Chop Wood, Carry Water: A Mantra for Sacred Simplicity

There’s an old Zen proverb that’s been whispering through me lately:

“Before enlightenment, chop wood, carry water.

After enlightenment, chop wood, carry water.”

At first glance, this saying seems simple. But it packs profound meaning.

What it’s really saying is that chores and the mundane aspects of life don’t disappear just because you embark on a spiritual journey. You are still living a human life. You still have dishes and laundry to do. 

But something does shift. You begin to see that the sacred isn’t something you reach after everything is pristine. It's present in the mess and the routine. It’s woven into the ordinary moments.

Sacred Is Hiding in Plain Sight

There’s a common belief that spirituality is something out there, just out of reach. It feels elevated—a mountaintop state you achieve once you’ve healed all your trauma and balanced your chakras. You might think that you need a perfectly curated altar or the right tools to connect.

However, real spirituality is not always aesthetic. It’s not a title you earn or a look you perform. It’s not about escaping real life. It’s about learning how to be fully immersed in it—present and all in.

Many of us on a spiritual journey focus heavily on trying to ascend, heal, and align. While there’s beauty in growth, we often overlook the perfectionism that still consumes us.

Sometimes, in the pursuit of more, we miss what’s already right here.

We make plans for elaborate full moon rituals, forgetting that even making your bed can be a spell of devotion—an act of tucking a blessing into the soft place where you’ll land at the end of the day. You don’t need candles or crystals (though I love them). You certainly don’t need a perfectly curated playlist. These tools can help us connect with symbolism, but all you truly need is your breath and presence.

Often, we wait for transformation to feel like lightning striking our feet. We expect a cinematic awakening of biblical proportions. Yet, the kind of change that usually reshapes your life is quiet, repetitive, and unglamorous—like a river slowly wearing a groove in a stone.

It’s not a one-time mountaintop moment. It’s a practice.

Simplicity Quiets Your Mind

I often have what I call "chop wood, carry water" days when I need my brain to take a back seat. Sometimes I wander into a haze of creativity that risks wafting away into space. Other times, I find myself overwhelmed, spinning into a blur. That’s when I need to transition from thinking to doing.

Doing simple tasks like tidying up, vacuuming, or meal prepping helps. It involves running errands and making appointments, addressing what nags at the back of your mind while you're preoccupied with more exciting, energetically demanding endeavors.

When my hands are moving, my breath steadies. A rhythm forms, and I can relax into the safety of predictability and order. These moments often bring "downloads" or little a-ha moments. I believe this happens because I’m not actually trying; I create space for spirit to come through without striving.

Echoes of Ancient Feminine Wisdom

Long before modern rituals and curated aesthetics, women understood that daily life was the altar. Temple priestesses tended eternal flames that were more than mere light or warmth; they were manifestations of the goddess. Keeping it lit meant keeping the divine close.

In ancient Greece, Hestia’s hearth was kept burning. In Rome, the Vestal Virgins guarded Vesta’s sacred fire. To let it go out was thought to bring destruction. In Kildare, Ireland, Brigid’s flame was tended by nineteen priestesses, each taking turns, with the twentieth day dedicated to Brigid herself.

Midwives walked this path too. They boiled water, prepared linens, and whispered blessings amidst the screams of labor and the last breaths of the dying. They were the guardians of the veil between worlds, guiding new life in and out.

In many folk traditions, especially those rooted in Celtic and European cultures, women served as guardians of sacred springs and holy wells. They wove protective magic into their daily work, sang to the water, recited blessings, and left offerings such as herbs and coins. Water was never just water; it was life itself.

These ancient women lived what we are now remembering: that the sacred doesn’t only happen on holy days. It happens in the tending to of every day.

What might appear as labor to the outside eye was actually devotion in motion. And this, too, is our inheritance. This knowing lives in our bones.

Your Life Is the Ritual

So, what I'm trying to say is that it’s not about escaping the mundane but inviting the magic in. The way you engage with your body, your breath, and your home is sacred.

Your daily rituals can look like this:

• Reconnecting to your breath as you sit at a red light.

• Stirring your intention into your tea.

• Filling your water bottle with gratitude.

• Learning the names of the plants you pass on your morning walk.

• Taking out the trash while silently naming what you’re ready to release.

• Sweeping the floor as if you’re clearing space for new energy to enter.

  
  

Let this be your reminder: the magic is already here, right now. It exists in the ordinary, imperfect, beautifully human moments you continually embrace.

Ready to Bring More Magic Into Your Day to Day?

Explore my course The Art of Daily Ritual. Come back to your body, your breath, and learn the practices I use to invite magic into the mundane.