweep, you may begin to feel that these moments become a vessel—a container for clean, quiet time and space.
When we begin to see the objects around us—and even our everyday actions—as vessels for ma, the world starts to feel different than before.
From my experience as a Shinto priest, I believe that Shinto is about sensing a kind of groove with the kami in the everyday motions of our lives—those simple, unconscious movements we make without even thinking.
Try performing two bows, two claps, and one bow—whether in front of your kamidana or toward the open sky.
What do you feel?
What kind of silence answers you?
✧ A Note from Toukyo
Thank you for finding this space—and for reading.
Once a month, I’d like to dedicate a post to answering your questions, so please feel free to leave any thoughts or inquiries about Shinto or shrines in the comment section.
There may not be a single “correct answer” in Shinto,
but as an active Shinto priest, I hope to offer something meaningful from my own lived experience.
I’d also be delighted if you shared what sparked your interest in Shinto—
whether it was a favorite anime, a Japanese novel or drama, a video game,
or simply a moment that felt deeply Shinto-like to you.
If you’ve already visited Japan or are currently living here, I’d love for you to share your favorite shrine or any Shinto practices you’ve incorporated into your daily life.
I'm a lifelong animist and polytheist in the midst of modern western culture. Finding my way with polytheism was not terribly difficult. Animism is a different matter. My search for other contemporary animist traditions led me to Shinto, and to your Substack. Thank you so much for sharing your experiences and the traditions and concepts behind them.
If I’m being honest, the thing that first sparked my interest was the movie “Spirited Away”. I found something very moving in the concept of the spirit world, with their demons, spirits, and Kami. This, combined with the most fascinating architecture in the world (my opinion), and I was drawn to learn more.