THE HEAVENLY HARD-HATS

In Japan, there’s this saying—

Okyakusama wa kamisama da.

The guest is a god. A goddess. Period. 

It’s the ultimate slogan of Japanese omotenashi—our beautifully extra version of hospitality that insists you serve not just politely, but reverently. As in:

“Here’s your water. Also, my Presence and my Soul. Please enjoy.”

It’s the kind of care that infuses the fingertips. That is, if you’re aware enough to notice.

I’ve never worked in hospitality, but that phrase? It’s always stuck with me.

Because it’s so Japanese.

Culture meets spirituality meets unspoken social intricacies.

Please understand this isn’t a religious matter in Japan. That’s not how the word “god” lands here.

It’s something more ambient.

More in the air.

Like a faint sacred scent drifting through the motions of daily life.

Speaking of daily life, switch scenes to my current life in Tokyo.

I like to meditate every morning. But lately, there’s been major construction happening in my building. One morning, the sound of drills echoed through the walls like a high-pitched hellscape.

I sat to meditate anyway. And you know what?

I could still get there.

To stillness.

Even with the surround-sound chaos, I dropped in.

That’s the power of regular practice. It's like my body remembers.

But then, I started working.

And the noise did not stop.

Drilling. Banging. Random shouting.

And the scaffolding outside my unit?

Teeming with men in hard hats, hopping around like urban ninjas.

Little by little, it was like their hammering inched away at my concentration level.

Then I felt it settle in—that creeping buzz of irritation rising.

Ugh. Said my mind. 

Enough of this noise and these people.

But instead of spiraling, I paused.

Breathed.

And asked:

“Wait, wait, wait. I don't want to go there. How can I shift the way I’m seeing this?

How can I meet this moment with more playfulness, more creativity—so this irritation doesn’t own me?”

And then I remembered the golden phrase:

Okyakusama wa kamisama da.

What if… the construction workers were also gods (even if they weren't technically my guests)?

Like—actual divine beings.

After all, wasn’t Jesus a carpenter?

And his earthly father too?

I had to at least try.

I imagined the workers climbing the scaffolding as holy beings, building their sacred kingdom (or maybe just repainting the third floor).

And suddenly—I kid you not—

I felt it.

My house, my life, my Monday morning reality—surrounded by divinity.

Protected. Watched over.

Full of Jesuses.

It was just a playful thought.

But it made me smile from the inside.

My heart got lighter. I veered away from resisting What Is in the moment before me.

And weirdly enough … before I knew it, the noise had faded too. 



What if the current annoyance in your life ... was divinely choreographed for your next kizuki (realization) moment too? Just sayin'.

Drills, dust, and divine timing might just collide in your life, too.