A 60,000-year-old cure for depression
Traditional healers have been entrusted with the well-being of indigenous Australian communities for as long as their culture has been alive – yet surprisingly little is known of them.
Traditional healers have been entrusted with the well-being
of indigenous Australian communities for as long as their culture has been
alive – yet surprisingly little is known of them.
30 September 2019
There I was, on a cold but bright day in late autumn,
wearing nothing but my bathing suit, lying on a pile of kangaroo skins and
engulfed in plumes of smouldering leaves from a peppermint tree by the banks of
a sacred river.
Kwoorabup has been a place of ceremony for thousands of
years. The river, located near the small town of Denmark, 360km south-east of
Western Australia’s capital, Perth, was given its name by the local Noongar
people, who believe it was formed by the Wagyl, a giant serpent from the creation
period known as the Dreaming.
Most people journey to this wild coastal stretch of Western
Australia’s Great Southern region to visit vineyards, sample delicious produce
and holiday by its strip of stunning beaches, but I was there to have my spirit
rebalanced by the local medicine man, Joey Williams.
Australia’s indigenous Aboriginal people have the oldest
living culture on Earth. For around 60,000 years, their intricate understanding
of ecology ensured survival, and their physical, spiritual, mental and
emotional well-being was achieved by maintaining healthy, balanced
relationships with all living and non-living things.
At the heart of their communities were traditional healers.
They have been respected and entrusted with the well-being of Aboriginal
communities for as long as the culture has been alive, yet still today
surprisingly little is known of them. The few healers who remain, of which
Williams is one, have extensive knowledge of Aboriginal culture and are
believed to possess supernatural abilities. Their role is to treat physical,
mental and spiritual ailments using bush medicine, smoking ceremonies and
spirit realignment – the latter being a common remedy for depression, or what
indigenous Australians call “sickness of the spirit”.
Australia’s indigenous Aboriginal people achieve well-being
through balanced relationships with nature (Credit: Credit: Catherine Mercer)
Australia’s indigenous Aboriginal people achieve physical,
spiritual and emotional well-being through balanced relationships with the
world around them (Credit: Catherine Mercer)
In 2017, the World Health Organization published a study
stating the total number of people living with depression in 2015 was estimated
to exceed 300 million – an increase of more than 18.4% since 2005.
More recently, the Australian Medical Association announced
their agreement with other leading global health organisations, declaring
climate change a “health emergency” that will cause a higher incidence of
mental ill-health, among other health-related issues. With modern living an
apparent threat to both mental well-being and the planet – and having
personally battled with depression myself – I had wondered whether answers
could be found by looking back to the wisdom of the world’s oldest continuous civilisation.
An Aboriginal elder and mubarrn, meaning “medicine” or
“lore” man in the local Noongar language, Williams told me his healing ability
has been passed down through his ancestral lineage. For him, and other
Aboriginal healers, the most important first step in relation to healing is the
ability to reconnect to the land, since for indigenous Australians, connection
to country represents connection to their culture. For this reason, we’d
started the healing ceremony the previous day in the Stirling Range National
Park, a 90-minute drive north of Kwoorabup, to experience a reconnection
ceremony at an ancient sacred site on the traditional lands of the Koreng tribe
to which he belongs.
The few traditional Aboriginal healers who remain are
believed to possess supernatural abilities (Credit: Credit: Bonita Grima)
The few traditional Aboriginal healers who remain, of which
Joey Williams is one, are believed to possess supernatural abilities (Credit:
Bonita Grima)
Western Australia’s only southern mountain range is an area
of extraordinary beauty. It’s one of the few places in the state that gets
snow, and spring sees it dotted with an array of brightly coloured wildflowers.
Home to 1,500 species, many growing nowhere else, it’s one of the world’s most
important areas for flora.
Many of these native plants have medicinal properties, and
because Williams spent his early childhood living off the land with family,
it’s no wonder that he, now in his late 50s, refers to the area as his
“supermarket” and “pharmacy”.
Wading through knee-high grass, Williams showed me how to
dig for bloodroot (good for numbing toothache) and gather resin formed from the
oozing red antiseptic sap of a marri tree, which strangely resembled the very
thing it is known for healing – an open wound. “It cures stomach ache too,” he
said.
Indigenous Australians see the land as a “mother” and very
much alive (Credit: Credit: Bonita Grima)
Indigenous Australians see the land as a “mother” and very
much alive (Credit: Bonita Grima)
As we walked, Williams demonstrated that to him and other
indigenous Australians, the land is very much alive, with songlines (cultural
memory codes that hold knowledge of a place and define the responsibilities
attached to kinship and lore) scattered across its skin. After singing the
specific songline attached to the spot we were standing, Williams “read” the
land to me, pointing out peaks like chapters. “There’s Bulla Meile, the hill of
eyes,” he said. More commonly known as Bluff Knoll, southern Western
Australia‘s highest peak is where the Koreng people believe they return after
death. “And straight out in front of us is Talyuberlup. See her face, breast
and stomach?” he asked, tracing curves in the air. “Meaning beautiful woman
sleeping. She’s the protector of this range.”
Following his gaze, the undulating countryside did indeed
look like an expecting mother resting, and served as a reminder that Aboriginal
people see the land as a “mother” and a guide for reciprocal wellness.
Back in the car, we continued on to Wickelenup, a semi-dry
salt lake that is a “power ground”, a place where the Koreng people have
performed ceremonial reconnection rites for thousands of years. Wickelenup
means “lake of many colours” and it’s named for the ochre pits resting beside
it. These large deposits of clay earth produce pigments ranging from pale
yellows to deep reds, which, when painted on the body during a ceremony,
represent the important connection that indigenous Australians have with the
land.
I only have to listen to you for half an hour and I know you
Entering Wickelenup, Williams used clapsticks and what he
called a “protection song” to summon his ancestors for the protection and
blessing of our steps upon the Earth. After crossing a bed of clay that looked
as if giant tins of red and yellow paint had been dropped from the sky, he led
me to an oddly shaped chunk of volcanic rock that he used as a platform for
grinding ochre. Williams stood with his eyes closed and sang the songline
belonging to his family, the Kaarl Poorlanger, meaning “people of fire”, before
mixing ochre on the stone and painting a russet-coloured pigment onto my skin
in a technique known as “smudging”.
“This is your mark, your connection to this land. You might
wash it off later but I know it’s there… and so will you,” he said.
Looking at the symbol on my arm, I asked why he had chosen
what looked like ripples in water. “I didn’t,” he said. “You chose it in your
mind.” Sensing my confusion, Williams elaborated. “I only have to listen to you
for half an hour and I know you.”
Aboriginal knowledge of the land has been passed down
through songlines (Credit: Credit: Catherine Mercer)
Aboriginal knowledge of the land has been passed down
through songlines, cultural memory codes that define the responsibilities
attached to kinship (Credit: Catherine Mercer)
Whether healers truly possess any psychic ability, it seems
a key skill Aboriginal people have honed over thousands of years is an advanced
way of listening.
Elder Miriam-Rose Ungunmerr-Baumann, an Aboriginal activist,
educator and artist from Australia’s Northern Territory, believes “dadirri is
the Aboriginal gift” the world is thirsting for.
Meaning “inner deep listening and quiet still awareness” in
her Ngangikurungkurr language, dadirri is a form of mindfulness and reciprocal
empathy we can develop with the land, each other and ourselves, according to
Ungunmerr-Baumann. “We call on it and it calls to us… It is something like what
you call ‘contemplation’,” she writes on her website.
For indigenous Australians, this spiritual listening
practice provides a way to observe and act according to the natural seasons and
cycles in a way the modern world seems to have forgotten. “We watch the bush
foods and wait for them to ripen before we gather them. When a relation dies,
we wait a long time with the sorrow. We own our grief and allow it to heal
slowly,” she told me.
According to the WHO, the number of people living with
depression increased more than 18% between 2005 and 2015 (Credit: Credit: ANTAC)
According to the World Health Organization, the number of
people living with depression increased more than 18% between 2005 and 2015
(Credit: ANTAC)
While much ancient Aboriginal wisdom and culture has already
been lost, elders such as Ungunmerr-Baumann are striving to keep what’s left
alive, but it’s not an easy task. When the First Fleet of British settlers
arrived in Australia in 1788, Australia’s indigenous population was thought to
be around 750,000. Ten years later, it was estimated to have dropped by 90%,
due to the introduction of new diseases and violent clashes with the European
colonisers. Today, indigenous Australians make up just 3.3% of the population.
The forced separation of families and removal of Aboriginal people from their
traditional lands, lore and practices affected the passing of cultural
knowledge and led to the intergenerational trauma that is still being
experienced today.
But one woman advocating for greater recognition of
traditional Aboriginal healing principles, practices and medicine is Dr
Francesca Panzironi, a human rights academic from Rome. The CEO of Australia’s
first organisation of Aboriginal traditional healers, Panzironi formed Anangu
Ngangkari Tjutaku Aboriginal Corporation (ANTAC), with Ngangkari (healers of
Australia’s central desert areas) in 2012.
“For indigenous people, it’s about reconnecting to culture
and accessing healing techniques that are different from Western medicine,”
Panzironi said. “Western medicine looks at the body from a mechanistic perspective,
whereas healers highlight everyone has a spirit that intimately links to the
body and emotions.”
Aboriginal Ngangkari healers now work alongside Western
doctors and mental health experts in some public hospitals (Credit: Credit:
ANTAC)
Aboriginal Ngangkari healers now work alongside Western
doctors and mental health experts in some public hospitals (Credit: ANTAC)
Although traditional Aboriginal medicine is not recognised
as an alternative medicine in Australia (due to difficulty regulating spiritual
practices and the lack of testing of bush medicines), Ngangkaris are recognised
in South Australian legislation through the Mental Health Act of 2009, and
ANTAC now has healers working alongside Western doctors and mental health
experts in some public hospitals. They provide “complementary” treatments to
medical care for indigenous Australians – something especially beneficial for
people recovering from intergenerational trauma, stemming from colonisation.
Panzironi says there has been increased interest from
non-indigenous people, too, who are dissatisfied with the mainstream model and
are looking for alternatives. “We had a middle-aged woman who reduced her
intake of antidepressants significantly over a six-month period of regular
pampuni (a massage technique used for spirit realignment by the Ngangkari,
particularly in the stomach, which is thought to be connected to the mind), in
consultation with her GP. Both the woman and her doctor noticed improvement in
her mental health,” she said.
Currently ANTAC has a mobile clinic allowing Ngangkaris to
travel to patients in areas of Australia where access to their services are
non-existent, but Panzironi would like to see hospital programmes similar to
the one in South Australia rolled out nationwide. “The goal is to have
Aboriginal traditional medicine recognised as an alternative medicine and to
make healers commonplace, as a viable choice for everyone through Medicare
[Australia’s universal health care system],” she told me.
During ceremonial reconnection rites, the Koreng people
paint their bodies with clay – a practice known as “smudging” (Credit: Credit:
Bonita Grima)
During ceremonial reconnection rites, the Koreng people
paint their bodies with clay – a practice known as “smudging” (Credit: Bonita
Grima)
Back at Kwoorabup, Williams was preparing for the final
stage of my spirit realignment ceremony. After using smoke to cleanse and
protect our surroundings from bad spirits, as is the traditional ceremonial
practice among Aboriginal people, he placed a small stone upon my navel – a
tool, he said, to absorb my vibration or spirit.
“We’re all made up of vibration,” Williams said. “It’s
connected at birth through the umbilical cord. It’s the essence of who we are.”
Through his water vibrational healing ceremony, something that is unique to
mubarrn of the area, he explained that I’d be able hear my spirit amplified
when he placed the stone in the river. “High vibration means anxiety,” Williams
said. “Low vibration is depression. I’ll take your vibration and balance it by
releasing it through a portal I’ll open in your back.”
We’re all made up of vibration – it’s the essence of who we
are
I had known the water would be cold, but that still hadn’t
prepared me for the shock I felt when it came time to immerse myself in the
river. Floating on my back, with Williams holding me, I tried to relax and
listen to my “vibration” with the stone now held against my spine, but my
shuddering body wouldn’t cooperate.
Pain from the freezing water intensified and I was also
experiencing discomfort because I was unused to feeling supported. An
irrational fear came over me – if I didn’t break free, to move by myself in a
way I was used to, I might sink. But then I felt a strange force pushing up
from under me and realised it wasn’t just Williams supporting me, but the river
itself.
Doing as Williams asked – to relinquish control and
acknowledge pain and trust – I tipped my head back and focused on the warmth of
the sun’s rays. I remembered something I’d read earlier by Ungunmerr-Baumann.
“We cannot hurry the river. We have to move with its current and understand its
ways,” she’d written. Moments later, much to my disbelief, my ears filled with
a sound like the motor of a distant power boat, growing louder and resonating
within – sounding a lot like anxiety, according to Williams’ earlier
description. Letting go, I breathed out and went under.
The author took part in a water vibrational healing
ceremony, which is meant to amplify the vibrations of one’s spirit (Credit:
Credit: Catherine Mercer)
The author took part in a water vibrational healing
ceremony, which is meant to amplify the vibrations of one’s spirit (Credit:
Catherine Mercer)
From my own experience, recovering from depression is a
little like resurfacing from a cold river; thoughts like colours and sounds
seem brighter, louder, clearer. And even if there’s no magic fix for mental
illness, it seems indigenous Australians have much to teach us about developing
greater awareness and reciprocity with our planet for our physical and
emotional survival – if we only take the time to listen.
“You need to ask, who you are, why you’re here, where you’re
going,” Ungunmerr-Baumann told me. “We know who we are as Aboriginal people.
It’s in our language, dreaming, country. We’re waiting for all people to listen
and hear what we hear so that we can connect and belong together.”
