(are pilgrimages rituals?)

And why, sometimes, the journey becomes a ritual

There are moments in life when we are no longer looking for answers, but for space. Not because the questions have disappeared, but because they have moved from the mind into the body and can no longer be resolved through analysis or the effort to understand.

In such moments, a quiet, almost instinctive movement appears: we feel the need to leave. Not necessarily far, not necessarily toward a specific place, but in a way that takes us out of the familiar rhythm and brings us back into contact with something alive, unmediated, within us. Sometimes this movement looks very concrete — a spontaneous decision to walk, a need to step outside and follow a path without a clear destination, or simply the feeling that you need to move in order to hear yourself again.

This is how pilgrimages often begin. Not as planned projects, but as quiet responses to a need that can no longer be postponed.

Throughout time, people have walked toward places considered sacred, have crossed long distances, have repeated the same steps, the same pauses — from the Camino de Santiago to the Hajj, from the Kumano Kodo to the mountain paths of Andean shamans.And although beliefs differ, the deeper structure of the experience remains surprisingly consistent.

Because pilgrimages are not, in essence, about the places we reach, but about how the journey transforms us.

Pilgrimage as a liminal space

There is a reason why these journeys hold such transformative power, and this has been observed not only in spiritual contexts, but also in anthropology and psychology. Anthropologist Victor Turner described such processes as liminal — spaces “in between worlds,” where the old identity dissolves and the new one has not yet been formed.
Every pilgrimage contains three stages: separation, liminality, and reintegration.

When you leave, you detach from your ordinary life — even if this detachment is temporary, it creates a break in rhythm.
When you walk, you enter the liminal space — that “in-between” where you are no longer who you were, but not yet who you are becoming. It is a space where days begin to resemble one another, and the usual reference points of identity start to loosen.
When you return, the transformation begins to settle, sometimes subtly, into the way you see and live your life.

Mircea Eliade wrote that “the most valuable journey is the one toward our own soul.”
Pilgrimage is one of the oldest forms of that journey.

Repetition as transformation

Transformation does not happen suddenly. It does not come from a spectacular moment, but settles slowly, through repetition.
Through the act of walking.
Through breathing.
Through continuing the path even when there is nothing remarkable left in it. It is precisely in those moments — when the landscape no longer impresses and thoughts begin to repeat themselves — that another kind of quieting begins, one that does not come from control, but from rhythm.

Neuropsychology refers to this as transient hypofrontality: in long, repetitive movement, the prefrontal cortex — the part responsible for analysis and anticipation — begins to quiet down. The rhythm of walking regulates the nervous system, and the body becomes, once again, a place to inhabit, not just an instrument.

This is why pilgrimages are deeply embodied experiences. Transformation is not understood — it is lived.

Simplification as a form of truth

As you move forward, things begin to simplify. Not because you intend for them to, but because the journey no longer supports the usual complexity of everyday life. You are left with fewer objects, fewer choices, fewer distractions — and without realizing it, you are left closer to yourself. Often, this closeness appears in very simple moments: when you sit by the side of the road and take off your shoes, when you feel your body tired but present, or when you notice how little you actually need in order to continue.

Within this reduction, a different kind of clarity begins to emerge — one that does not come from analysis, but from space.

But simplification does not mean ease. At some point, real fatigue appears — the kind of limit where you can no longer continue through willpower or ambition. And exactly there, a subtle but essential shift occurs: continuation no longer comes from effort, but from a deeper, quieter place, one that is not about performance, but about presence.

Secular pilgrimages: journeys without religion, yet full of meaning

Not all pilgrimages are religious. Some are secular, cultural, communal, or deeply personal — and this reveals that pilgrimage is, first and foremost, a human experience.

Marathons — Boston, Athens, Berlin — are pilgrimages of the body and of will. Thousands of people move along the same path, in the same rhythm, in a form of collective ritual where effort becomes a form of transcendence.

Burning Man is a contemporary pilgrimage to a temporary city in the desert, where people experience community, symbolism, burning, letting go, and renewal. It is a modern ritual of liminality.

Memorial journeys — Ground Zero, Hiroshima Peace Memorial — are pilgrimages of memory. People go there not necessarily to transform, but to remember. To carry forward a story that is not theirs, yet still touches them.

Grief paths — returning to places connected to someone who has been lost, walking again and again toward a place of memory — are intimate, invisible pilgrimages, where the path becomes a bridge between absence and presence. Sometimes these journeys are so simple that no one else would recognize them as pilgrimages, yet for the one walking them, they carry the same depth.

All of these reveal that pilgrimage is not a religious practice, but a profoundly human one.

Is pilgrimage a ritual?

At first glance, they seem different. A ritual is usually associated with a repeated gesture within a defined space. A pilgrimage is movement, a journey, a change of place.

And yet, the difference is only one of form.

A pilgrimage contains all the elements of a ritual:

• intention (even if not fully articulated),
• repetition (steps, days, rhythm),
• presence (the body becomes the center of the experience),
• symbol (the outer reflects the inner),
• transformation (the most subtle, yet the most real).

A ritual concentrates these elements in a fixed space. A pilgrimage unfolds them across time.

In this sense, pilgrimage is a ritual in motion.

Joseph Campbell said that “your life is your own pilgrimage, and you are the hero.”
Paulo Coelho wrote in The Pilgrimage that “the journey teaches us more than the destination.”
Rumi whispered: “What you seek is seeking you.”
Rebecca Solnit observed that “walking is a form of thinking.”

All of these perspectives converge toward the same truth: the journey itself is a form of transformation.

Invisible pilgrimages

Not all pilgrimages require departure. Some unfold within everyday life, in forms so simple they can easily go unnoticed:

• a walk taken in the same place, in the same rhythm — perhaps every morning, along the same path;
• lighting a candle;
• a conscious breath;
• returning again and again to a place of memory;
• a small gesture, repeated with intention.

Within these simple forms of inner pilgrimage, repetition creates space, and space allows a kind of clarity to emerge — not forced, but discovered. And over time, this clarity opens the possibility of real transformation.

This is where ritual and pilgrimage meet most clearly: in their capacity to create a space in which life can be felt again, without pressure and without urgency.

Instead of a conclusion

Not all journeys begin far away. Not all require you to leave your life as it is.

Sometimes, the beginning is much closer:

• in a slower step,
• in a repeated gesture without expectation,
• in the choice to remain present where you are.

And sometimes, that is exactly where the pilgrimage begins.

Frequently asked questions

What do pilgrimages from different cultures have in common?
The structure of the experience: intention, repetition, embodiment, simplification, and inner transformation.

Is pilgrimage only a religious act?
No. It can also be understood as an inner process of transformation, independent of any specific belief.

What is the difference between a ritual and a pilgrimage?
A ritual is a concentrated form of repetition and presence.
A pilgrimage is the same structure, unfolding through time and movement.

Can I create a “pilgrimage” in everyday life?
Yes. Simple gestures, repeated with intention, can become spaces of transformation.

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Not every journey shows up on a map. Some of them go inward.

Nine Stops and a Journey Within is the journal of my own journey — not toward a place, but toward myself. Nine thresholds, nine stops, shaped as ritual rather than itinerary, written to accompany you wherever you are right now. It's available as an ebook, in EPUB format, on Lulu — in both Romanian and English.

Read it in Romanian – Nouă opriri și un drum interior Read it in English: Nine Stops and a Journey Within