Why is it that, amid our busy lives, we sometimes find ourselves looking up at the sky, wishing for someone's happiness, or bringing our hands together in vague anxiety? And why do we sometimes hesitate to call such actions “prayer”?
In today's world, “prayer” is no longer confined to religious rituals. Wishing for someone's safety in our hearts, or quietly whispering words of gratitude—these, too, in a broad sense, can be considered forms of prayer.
Yet, it seems that more and more people today feel a certain hesitation about the very act of praying. The mere mention of religion or spirituality can make us want to keep our distance, and such caution may even put a brake on our natural desire to pray.
Even so, there are moments when we quietly wish for someone's happiness or want to gently let go of our own anxieties. With such contradictions inside us, perhaps we are living in an age where we want to pray, but somehow feel unable to.
Our exploration did not begin with the intention of focusing on the word “prayer.” Rather, as we searched for the sources of peace of mind and happiness that everyone seeks, we realized these feelings are deeply connected to “prayer” and “gratitude.” That is why we chose to reconsider the meaning of “prayer” itself, and explore its new possibilities.
The “prayer” we propose through this app is not based on any particular religion or spiritual teaching. Instead, it is time to quietly face your own heart, to discover small moments of gratitude and hope in everyday life, and to nurture the seeds of peace and happiness within you. We hope that “prayer” will gently overlap with your natural feelings and become a quiet, living part of your daily life. Let’s find that way together.
Today, many of us are swept away by the relentless pace of daily life—notification sounds, deadlines, an endless stream of news and updates on social media. All of these things rob us of the space to notice what we’re truly feeling in the present moment.
On the train to work or school in the morning, we absentmindedly open our smartphones and let ourselves be buried in passive information. In these moments, we may even lose track of where our own feelings are. For many, this state has become the norm.
There is an atmosphere in which even saying “I’m struggling,” “I’m tired,” or “I’m lonely” feels like a taboo. We fear that showing our emotions will be seen as “weak” or “a hassle.” Society seems to demand that we don’t inconvenience others, that we hide our emotions, and that we behave as if we have everything together—this is now considered a mark of “maturity.”
Yet, how many feelings are suppressed inside us, unable to voice themselves, just to maintain these “proper” days? In a society where we can’t even find the chance to recognize our own emotions, it is no wonder that the act of “prayer,” which asks us to listen to the voice deep inside, feels so distant.
Anxiety in the modern world is often vague and hard to define. “I feel uneasy,” “I feel tense all the time,” or “I want to cry for no reason”—but we can’t explain why. Unable to talk to anyone about it, our anxiety only grows.
When we cannot give a name to our emotions, we are forced to carry them like an invisible burden. It’s like feeling pain but not knowing where it hurts—and this state lingers on.
These “wordless emotions” are often closely tied to loneliness. There is no one to talk to, or we fear we won’t be understood even if we do. So we try to deal with everything by ourselves. But emotions need an outlet. When they have nowhere to go, those feelings can eventually manifest as physical problems, apathy, or even aggression.
If we look at history—and at the psychological function of prayer—we see that “prayer” has always given shape to emotions that cannot be put into words and served as a means of expressing them. “Please let everything be all right,” “Thank you for always being there,” “Give me the strength to try a little harder.” These are not things we say to others, but wishes and feelings that arise quietly within ourselves. Prayer is about scooping up fragments of emotion from deep within the heart, for our own sake. That’s why, now—when our world is so full of unspeakable anxieties—an “inner language” like prayer is needed more than ever.
When we get a “like” on social media, sometimes it makes our hearts feel a little lighter. The sense of being noticed or empathized with by others brings reassurance. However, as this experience repeats, we can start to feel anxious if we’re not seen, or believe we have no value unless we’re acknowledged by others. We become dependent on approval, seeking validation and reactions from others as if they were our emotional home.
The time we once needed to face our feelings and restore ourselves is now spent crafting a version of ourselves to show others.
This phenomenon can be seen as modern people trying to substitute the inner fulfillment and self-acceptance once gained through prayer with the approval of others via social media. Prayer, at its core, is not about showing something to others, but quietly offering up one’s own feelings. But when we become anxious about not being seen, we start to entrust our hearts to “visible approval” instead of prayer.
The desire for approval is not, in itself, bad. But when it becomes our only source of reassurance, we lose the power to restore ourselves from within. Facing our hearts—not for others, but to “wish,” “give thanks,” or “let go”—is the first step toward reclaiming the lost form of prayer.
When we let go of the “self we show to others,” we finally reclaim the “self that faces oneself.” We close social media, take a deep breath, soak in a quiet bath at night, or recall something happy before going to bed. In these ordinary moments, “inner prayer” quietly resides.
Time spent not talking to others but turning inward—this, too, is prayer, even if there’s no formal ritual or gesture. “I’m grateful for another safe day,” “May that person keep smiling”—these unspoken feelings are fragments of prayer woven into our everyday lives.
Prayer isn’t just for faith or ritual; it’s more personal, quieter, and much closer to home. For those of us living in today’s world, finding and nurturing “our own prayer” is something that is needed now more than ever.
By putting feelings into words and translating them into actions, we try to understand our own minds. In this chapter, we explore—based on actual experiences and psychological mechanisms—how the acts of “wishing,” “giving thanks,” and “letting go” influence our psyche.
When we are troubled or lost, we often begin an inner conversation, as if consulting with someone or murmuring to ourselves. This “inner dialogue” helps us organize our thoughts and understand our emotions and desires.
For example, on a restless night when we can’t sleep, we might quietly put our hands together and wish, “Please, let this anxiety subside.” This act of giving our anxiety words is an attempt to create a little distance from it.
Prayer does not make anxiety disappear immediately, but simply acknowledging “I am anxious right now” can be a first step toward calming the heart. Such inner dialogue serves as a vital clue to maintaining our inner axis, even amid confusion.
When we have a wish—something we want to happen or become—we clarify our direction by putting it into words. For instance, when we wish, “I hope my job search goes well,” there are various emotions behind it: “I want to work,” “I want to be recognized,” “I want to feel secure.”
Writing these wishes out in words can reveal what we truly seek. This process of verbalization goes beyond mere wish-making; it becomes a way of clarifying our intent and building an “inner compass” that supports our actions toward the future.
Our brains are wired to remember negative experiences more strongly—a function rooted in our survival instincts. However, by consciously recalling “good things” or “happy moments,” we can restore balance to our hearts.
A gratitude journal is a habit of carefully collecting small moments: “Someone thanked me today,” “I was glad the rain stopped.” Doing this helps form a network of positive memories in the brain and nurtures a sense that “I am fortunate” or “everyday life isn’t so bad.”
Words of gratitude go beyond polite manners—they are an active way to reshape our memories more positively, enhancing our sense of well-being.
Negative emotions that accumulate in the heart don’t just vanish on their own. In fact, repressed feelings may eventually resurface in different forms, affecting our bodies or behaviors.
The act of purification is a ritual for symbolically releasing feelings like anger, sadness, or frustration. For example, writing worries on paper and burning it, or attaching emotions to an object and letting it go.
Such symbolic actions externalize emotions and help “bring closure” to inner suffering. This, too, is an effective form of emotional organization—a symbolic detox for the heart.
These acts—wishing, giving thanks, purification—are closely related to the techniques used in psychotherapy. For example, cognitive behavioral therapy (CBT) emphasizes recognizing emotions and adjusting thoughts and behaviors. Gratitude journaling is a practice rooted in positive psychology, the scientific study of human flourishing. Metacognition (the ability to observe our own mental states, such as noticing “I am angry right now”) also connects to mindfulness, which is the practice of actively noticing the present moment without judgment.
Remarkably, many traditional prayers and rituals contain wisdom that serves as the prototype for today’s evidence-based mental health techniques.
By understanding how these acts affect our hearts, we can learn to approach ourselves with deeper acceptance and kindness, nurturing greater resilience and flexibility.
Waking up in the morning, mindlessly checking your phone, heading to work out of a sense of duty. Completing your tasks, absentmindedly scrolling through social media, and watching another day come to an end. In these repetitive routines, have you ever found yourself wondering, “What am I doing this for?”
Many people today, caught up in the pursuit of results and efficiency, confront a kind of “meaningless void.” Even when we follow established routines, a sense of emptiness often lingers somewhere in our hearts. This may be rooted in a lack of meaning. When we lose sight of meaning, we become overwhelmed by our emotions and unable to trust our own actions. Conversely, when an action holds a meaning we can personally accept, it brings a quiet but powerful sense of fulfillment.
As one way to fill this “meaningless void,” our Kamidana app is designed to create room for users to discover their own meaning.
A user once told us, “At first, I wasn’t sure if there was any point in keeping it up, but around the third day, I realized, ‘Oh, I actually feel a bit lighter.’” This realization marks a psychological shift—meaning has taken root in the action.
When we feel meaning, our hearts find acceptance. When something feels important to us, it becomes a source of support, even if no one else sees it or acknowledges it. Every feature of the Kamidana app—writing wishes, recording gratitude, interacting with the fox in the backyard—is designed with space for users to find their own meaning within the experience. This discovery of meaning is more than temporary comfort; it provides a deep sense of self-acceptance and contributes to emotional stability.
One user said, “I wasn’t sure if there was any meaning in just putting my hands together every day.” But then they continued, “One day, I found myself naturally putting my hands together when I realized I’d gotten through another day safely.”
It’s not about following a prescribed ritual or set words—it’s about actions that arise naturally from our own hearts. That is what makes prayer meaningful to us.
For example, the Kamidana app lets you write wishes, record gratitude, or perform purification rituals, but there are no strict instructions for how to use these features. This freedom may feel disorienting at first, but within that space lies the opportunity for each person to face their own feelings and discover what truly matters to them.
Meaning is something we feel. And when we find meaning for ourselves, we can fully embrace the action. The same goes for prayer—when the moment comes that you think, “This is my prayer,” it ceases to be someone else’s, and becomes an act truly your own.
When we are bound by rigid rules—“I must do it this way,” “It only works if done exactly like this”—our hearts become exhausted. Especially in modern life, we are often expected to value correctness and efficiency, losing the freedom to feel and think for ourselves. That’s why the Kamidana app values “open spaces.”
For example, when writing a wish, there’s no set format. “I hope today goes well” is just as valid as “May I find peace of mind.” What matters is not what you write, but that you notice what you’re wishing for in that moment.
The same goes for spending time with the fox in the backyard—there’s no “correct” way, whether you’re simply petting it or offering a gift. The key is to notice how your heart moves and what you feel in those moments. These small realizations become your own meaning.
Meaning isn’t something given by others. In quiet moments, in spaces without rules, in those times when you connect with your own emotions—within these open spaces, your personal meaning takes root.
Once, a user told us, “When I make an offering, I feel a sense of calm. Nothing has really changed, but the simple act of doing it supports me.” This wasn’t just a report of a daily habit. Within that simple action, the user had discovered their own unique meaning, which became a source of inner strength.
Meaningful action doesn’t always bring visible results or outcomes. But if you feel even a little more settled after, that’s a genuine act of the heart. When we put our hands together, write in a journal, or record a wish, we create opportunities to reflect on what we’re feeling and where we stand in life.
These acts are not for display or to produce results; when you sense that “this means something to me,” it becomes prayer.
Prayer arises naturally when emotion and meaning connect—an intimate and personal act. That’s why, in the Kamidana app, we intentionally avoid strict usage instructions. What matters is that you can feel something in the act itself. Even if it isn’t “prayer” to anyone else, if it feels meaningful to you, then it is your prayer.
In a sense, the Kamidana app is built upon the concept of being “non-spiritual” and “non-religious.” This does not mean denying prayer itself, but rather intentionally shifting the focus from “someone else’s faith” to supporting your own inner self.
For example, while the app incorporates traditional elements inspired by Shinto shrines, it never tries to make users “believe” in anything. Symbols like the fox or offerings are simply gentle mediators, connecting with the user’s emotions, not enforcing doctrines or beliefs. To support this, we provide a simple and intuitive interface, leaving open space for users to discover meaning for themselves.
Words such as “Kamidana” or “fox,” as used in the app, do not refer to traditional objects of worship, but rather serve as symbolic “spaces” or “beings” for users to quietly face their own hearts.
The “write a wish” feature is not just about recording your desires; it provides a space to put thoughts and wants into words, helping you organize your mind. By expressing your wishes in language, you may realize, “Ah, this is what I really wanted.”
Additionally, the information displayed at the time of making a wish—such as “lucky directions” or “Five Element colors”—serves as psychological guides. These do not recommend any particular belief, but are playful, symbolic elements designed to help you feel more positive about your wishes and motivate you to take action. What matters most is whether these elements feel meaningful to you.
The gratitude journaling function is designed to help users notice small “good things” in daily life. For example, templates like “Write down three good things about today” use psychological techniques to naturally shift your mindset towards positivity.
You can look back on these records later and discover, “I was more supported than I realized.” This is not just about keeping a record, but about “reconstructing memory.” Over time, this repeated practice fosters a sense of self-affirmation and happiness—an “internal reward” that becomes the foundation of emotional well-being.
Simply writing down worries or cloudy feelings doesn’t necessarily resolve them. The “purification” feature organizes emotions by symbolically placing them into a “yorishiro” (object of transfer).
The ritualistic and visual effects involving the body help give clear closure to vague negative emotions and encourage catharsis—a sense of psychological cleansing. When a written worry disappears from the screen, the user feels “cleansed.” This is an intentional design drawing on the cathartic effect, supporting emotional processing.
The fox in the “Backyard” acts as a mirror of the user’s emotions and actions. Its name and gender are undefined, and its nature changes depending on each user’s experience.
When you give an item to the fox, it may play with it or rest with it. This structure gently encourages self-understanding and emotional processing, allowing users to project their feelings onto the fox.
The features described so far may seem independent, but are actually designed to complement each other. Writing wishes helps set your direction, recording gratitude strengthens your axis of self-affirmation, purification makes space by releasing emotions, and the relationship with the fox weaves all of this gently into your everyday life.
The Kamidana app’s design deconstructs prayer and reconstructs it as a structure of actions and emotions. It is not based on religious “rightness,” but functions as “a structure for myself,” placed gently in everyday life.
Roads, water, electricity, and the internet—all of these form the foundation of our modern lives. In the same way, isn’t it essential for our minds to have a foundation that keeps them healthy and supported?
Facing the growing challenges of mental health and increasing loneliness brought about by weakening human connections, we arrived at the concept of “mental infrastructure” out of a deep sense of urgency.
This app is neither mere entertainment nor a fleeting self-improvement tool. It is designed as a sustainable foundation for the spirit—a place where, through daily use, users can face themselves, organize their feelings, and spend moments nurturing their hearts. Through the accumulation of such experiences, the app becomes a source of grounding, a “place of belonging” for each individual’s heart.
As we drew upon the insights of psychology, cultural anthropology, UX design, and philosophy, we discovered the emerging practical field of “mental design.”
This is not about manipulating anyone’s mind or leading people in a particular direction. Rather, it is about designing environments and structures that gently invite each person to touch their own heart, listen to their inner voice, and deepen self-understanding.
Every aspect of this app’s design is mindful of “how we relate to the mind.” It does not force you to “pray for today” or demand that you “believe in tomorrow,” but gently weaves in mechanisms for softly noticing and accepting whatever you feel “right now.” These ideas are inspired by user experience (UX) design, positive psychology, and approaches like narrative therapy, where the self is re-constructed through story.
In religion and spiritual practice, there are often prescriptive norms and values—what you “should” do. But for us, living in an era of rapid change and diverse values, what we need is not a single “right way” presented by someone else, but the ability to discover for ourselves what brings peace and support to our own hearts.
One user makes it a nightly habit to write down “three small joys” from their day. Another begins each morning by visiting the fox in the backyard and starting the day with deep breaths as they watch its calm demeanor. When worries arise, some quietly “release” those feelings through the purification feature, without showing anyone.
In their unique relationship with the app, each person is gradually discovering and nurturing their own way of keeping their heart in balance.
This app is not only about individual healing or emotional stability. Our greater aim is to foster an “inclusive, open-minded culture of the spirit” in society.
The word “prayer” may still carry religious connotations, but what we seek to cultivate is a culture that affirms and respects the quiet wishes, feelings of gratitude, and moments of self-reflection within everyone—beyond sectarian or doctrinal boundaries.
If such a culture can take root, people may respond to loneliness, confusion, and anxiety with greater kindness and empathy. In turn, this could ease spiritual isolation and nurture a more tolerant, emotionally rich society where diverse ways of living are respected.
We have placed our hopes—modest but sincere—into this project, believing in these possibilities.
Writing wishes. Recording gratitude. Purification rituals. Interacting with the fox.
All of these experiences in the app can be seen as contemporary fragments of “prayer.” But we believe they are more than digital experiences. When something grows within each user through these acts—when a sense of belonging is established in their heart—it can become a personal “habit,” shared between people, and gradually transform the “landscape of society.”
We hope that the Kamidana app will become a small but meaningful starting point for such change.
What we have described here is not a matter of religion or spirituality, but the possibility of a new kind of “mental design.” We sincerely hope that these ideas will take root in your daily life as your own form of prayer—and in the lives of many others as well.
May this small app contribute, even a little, to enriching the emotional landscape of your heart, and of society as a whole.
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