Zen and the Art of Swedish Death Cleaning

There is richness to be discovered in living more simply. This is a reoccurring theme of this blog. I’ve considered Duane Elgin’s practice of Voluntary Simplicity several times, for instance, and the Japanese aesthetic of wabi-sabi. I’ve also espoused some of my own ideas on what I call Aspirational Contentment. These all relate in some way to making room in one’s life for life itself to unfold more authentically—whatever that may look like for any given individual. Continuing in this vein, I’d like to offer some thoughts on Margareta Magnusson’s The Gentle Art of Swedish Death Cleaning: How to Free Yourself and Your Family from a Lifetime of Clutter.

Magnusson explains the overall concept: “I think the term döstädning [Swedish for death cleaning] is quite new, but not the act of döstädning. It is a word that is used when you or someone else does a good, thorough cleaning and gets rid of things to make life easier and less crowded. It does not necessarily have to do with your age or death, but often does. Sometimes you just realize that you can hardly close your drawers or barely shut your closet door. When that happens, it is definitely time to do something, even if you are only in your thirties.” [pp: 1,2]

The book is a quick read, but thoughtful and comprehensive, nonetheless. And the examples she provides are representative enough that the reader may soon feel equipped to begin the process of death cleaning for themselves. While not overtly spiritual, the book’s eminently practical advice is easily invested with whatever spiritual importance the reader may bring to it. Just don’t expect much in the way of spiritual guidance along the way. Magnusson seems determined to leave that up to the reader, which is probably a good strategy for making the practice more accessible.

My own practice of simplicity seems forever a work in progress. Contemporary life is prone to spawning new complications such that I feel the need to embrace simplicity anew from time to time. But the fact that I’m now an age where my demise is no longer just a distant eventuality lent immediacy to my first reading of Magnusson’s book. And, since this blog veers toward the spiritual more often than not, allow me to now bolster this brief “review” with some thoughts on what the process of Swedish death cleaning brings up for me.

When we own something, it owns us. I first learned this from a Zen teacher long ago. The care and maintenance of things commands our time. They take up space, both in our living quarters and in our psyches. Magnusson conveys this truth quite well in a matter-of-fact sort of way. Things are the focus of her book, to the exclusion of so much else that’s in need of a deep cleaning. For instance, she suggests we rid ourselves of our biggest things first—and she does mean things. This is probably good advice for someone downsizing in anticipation of a move. But things may be invested with mental/emotional energy quite out of proportion with their size. And don’t we all know that our ideas can take up the most psychic energy of all! How shall we tidy up that jumble?

Meditation practice certainly helps in this regard. Sitting still, letting go of thoughts as they arise, and allowing oneself to simply be on a regular basis is like tidying up the mind. It allows us to relinquish attachments to both ideas and things alike with greater ease. Coupling meditation practice with the process of Swedish death cleaning can be especially transformative. A simpler lifestyle and tidier environment is conducive to a calmer mind, and a calmer mind allows us to more readily embrace greater simplicity. Each practice supports the other. And to the extent that our practice of death cleaning brings up some heretofore unrecognized karmic fodder, all the better for our meditation practice. “It’s all grist for the mill” is an expression that’s been uttered by more than one spiritual teacher that I’m aware of!

Similar to the truth that things can take up undue space in our lives is the reality that relationships can do so as well, in spite of our best efforts and highest hopes. Even long dormant relationships can leave us with emotional baggage that may crowd out the person we aspire to be. Some of this is just karma that we must work through in order for the relationship to evolve. Some of it, however, can be thought of in terms of the Swedish death cleaning that Magnusson describes. Please note, however, that I’m not talking about discarding old friends to make room for new ones who are hipper, more interesting, and into the same trendy restaurants that we are.  I’m talking about us making sufficient room in our lives that we might fulfill our highest calling. Rather than it being an ego-driven pursuit, it is service-driven one.

We might ask ourselves, then, whether we’ve only habitually maintained a particular relationship that simply isn't congruent with the life that we’re moving toward. This is easier to answer with respect to some relationships—like the connection we might have once had with an old drinking buddy. But relationships are seldom so easily defined. They vary greatly in terms of their mutuality and authenticity, and their congruence with our highest calling. Ultimately, though, we sometimes must make a decision as to whether a given relationship allows us to be the person we aspire to be, or whether it keeps us stuck in the same old karmic ruts that we feel called to move beyond. And if we do decide to let a relationship go, might we be prematurely closing the door on possibility? After all, we’re all growing and changing—just not in the same way or at the same rate. There is so much to consider here that a post devoted solely to this topic seems called for. For now, though, I hope this brief treatment provides at least some guidance and affirmation as you address this matter in your own life.

Closing the door on possibility is so much easier when it comes to things. If we should prematurely discard something, we can quite often replace it. Magnusson raises this point to perhaps assuage whatever anxiety we might have as we proceed with our death cleaning. That said, the emotional and spiritual work done in conjunction with our cleaning will have freed up “space” in our psyche and afforded us greater energy and clarity, nonetheless.

For instance, I’ve collected a number of books over the years on Japanese art and culture. These were important to me when I was formally studying Zen with a teacher of Japanese heritage. And even after that relationship ended, I still toyed with the idea of writing a novel set in Japan. For many years I assumed that those books would one day serve as research materials for such a project. As it turned out, though, my writing projects have moved in other directions. The writer that I’ve become no longer has any strong inclination toward such work. Am I ready to let them go? What does it mean to say goodbye to such a dream? What would it mean to hang on to those books at this point in my life? Such is the fodder for practice raised as we proceed with the process of Swedish death cleaning

My library of professional resources raises similar questions. I’ve already let go a great many of the books that I collected over the years. It’s felt good to see these go to someone just starting out in their career. Others I’ve let go with a measure of faith that they would be greeted with joy and gratitude by someone more in need of them than I am now. This feels good. What requires a little more work is the process of looking back on the challenges and successes of my professional life: the karma that prompted me to make decisions as I did, the benefits and difficulties that resulted, the paths taken and those passed by along the way. Regardless of how we might feel about our waning or ended careers, we still must attend to whatever grief accompanies the life changes that we experience. Allow yourself to feel this grief. Just as it is good advice not to discard too quickly the personal effects of a loved one whose departure we are grieving, perhaps we shouldn’t rush the process of discarding the trappings of our previous life/lives. And yet, the process of Swedish death cleaning is clearly calling us. Zen practice teaches us to relinquish attachment to this thing we call the self. Death cleaning is merely a physical manifestation of an internal process of letting go of even our most deeply held ideas.

Some of what I’m discarding relates to endeavors that I thought I might one day engage in—mountains to one day climb (both literally and figuratively), and projects to engage in during retirement. I’m reminded of the quote by the esteemed Zen teacher, Shunryu Suzuki: “In the beginner’s mind there are many possibilities, but in the expert’s mind there are few.” Much of our collecting of things throughout our life relates to creating possibilities. We might explore certain ideas. We might build or create certain things. We might engage in these pastimes. We might be of service in this way. In our younger years, our days seem to extend endlessly into the future. There is time enough for everything! Ah, but as we get older, we must be more focused. We must be more judicious in how we spend our time remaining. What will it mean to become the expert of our life? What will it be like to say goodbye to all other possibilities but for living the life that we are living? Oh, the freedom in such a life!

Copyright 2023 by Mark Robert Frank