“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.” ~ Dr. Francesca Panzironi, CEO of ANTAC, an organization of Aboriginal healers

Indigenous Australians see the land as a “mother” and very much alive (Credit: Bonita Grima)

“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.” ~ Bonita Grima, from “A 60,000=year=old cure for depression”

Thursday afternoon, sunny and too warm, 90 degrees.

The other day I read an article about Australia’s traditional Aboriginal healers and their approach to treating illnesses of the mind and body. The article, entitled “A 60,000-year-old cure for depression” was published on the BBC Travel Site.

Because of my long journey with mental and physical ailments, I’ve long had an interest in alternative medicines—and would love to know more about the various uses of herbs and plants. As I’ve mentioned, I take various vitamins and supplements like eggshell membrane and cinnamon for things like my IBS, blood sugar, and arthritis, and while Western medicine tends to scoff at the effectiveness of supplements, I have seen improvements in some things. For example, my blood sugar levels are back to normal, and my thyroid levels are closer to normal as well.

Is it a placebo effect? Who knows, but I’ll take what I can get if it means that I can take fewer prescription medicines. I think that part of what I like is that I feel as if I have more control over my health. Anyway, much of what I know, and that is limited at best—comes from reading about Native American healers, but the title of this article caught my attention.

As the article points out, the indigenous Aboriginal people of Australia have the oldest living culture on earth. However, their numbers have substantially dwindled, in large part because of the influx of Europeans, who brought all of the negative effects of colonizatioin, such diseases, violence, and forced separation of Aboriginal families and removal from traditional lands. But as the article states, one of the traditions that has remained in spite of outside factors is the role of traditional healing:

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.

For the mubarrn, or elders, the most important step in healing is a connection to the land, which is directly tied to listening. The term dadirri, which means an “inner deep listening and quiet still awareness:

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.

The article quotes Dr Francesca Panzironi, a human rights academic from Rome. Panzironi is the  CEO of Australia’s first organization of Aboriginal traditional healers,  Anangu Ngangkari Tjutaku Aboriginal Corporation (ANTAC). “For indigenous people, it’s about reconnecting to culture and accessing healing techniques that are different from Western medicine,” Panzironi said. Ngangkari are the healers of Australia’s central desert areas.

Now that I live here on the ridge, I find myself observing and learning each time I venture onto the land. Corey and I joke with one another about preparing for the zombie apocalypse, but truthfully, I want a greenhouse so that I can raise herbs so that eventually, I can learn how to make things like soap and my own tinctures, especially for treating the animals when they have small wounds or inflammations. For now, I settle for ordering things like an ointment made from Manuka honey, which is native to New Zealand and has been shown to have several healing benefits.

I’m featuring this article for those of you who may share my interest in learning what the land can provide for us. I’m including a link to a similar article about the Ngangkari healers, which can be found here, as well as an article here about some of the medicinal plants used.

Just a quick aside: I’ve been trying for almost a week to write this post, but my brain is overloaded with a bunch of stuff, so I cannot focus on one thing well enough to write about it. I hope that the above is linear enough to follow.

More later. Peace.


Aboriginal Healing Music (uncertain as to performers) composed by Giordano Trivellato and Giuliano Sacchetto

“Each face, each stone of the venerable monument, is a page not only of the history of the country, but of the history of science and art as well.” ~ Victor Hugo, from Notre-Dame de Paris (The Hunchback of Notre Dame)

The steeple of the Notre Dame Cathedral in central Paris collapses on April 15, 2019
(AFP/ Getty Images)

“—all are mingled, combined, amalgamated in Notre-Dame. This central mother church is, among the ancient churches of Paris, a sort of chimera; it has the head of one, the limbs of another, the haunches of another, something of all.” ~ Victor Hugo

Monday night, clear and cold, 39 degrees.

Rather than a regular post, I feel the need to share some key passages from Victor Hugo’s
Notre-Dame de Paris (1831), better known as The Hunchback of Notre Dame.* The burning of this historical masterpiece just breaks my soul, and as news images around the world depict, countless individuals are mourning the loss. The world has lost far too many architectural wonders—to time, but more so, to the ravages of war and genocidal myopia—far too many to list here.

Fans of the Disney movie and/or the novel may be unaware that Hugo originally wrote his book because he was so dismayed by the state of disrepair in which the great cathedral sat in the 1800’s. Hugo wanted to preserve the Gothic architecture he believed was tied so directly to France’s history, rather than see it succumb to renovation or destruction in favor of Baroque buildings. Quasimodo, the hunchback, represents all of the deformities bestowed upon such architecture by subsequent generations, and Hugo bestowed in Quasimodo a pure love for the cathedral and all of its many statuary: “the cathedral was not only society for him, but the universe, and all nature beside.”

Hugo and his endearing creation helped to lead to the massive 1844 restoration of Notre-Dame. The following passages are taken from Chapter 1 of the third book:

The church of Notre-Dame de Paris is still no doubt, a majestic and sublime edifice. But, beautiful as it has been preserved in growing old, it is difficult not to sigh, not to wax indignant, before the numberless degradations and mutilations which time and men have both caused the venerable monument to suffer, without respect for Charlemagne, who laid its first stone, or for Philip Augustus, who laid the last.

On the face of this aged queen of our cathedrals, by the side of a wrinkle, one always finds a scar. Tempus edax, homo edacior; which I should be glad to translate thus: Time is a devourer; man, more so.

If we had leisure to examine with the reader, one by one, the diverse traces of destruction imprinted upon the old church, time’s share would be the least, the share of men the most . . .

. . . the tranquil grandeur of the whole; a vast symphony in stone, so to speak; the colossal work of one man and one people, all together one and complex, like the Iliads and the Romanceros, whose sister it is; prodigious product of the grouping together of all the forces of an epoch, upon each stone, one sees the fancy of the workman disciplined by the genius of the artist start forth in a hundred fashions; a sort of human creation, in a word, powerful and fecund as the divine creation of which it seems to have stolen the double character,—variety, eternity.

. . . these hybrid constructions are not the least interesting for the artist, for the antiquarian, for the historian. They make one feel to what a degree architecture is a primitive thing, by demonstrating (what is also demonstrated by the cyclopean vestiges, the pyramids of Egypt, the gigantic Hindoo pagodas) that the greatest products of architecture are less the works of individuals than of society; rather the offspring of a nation’s effort, than the inspired flash of a man of genius; the deposit left by a whole people; the heaps accumulated by centuries; the residue of successive evaporations of human society,—in a word, species of formations. Each wave of time contributes its alluvium, each race deposits its layer on the monument, each individual brings his stone. Thus do the beavers, thus do the bees, thus do men. The great symbol of architecture, Babel, is a hive.

Great edifices, like great mountains, are the work of centuries. Art often undergoes a transformation while they are pending, pendent opera interrupta; they proceed quietly in accordance with the transformed art. The new art takes the monument where it finds it, incrusts itself there, assimilates it to itself, develops it according to its fancy, and finishes it if it can. The thing is accomplished without trouble, without effort, without reaction,—following a natural and tranquil law. It is a graft which shoots up, a sap which circulates, a vegetation which starts forth anew. Certainly there is matter here for many large volumes, and often the universal history of humanity in the successive engrafting of many arts at many levels, upon the same monument. The man, the artist, the individual, is effaced in these great masses, which lack the name of their author; human intelligence is there summed up and totalized. Time is the architect, the nation is the builder.

. . . architecture does what she pleases. Statues, stained glass, rose windows, arabesques, denticulations, capitals, bas-reliefs,—she combines all these imaginings according to the arrangement which best suits her. Hence, the prodigious exterior variety of these edifices, at whose foundation dwells so much order and unity. The trunk of a tree is immovable; the foliage is capricious.

*You can find an online copy of the complete novel here, thanks to Project Gutenberg.


Music by Gabriel Fauré, “Pie Jesu Requiem, Op. 48”