Last month, I visited Izumo Taisha, one of Japan’s oldest and most sacred shrines.

In October, it’s believed that all the gods from across Japan gather here for an annual meeting — almost like a grand conference of the divine. Locals call this time Kamiarizuki, “the month when the gods are present.” If you’ve read our earlier posts;

• Where the Gods Gather: The Fascinating Folklore of October in Japan and 
• Kamiarizuki — When the Gods Gather at Izumo Taisha,

you might remember how the story describes deities leaving their shrines all across Japan to meet here in Izumo.

As I walked beneath the centuries-old pine trees and heard the faint sound of waves from the nearby coast, I thought about that familiar phrase I grew up hearing: 八百万の神 (yaoyorozu no kami) — “the eight million gods.”

When I was little, I found it oddly specific. Eight million? Who counted? It sounded both serious and a little funny. Only later did I realize that the number wasn’t meant to be exact at all. “Eight million” simply meant “countless.” It expressed how ancient Japanese people saw the world — full of life, full of presence, and connected in ways that don’t need to be measured.

A World Alive with Presence

In Japan, yaoyorozu doesn’t belong to religion alone. It’s a way of seeing. The belief that everything — mountains, rivers, trees, animals, even tools and homes — carries a bit of life within it. Not in a mystical sense, but in a quiet, everyday one.

When you grow up surrounded by that mindset, it seeps into your habits. You treat things with care, not because they’re sacred, but because they’ve shared time with you. The idea of yaoyorozu isn’t about worshiping countless gods, but about recognizing that nothing exists in isolation.

Even an old broom, a well-used teacup, or a wooden rice paddle can feel almost alive after years of use. It’s part of the same sense that makes people bow before entering a shrine, say itadakimasu before eating, or hesitate to throw things away too easily. Every small act carries a trace of gratitude.

Harmony, Not Separation

Unlike traditions that draw a line between the divine and the human, yaoyorozu gently blurs it.

It sees humans, nature, and all living things as part of one continuous flow. There isn’t an “above” or “below.” Just coexistence.

This way of thinking still shapes how many Japanese people move through life — often unconsciously. It’s behind the phrase mottainai, the appreciation for what still has value. It’s also what gives us that soft awareness of impermanence — mono no aware — when we feel a quiet sadness watching cherry blossoms fall.

Together, they reflect a world where we live with nature, not apart from it.

From Ancient Belief to Modern Storytelling

You can see traces of yaoyorozu everywhere in Japanese culture, even today.

One place it shines most clearly is in the world of Studio Ghibli.

The forest spirits in My Neighbor Totoro, the river god in Spirited Away, and the protective deities in Princess Mononoke all come from this same idea — that spirits dwell in every part of the natural world. Ghibli stories capture the feeling that the wind, the trees, and even forgotten objects have a quiet consciousness of their own.

For me, these films beautifully translate an old belief into something timeless. They remind us that harmony isn’t just about balance in nature, but about how we notice and care for what surrounds us.

A Thought to Carry

When I think of yaoyorozu now, I don’t imagine eight million gods scattered through the air.

I think of the countless connections that quietly support our lives — the unseen relationships between people, objects, and the natural world.

Maybe that’s what this ancient word has always meant: not a number, but a feeling.

A way of belonging to everything around us.