Across continents and faiths, people have long walked in circles around what they hold sacred.
In a Hindu mandir, devotees trace the outer edge of the sanctum in quiet reverence. In Amritsar, visitors to the Golden Temple walk around the shrine at its heart, encircled by the waters of the Amrit Sarovar. High in the Himalayas, Buddhist pilgrims slowly circumambulate Mount Kailash, their mantras carried in the wind.
Though separated by geography and belief, these rituals share a common motion—the circle—an ancient, universal expression of devotion.
The circle has long symbolised wholeness and continuity. In Hinduism, moving clockwise around a deity or temple, known as parikrama or pradakshina, reflects life revolving around the divine, just as the planets orbit the sun. The act places the sacred at the centre, reminding devotees of their connection to something constant amidst change.
In Sikhism, this same geometry of reverence appears in the design of many gurudwaras. They are often built with a surrounding pathway or labyrinth-like space for the parikrama. The Golden Temple is perhaps the most striking example: the Darbar Sahib glows at the centre of a tranquil pool, its circumambulatory path symbolising humility, equality, and the journey toward spiritual purity.
Walking around it becomes both a physical act of devotion and a metaphorical reminder that the Divine radiates from within, touching every direction of life.
Buddhist traditions also embrace this circular motion. The kora, the practice of walking around a sacred site such as a stupa or mountain, represents the path toward enlightenment. Each turn purifies karma, deepens mindfulness, and reaffirms faith.
Similarly, in Islam, millions perform tawaf around the Kaaba, circling together in unison—an awe-inspiring act of surrender and unity.
Even outside organised religion, humanity instinctively gravitates toward circles—ancient stone rings, tribal dances around fire, or trust circles. There is something deeply human about moving in rhythm around a centre; it mirrors the pulse of nature itself, from the way the Earth orbits the sun to the cycles of seasons.
Walking in circles is a form of meditation. The body moves, yet the mind quiets. There is no finish line, only repetition—a rhythm that dissolves distraction and softens the edges of thought. Each round brings us closer not to a destination, but to a deeper awareness of our own stillness within motion.
In a time when life feels linear and hurried, this ancient gesture invites us to move differently. We can recreate its essence anywhere—for example, walking slowly around a garden, circling a small altar before prayer, or simply pacing around a candle while setting an intention. It’s not about the structure, but the centring, returning again and again to what feels sacred.
Every circle brings us back to where we began, yet subtly transformed. Something within us aligns with each turn.
Perhaps that is the quiet wisdom shared by every parikrama, kora, and tawaf: that the sacred is not a place we reach, but a pattern we remember—one step, one breath, and one circle at a time.