The idea of being pure and clean—both physically and spiritually—is a cornerstone of the Shinto faith.
It’s essential to wash thoroughly in a ritualistic manner before approaching a Shinto shrine. If you try asking favors of the kami—the spirits or deities—while you’re in an unclean state, you’re just going to make them angry. And, like the Incredible Hulk, you wouldn’t like them when they’re angry.
Some Shinto shrines have a special water fountain, called a temizuya, where worshippers can wash their hands and rinse their mouths, purifying themselves before attempting to interact with the kami.
I don’t have a special temizuya, but my bathroom sink seems to be doing the trick. Besides, if water alone isn’t enough to achieve ritual-level purity, there are Shinto prayers of purification you can say to help rid yourself of the impurities that tend to gather on your body and soul as you go about your daily life.
Here’s an example of a Shinto purification prayer, called Misogi harai no kotoba:
By graciously pronouncing the name of Izanagi no okami, who purified himself by ablution in the calm sea in the morning sun, and the names of all the purification-Kami who came into existence during this purification, I express my humble wish to be purified myself from all disasters, mishaps, transgressions, faults, and defilements.
I ask all purification-Kami to forward my request of purification to amatsukami (heavenly Kami), kunitsukami (earthly Kami), and yaoyoruzu no kami (the myriad other Kami). Most reverently, I entreat all Kami to have my wish fulfilled.
I don’t know. All this emphasis on being clean and pure is making me feel like I’m dirty all the time, even when I’m fresh out of the shower. I’m a little worried that Shinto is going to turn me into a compulsive shower-taker. Of course, even as I write this, I’m wearing a pair of grungy sweatpants and a T-shirt with orange dust sprinkled on it, left over from the cheese doodles I ate at lunch. So maybe I’ll be just fine—if a little sloppy.
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