In Shinto, death is seen less as a grand finale and more like a quiet folding of one chapter before the next. Rather than focusing on a richly detailed afterlife, it treats death as a source of kegare (impurity), demanding ritual purification to keep the living world in balance. Visiting family graves during Obon, lighting lanterns to guide ancestral spirits home, or offering sakaki branches at local shrines—these practices underscore a gentle, ongoing conversation with those who’ve crossed over.

The afterlife itself remains intriguingly vague. Ancient myths mention Yomi, a shadowy underworld, but there’s little emphasis on moral judgment or eternal reward versus punishment. Instead, ancestors transform into protective spirits, or ujigami, shaping fortunes back on earth. Modern Japan still feels that link during Nagoshi-no-harae, the midyear purification festival, when communities cast straw dolls into rivers, symbolically carrying away impurities and honoring those who’ve gone before.

Rather than “heaven” or “hell,” Shinto taps into the natural ebb and flow of life and death. Imagine leaves falling in autumn only to feed new shoots in spring—this cycle captures the essence of kami at work. In times like the recent memorial gatherings for pandemic victims, local priests bless offerings of rice and salt, weaving ancient beliefs into today’s world to soothe collective grief.

At the end of the day, Shinto isn’t hung up on detailed accounts of posthumous landscapes. It’s more about maintaining harmony with the unseen forces—keeping campfires of remembrance burning brightly, ensuring departed spirits are neither forgotten nor feared, but integrated respectfully into the tapestry of everyday life.