DAYS 127-130 - Columbus, OH... toward Zanesville - 2481 miles from home
- Esther Lisa Tishman
- Nov 10, 2025
- 4 min read
I dreamed the other night about Cordyceps - you know, the fictional mutation that creates a Zombie apocalypse in the video game and TV series The Last of Us. Yikes! Dystopian apocalyptic nightmare dreams! I don't remember the dream clearly - I woke myself up quickly, shaking the spores out of my mind (yuck!). But I remember absolutely distinctly that visceral sense of Us vs Them....
The Cordyceps dream was about this moment - about me and my country, me and my neighbors. Not about the "last of us" - but about all of us. The dream was about why I'm walking this pilgrimage. About crossing the divide beween Us and Them.
And, moreover, I am beginning to recognize the central irony of this pilgrimage: The further I walk away from my home, the more possible it becomes to cross that divide. Breaking out of my bubble, out of my comfort zone, and wandering into the full-on big old world: this has been the crucial medicine of the journey.
So, with nearly 2500 miles under my belt (¡holy moley!) - the opportunities to connect seem to be gathering steam and force. Indeed, leaving Columbus this morning felt like I was leaving home again - like I had forged such strong connections in just three short days, that now I was again at ground zero, I was again at home, and was again moving forward, moving away.
Maybe that's the special sauce of pilgrimage. Each footstep that takes you away from home actually brings you closer to The Home That Is Already Right Here....
Or perhaps it's truer to say it this way: To become a stranger to myself has allowed me to becomes less estranged from the world.
But although that sounds very fancy and nice - to be honest, the more hellos I find myself saying, the harder it's getting to say my goodbyes.
It certainly was not easy to say goodbye to Barb and Bill Fiorini this morning. They didn't help matters any by being adorable lovebirds, wonderful hosts, fabulous cooks - thoughtful, open-hearted, open-minded conversationalists - deeply curious about the world - hugely gregarious and engaged - not to mention the owners of two magnificent felines: Mario and Luigi. Spending evenings alongside their equally deep-souled friends was delicious in every sense (oh my goodness, Deb - your brownies and your foccaccia! Sandy - your ginger snaps!) ... But I think I may have loved best those simple moments sitting around the kitchen island, Barb in her robe sipping coffee, or Bill cutting us slabs of Mancheco cheese. We pilgrims stopped peregrinating for the weekend, and it was heavenly.
Spending three nights with Barb and Bill also gave us a chance to dive deep into their Unitarian Universalist community - and for me to connect, also at the UU church, with two different Zen Buddhist "sanghas" (i.e. congregations): Mud Lotus Sangha and Zen Columbus Sangha.
Liberty Walks, as I always say, is about faith in America.... And I always hear that phrase - "faith in America" - in two ways. In the first place, this pilgrimage is itself an act of faith: an optimistic leap into the unknown future of this American experiment.
But I also mean that this pilgrimage is investigating what faith looks like for many Americans. What are the faith traditions of America? Most of all I've been wondering: How does religion or spirituality anchor folks within their community and their country? In what ways do various lives of faith bring Americans together? In what ways do our faith traditions pull us apart?
We've spent the past two weekends in Unitarian Universalist communities. As I understand it, the UU Church insists on universal salvation, on the irresistible gravity of Love, on the liberating power of reason. The notion that all are welcome - the desire to include everyone - provides a core structuring principle for UU practice and worship. Access and equity are paramount goals. At the First UU Church of Columbus, for example, social justice and activism are central commitments for most congregants. Food insecurity in the community is addressed both through fundraising - and through providing a full eggs-and-bacon breakfast in the fellowship hall before Sunday service. During service itself, a sign language interpreter stands at a podium near the pulpit; similarly, each speaker begins their remarks by describing their physical appearance ("I'm a white woman of medium build wearing a maroon sweater"). In this way, the hearing- and vision-impaired are welcomed fully into the sanctuary.
All the same, in 2025 America, the spirit of welcome has become exponentially more difficult. How do you include everyone when the word "inclusion" itself has become divisive?
This is a real question - not a rhetorical one. These days, as I keep walking step-by-step away from my comfort zone - away from my home - I find myself more and more curious about the practice of the welcoming, open heart.
In 20 days I'll be heading back to Eugene. This pilgrimage, as such, will be over. So. What would it look like to bring the open road's welcome - the open heart - home with me??
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