Years ago when I took a uni course on social psychology my main takeaway was that people who use positive psychology have better mental health than those who don’t. But, if a belief or mantra that has been helping the person is shown to be untrue, their mental health becomes worse than people who have not used positive psychology at all.
That resonated, because years before then when I lived in South Africa, I used positive psychology to survive danger (murder, fire, death threats, riots — if you’re interested you can read about it in my short novel). I drove around repeating to myself, ‘I am safe’. It helped, and it was exhausting to keep up that mindset in such circumstances. When I got back to the US, all I did for three weeks was sleep, walk in the woods and cook. I had a lot to rebalance, and I knew my positive psychology coping strategy was a form of trickery, or sorcery.
I haven’t written much about sorcery because I prefer not to use it much. I think I’m in a minority among spiritual practitioners about this. But when we do sorcery, we’re potentially missing important life lessons, while also opening ourselves up to more powerful sorcery and trickery by others in a cycle of endless power games.
I consider it sorcery to do a ritual for a specific intended outcome, such as keeping myself safe in an unsafe environment, getting a specific job, etc. Note: I consider it a prayer or wish when doubt and openness are intentionally included. And I consider it rebalancing and healing when shifting trauma- based beliefs into life affirming ones, such as moving from “Life overwhelms me” to “Life supports me.” This is healing trauma trickery / destructive sorcery!
Consider the difference between a ritual with the intention of “I call the right job to me now”, and “I receive an offer for the job I just interviewed for within the week”. I like to use the phrase”or something better” at the end of many prayers, with trust that I can’t even imagine at times what would be best for me, and with the acceptance that what’s best will feel unpleasant at times. That’s part of trusting life and embodying a shamanic “I don’t know” mind. If for survival reasons you decide you really do want to just use sorcery to get the job, then I don’t want to lay any existential judgement about that being wrong; I just want to say that there are tricky consequences for that, often which we don’t realise until later.
There’s a common myth that healing can be completed, like we can cross it off a list. A wounded healer is often understood to be someone who’s “finished healing” in many ways and is ongoingly healing deeper layers in their life. There are some lessons that we don’t revisit in our lives, and others we are surprised come up again: “I thought I/he/she was over that by now!” (Image from here)
So much of why this is a myth is because we can’t transcend our circumstances. I can’t heal a wound around capitalism while living in a capitalist economy. I can make changes in my life to limit my relationship with capitalism, but I can’t totally escape it. Even if I went to live alone in the bush, totally naked and without a knife or anything manufactured, I’d still have had my life path and thinking shaped by capitalism to the extent of choosing extreme rejection of it!
I have been noticing thoughts coming up about a belief in trusting that I have everything I need, so if, for example, my family isn’t around, then I mustn’t need them. I needed to think that way to survive estrangement; it was a balm for a big, painful abandonment wound that I carry. But I don’t need that sorcery, that positive psychology trickery, anymore. The truth is, I do need my family, and I am actively experiencing abandonment every moment of every day we can’t relate. What I can trust is that I need to strengthen my capacity to be with the pain of the wound. My capacity to be truthful and neutral about a wound is my medicine as a Medicine Woman. And embodying my medicine strengthens me and those around me. That allows me to protect myself better, so I don’t play out abandonment games with others in my life. When I have the capacity to accept and hold the truth, that I both need my family and don’t have them in my life, then I feel more empowered and more whole. The wound gives me purpose and defines my medicine. (Image from here)
That’s the paradox of healing: we’re strong and secure in being both wounded and whole at the same time. Sorcery, whether positive or negative, doesn’t give us that. It is by its nature, forceful and charged, not neutral, open, and flowing. Doesn’t mean we shouldn’t ever use it, but it does mean, we are wise to use it carefully.
Rage matters. It’s a passionate, spirited emotion. Spirit keeps our inner fires burning and helps us feel alive. We need healthy spirits! I remember spiritual teacher Tom Lake, an Anglo-Celtic medicine man sharing that to try to get rid of one’s anger is to dis-spirit oneself. What we do with that energy makes a difference to our fulfilment, our personal power, and to the people and world around us.
Unfortunately social and political power are often not encouraging of us being our best selves. But we still have to live with who we are being and what we do.
I have noticed a pattern to the hateful messages I receive from other politically Indigenous folks. The person states their cultural affiliation (usually Aboriginal Australian, sometimes Native American), then attacks mine. The comments are about one of my online offerings, but are directed to an unknown reader using othering language. They open with language like “I’m really interested how she can claim…” while expressing no interest in dialogue. Most comments occur on weekend evenings from males. It’s clear the person didn’t read more than a paragraph or two about me and my life’s work.
I feel the person’s rage and see it as a cry for help. I send compassion, care, and a boundary of not engaging directly so as to avoid fueling flames of further divisiveness and violence.
We all get overwhelmed and are unsure how to direct our rage at times. I get that. For all of us who care about Lore and Law, who feel connected with Mother Earth and the ecosystems where we live, there is a lot to be angry about right now. Much about the way we are collectively living feels wrong, yet as individuals we can feel limited power what we can do differently.
Here are some ways that I find constructive to honour rage in the short term:
Primal screams (you might like to add chest beating) and foot stomping;
Big sobbing, raging grief (where you really let go and have a big physical cry);
Physical movement (running or wild dancing are good options); and/or
Musical, artistic or other creative expression (banging drums often helps).
In the medium and long term, I find these helpful:
Practicing unconditional love and acceptance (especially with oneself and with people who have very different values and worldviews);
Reflecting how to more fully live your core values and ways to practice compassion when you can’t (maybe you do some activism or make a small lifestyle change);
Spending time connecting with landforms, animals and plants and attuning to indigenous science messages; and/or
Setting and honouring boundaries to uphold important Lore and Law (like treating yourself and others with respect and dignity).
When I think about people behaving in ways that I fundamentally disagree with and find inherently destructive, it helps me to remember the cycles of the Earth: birth, life, death, and rebirth. Destructive energy leads to death and decay, and following that is an opportunity for rebirth. Death and decay is uncomfortable to be with, but it’s s purposeful part of our life cycle. Deaths of collective dreams and ways of being can feel very big at times, yet reach unexpected tipping points. I find solace in the quotes below, and maybe you will resonate with them also.
Let’s express our deepest passions and rage wisely to keep that energy flowing! Let’s allow toxic divisiveness and existential supremacy to die and decay, making more space for interconnectivity and beautiful rebirths to emerge.
There’s so much parenting advice, and so little I resonate with, so I thought I’d share my perspective.
Parenting is about building relationships through developmentally appropriate leadership (which is related to a previous post on governance and the YouTube video below on sacred leadership/eldership by Tjana Goreng Goreng, PhD). Kids, whether our own, family, or community, challenge us to confront triggers, fears and insecurities, as well as allow us to more clearly see our strengths, values and capacity to connect.
When babies cry out we give them instant attention and soothing, but that is not always a good idea with older kids, much less adults! Often we set patterns into motion because of our own limitations (read about some of mine here). I knew a mother who considered her adult daughter mentally and emotionally fragile (which I didn’t). She martyred herself to avoid her daughter feeling pain and experiencing certain struggles. But some of that seemed to me (and the daughter’s therapist) necessary growing pain for the daughter’s development. And I felt the mother was projecting her own mental and emotional fragility onto her daughter because she felt unable to hold space in certain ways. They both seemed a bit stifled.
I say that with deep compassion, because we all have limits and struggles. Part of the fulfilment of any spiritual work, and certainly parenting, is bringing our deepest challenges to the surface so we can make peace with ourselves (and our ancestors, younger and older!) to become even better leaders — i.e. more powerful, grounded, centred and humble human beings.
When I look at my child, I see some struggles she’s come here with, some that feel linked to her father and that ancestry, some linked to me and mine, and some connected to her context and the land and ancestors where we live. (Ie ancestors of spirit, lineage, and land). When I am able to shift something that she’s also carrying, I expect her to have a big emotional response because we are connected with very open hearts. My shifting innately moves her heart and affects our shared ancestors, and she has to process it too. All of that emotion is likely to also affect my husband, because we’re all very sensitive. So when I feel something shift, I both feel excited and tend to brace myself to be able weather some emotional storms that my leadership has set into motion.
I’m very aware that being committed to deep spiritual work asks a lot of myself and people who choose to be intimate with me. I don’t feel like I have a choice, though, in the way a singer can’t (or ought not!) stop themselves from busting into song throughout the day. To stifle it is to self destruct and snuff out my life force. Parenting feels the same in that it’s not a choice, it’s an honour and responsibility that defines the structure of my life.
I remember a book that made news years ago about parenting being all joy and no fun. To me, that says the parent is overwhelmed and may not know any other way to lead and set up their life. I’ve seen quite a bit of a so-called ‘gentle parenting’ approach, which feels like a reaction to authoritarian parenting and actually seems to me to stress out the children by giving them too much leadership space and not enough containing and consequences to uphold values and norms.
I appreciate some elements of the ‘sturdy parenting‘ approach and agree that there’s a big difference between punishment and consequences (Image from here).
And I add to that an Indigenous worldview in which there’s a huge difference between deeming behaviours as unacceptable and judging a person as unacceptable.
It seems to me in an effort to limit the destructive impact of the existential judgment and punishment wound in the western worldview, there arose a popular idea that yelling at kids destroys their self esteem. I do not agree. I think expressing anger and showing that it’s an intense emotion that we all experience is part of healthy leadership. And after I express anger, I offer a cuddle. I tell my child that I love her no matter what I’m feeling, and that there’s nothing wrong with her. (And if I was angry with someone else, I make sure to tell her it wasn’t about her and still offer a cuddle if she wants.) She now says to us, ‘Sometimes we get angry’ with the same tone as ‘Sometimes we get sad’ or ‘Sometimes we get wrinkles’ (referring to what happens in the bath). It shows me she feels that it’s okay to experience intense emotions within herself and with others in her environment (Image from here).
Recently I sat down and cried before bed and told her that I felt sad because she had been very hard on me that day. It was the highest defiance and worst day of listening yet. I could tell she felt bad. She came over and hugged me and said, “It’s okay, I love you no matter what, Mommy.” That helped fulfil me both as a parent and helped my inner child feel safer than I had with my mother.
Parenting, like other forms of leadership in Indigenous science, is an exercise in unconditional love and existential acceptance, while embodying core values and cultural norms and creating consequences for breaching them. I hope it resonates with you, and thanks for reading!
If you would like to listen to an interview with Valerie about the inspiration behind the Healing through Indigenous Wisdom book, here is the link. =)
There’s also a short article about both Lukas & Valerie on p. 26 of our local paper The Triangle, with three corrections: Lukas was born in Sydney, Valerie was born in Ohio, and William Ringland is buried in Bermagui.
“The Filipinos of today are the happiest people I know. Why revisit the past and why does it matter now?” She told me with an unsure smile. I only just met her for the first time five minutes ago and somehow, our conversation took an unexpected dip into the stories rarely told territory.
When two strangers realise they’re both Pinoys because curiosity has prompted either of them to ask “Are you Filipino?”, there’s typically a surge of excitement when it’s a match. Usually, I reply by either talking about how long since I’ve been back in the Philippines or how much fun I had in my most recent trip. In this case, I had just returned from a trip to my homeland after a 5 year drought.
I casually recounted that while my trip was short and sweet, I was also on a mission to discover some local books on Filipino History. A quest that took me at least 9 book stores until a kind soul directed me to a shelf filled of said books on the second last day of my trip. It was a welcome relief after being repeatedly directed to the Filipino cookbooks section in my prior search.
Back to our unplanned discourse, I couldn’t possibly not share a tidbit or two about how aghast I was at what I’ve learned so far. Especially how our distant relatives have been wrecklessly jostled about from the Spanish to the Americans in deeply degrading (and staged) circumstances.
“…why does it matter now?” she recoiled back.
The shelves of wonder. Thank you Fully Booked, Grand Central.
The sound of my name being called broke my reverie as I mulled her question. I was in an animal shelter and fortunately, it was my time in the queue to be attended to.
Being a Filipino-Australian who has been living in Australia since I was eight years old, I have also felt a gnawing inkling that now would be a great time in my life to rediscover my Filipino roots.
How does one start though? Scholarly articles and the very limited Filipino history ebooks on Amazon points to the fact that the colonial legacy of the Philippine’s past has left deep scars in the Filipino psyche, including “internalised oppression, self-hatred and colonial mentality” (David & Okazaki, 2006).
Hang on. Colonial Mentality? What does that actually mean?
Colonial Mentality
According to Nadal et al. (2016), colonial mentality refers to the internalisation of colonial values, beliefs and practices that devalue Filipino culture, language and identity. This can manifest as embarassment or feelings of inferiority over Filipino tradition and practices.
I recall when I first moved here in Sydney, Australia on several occassions, how several of my Filipino peers more often than not, proclaimed they were Fillipino-Spanish (even if that was 1/32th in bloodline). (Image from here)
“It just makes me sound more interesting you know. I’m not just another flip (Inner West Sydney slang for Filipino back in that time) who’s also a fob (fresh off the boat)”, I vividly recall an acquaintance disclosing.
David and Okazaki (2006, p.335) defines colonial mentality as “the conscious or unconscious acceptance of the belief that traits, values and practices associated with the coloniser are inherently superior to those associated with the colonised”.
To dive a little deeper, the authors developed the Colonial Mentality Scale to measure colonial mentality, which includes the following dimensions:
1. Belief in the superiority of Western physical features (e.g., light skin, straight hair)
2. Belief in the superiority of Western cultural values (e.g., individualism, direct communication)
3. Belief in the superiority of Western education and credentials
4. Belief in the superiority of Western technology and innovation
5. Belief in the superiority of Western religion and morality
The authors found that colonial mentality was significantly associated with lower self-esteem, higher acculturative stress, and lower levels of Filipino cultural values and practices among Filipino Americans.
So basically, colonial mentality has negative consequences for our mental health and well-being.
Decolonizing the Filipino Spirituality
Mention the word spirit or espiritu to a Filipino and you’ll either be discussing about perceived ghost sightings/apparitions (which stems from one of the Philippines’ pre-colonial belief systems referred to as animism — the belief that objects, places or creatures all possess a distinct spiritual essence) or, you’d be discussing the divine power of the Holy Spirit (through the lens of the Romantic Catholic faith).
Constantino (1975) argued that Spanish colonialism and Catholicism had a profound impact on the Philippines, including the suppression of indigenous spirituality and cultural practices (which were largely based on animism), leading to the creation of a colonial and clerical elite. It also strongly impacted Filipino values and beliefs, how Filipino society is organised and the perpetuation of patriarchal and authoritarian structures of power, gender inequality and resistance to social and political change. (Image of pre-colonial Philippines house from here)
Let’s look at the typical Filipino family unit. Respecting and obeying Filipino parents and elders are deeply ingrained value and practice that is often associated with the way Catholicism has spread in the Philippines. These values and practices are based on the belief that Filipino parents and elders have the ultimate authority and control over their children and younger family members, and that their decisions and actions should not be questioned or challenged.
However, this value and practice can also perpetuate toxic and abusive dynamics in the Filipino family unit, particularly in relation to the reinforcement of authoritarian structures of power. For example, Filipino parents and elders may use their authority and control to enforce strict and oppressive rules and expectations, such as the control of their children’s education, career, and relationships; the restriction of their freedom and autonomy and the perpetuation of gender stereotypes and roles.
These dynamics can lead to unknowingly abusing that power, such as the emotional, physical, and sexual abuse of children and younger family members; the neglect and marginalization of their needs and rights, and the undermining of their agency and participation.
In light of the above, I’m not saying that Catholicism was all doom and gloom. I acknowledge that it also helped develop the Philippines through education and healthcare, as well as a sense of community and solidarity (which appears to still hold strongly today). However, it has caused issues still pervasive today. Problems that manifest in everyday life and I would imagine, most Filipino family units. Problems that I’ve seen myself and maybe, you have too. It’s possible that you have also considered, in the grand scheme of things, how did we get here and what can I do about it?
So… is it worth decolonizing my Filipino spirituality and mentality?
Considering the complex, multifaceted and evolving nature of the process of decolonisation, I don’t think I can reach a point and say, yeah, I’ve become decolonized now. Far from it.
But I am interested in improving my mental health and well-being, and this aspect of decolinization is a part of that process.
Despite this being in the making in the past few years, I’ve really only just taken my first few steps. My goal is to share this ever-evolving journey with others who may have had this spark lit within them. I’m curious to hear from you.
References
Constantino, R., & Constantino, L. R. (1975). The Philippines: A past revisited (Vol. 1). Quezon City: Renato Constantino.
David, E. J. R., & Okazaki, S. (2006). Colonial mentality: a review and recommendation for Filipino American psychology. Cultural Diversity and Ethnic Minority Psychology, 12(1), 1.
Nadal, K. L. (2020). Filipino American psychology: A handbook of theory, research, and clinical practice. John Wiley & Sons.
Lately some protracted conflicts have come to the surface in my life at a macro level in the world, and at a micro level in my daily life. I have been praying quite a lot since the war in Ukraine broke out, where my Jewish-Sumerian ancestors spent many generations living, and more recently about the war in the Middle East. It seems to me like there is existential war and rejection going on based in judgment, where one or more parties to a conflict feel they are fighting to exist in the minds and hearts of the other.
I find existential judgement incredibly dangerous and damaging and see it as the root of genocide. It feels to me like a hand rejecting its own finger. If we believe in a Creator with wisdom our human minds cannot comprehend, how can we put ourselves in the position of judging what the Creator brought into being? And to say another is allowed to exist elsewhere (NIMBY) is still judgmental, for if we force another to leave their home and live on different lands, we change their and our identities by disconnecting people from their earthly homes and playing the roles of victims and offenders.
On a micro level I’m seeing this thinking play out in some righteous social justice warrior crusades around me. I find the concept of ‘rights’ to be violent, though it has obvious practical value to create baseline standards for society. If we didn’t existentially judge certain struggles and behaviours as deeming people unworthy of housing or health care or food, then rights would simply represent social baselines we collectively agreed upon as minimum standards of care for all of us humans living here. But if a single mother can’t afford housing, or a man with mental illness isn’t at retirement age but can’t hold down a job, we don’t collectively agree how (or sometimes even if) to support their survival. Rights then get used in a forceful way to push a majority social group’s minimum standard of support onto the collective, and thus they often need to be en-forced. And when we are judged and caught up in the rights battles we feel, rightly so, like we are fighting for our survival. (See survival strategies blog)
I agree with Jungian scientist Fred Gustafson that the Western mind is “having a massive collective nervous breakdown” and is going to “war to determine whose anthropocentric [world]view is most valid [while] the earth and all its inhabitants [] suffer.”[1] I have not found sufficient solace for survival in the Western world alone.
For me it has been vital to live in two worlds: (1) a social reality that is based on a Western worldview, and (2) an earth-based reality based on an Indigenous worldview. When I’m caught up in a survival struggle in the Western world that’s terrifyingly real, and I’m feeling rejected and judged and shamed and angry, I can spiritually connect with the knowing from the Land and my ancestors that I’m not only allowed to exist but that I am wanted. This powerful medicine is all I have found that alleviates my existential wounds. Without it I feel like I would not still be here on this Earth, as my roots would have rotted and not been able to hold up the rest of my inner tree of life. (Image from here)
If you’re also feeling some pain and heaviness about existential judgement and its impact, here are a few things that help me keep my spirits strong:
Grieving is a way I like to express angry energy to avoid getting overwhelmed by righteousness and gain clarity which fights, if any, feel right for me to engage in, and what that means practically. You may prefer to yell and scream or throw things or punch a bag instead, so however you express anger to avoid it overwhelming you is helpful.
Connecting with the land and ancestors where I am offers me powerful healing. I may give offerings as simple as feeding a bird or picking up rubbish, or as profound as a placenta burial or smoking/smudging ceremony. I may also cultivate a sit spot on the land, walk barefoot, and tend a tree altar. There are so many more ways to connect with the land where you live, these are but a few. The reverence we bring to the action we choose matters more, I think, than exactly what we do.
Letting go of black-and-white, objective, judgmental thinking is something I am very fierce with myself about. Humility is an important value to me, so I ensure that even when I feel certain or highly confident about something that I carry a little bit of doubt. For example, I feel highly confident that child sex abuse (link) is a damaging act that is wrong to do. Yet my intense journey of seeking to heal that wound has brought me so much wisdom and peace. Spiritual gifts often thrive in grey, paradoxical spaces.
Altering my consciousness is another survival tool I use daily, primarily through embodied meditations and drum journeys. I do it to heal trauma, connect with ancestors and other spiritual guidance, and seek tools for every day survival such as deeper spaces of compassion or peace. However you are able to sink deeper than your everyday ‘known’ and familiar thought loops can bring you some healing. I do find, however, that embodied practices (such as using sound or dance or breath techniques) are more powerful than mind-based practices (such as meditating through your third eye or simply watching your thoughts).
Thank you for reading this, and may your life be enriched (and even saved) by living in both worlds, as mine is.
[1] Gustafson, F. (1997). Dancing between two worlds: Jung and the Native American soul. Mahwah, NJ: Paulist Press.
This blog idea came to me a while ago when I read an article about the revival of Deq, a traditional tattooing technique in Kurdish and some other Arabic and Northern African cultures. I had always been told you can’t be buried in a Jewish cemetery with a tattoo, and something about this tradition resonated as more ancient and true to my Sumerian roots. The article explained that Deq is a form of worship, with tattooing the skin believed to also engrave a person’s soul. It is a women’s tradition that uses breast milk and another substance (such as soot) to create the ink. (Image from Wikipedia)
Deq differs greatly from modern conceptions of tattooing. While today individuals often get tattoos for decoration or to memorialise events, people, or beliefs, deq is traditionally done to request abundance, protection, blessings, or fertility from God.
Spiritual protection is a common reason for tattooing in Indigenous science. According to Western scientist Lars Krutak of the Smithsonian, traditional cultural tattooing is done for the following reasons:
Adornment
Identity
Social status
Therapeutic/Health
Spiritual protection/Animal mimicry
(Krutak, L. (2015). The cultural heritage of tattooing: a brief history. In Tattooed skin and health (Vol. 48, pp. 1-5). Karger Publishers.) Most of these we can relate to today, though you may be wondering what therapeutic or health tattoos are. Among our ancient ancestors are tattooed ceramic figures that are over 6000 years old found in modern day Ukraine and Romania, and a 5000 year old mummy found preserved in ice in the Italian Alps who appears to have therapeutic tattoos in places on his body that look similar to a practice in traditional Asian cultural medicines. Such tattoos tend to be at joints and in the lower back. Tattooed mummies have also been found from Egypt to Siberia to Peru, and tattooed earthenwares of human or spirit figures have been found across the world from ancient Mississippi to Japan to the Philippines.
The word ‘tattoo’ was brought into English from James Cook’s 1770s journey to New Zealand and Tahiti, and supposedly inspired Western sailors to start a tradition of tattooing themselves to remember where they had traveled and people they missed at home. (Image of a Ta`avaha (headdress) with tattoos, Marquesas Islands, 1800s, via Te Papa from here) Though modern Polynesian tattoos differ by island and culture, generally tattoos are seen as a form of spiritual protection, cultural status symbols displaying rites of passage, and signifiers of ancestral lineage. Where tattoos are on the body, and what symbols and motifs are used, are also important as they link people to their Creation story:
In Polynesian Mythology, the human body is linked to the two parents of humanity, Rangi (Heaven) and Papa (Earth). It was man’s quest to reunify these forces and one way was through tattooing. The body’s upper portion is often linked to Rangi, while the lower part is attached to Papa.
But tattoos have a long reputation as being lower class in Western culture due to their link with slavery and criminality, which can be traced back at least to ancient Greece and Rome, and likely to ancient Mesopotamia before then. As recently as in the 1800s in parts of Europe tattoos were being outlawed and seen as unChristian. And while the major world religions are not associated with traditional tattooing, there are exceptions, such as a Buddhist monastery in Thailand that “anchors” people into scripture with tattoos. (Image from here of Angelina Jolie).And while I can’t speak for how locals feel about Angelina’s tattoos (she was given Cambodian citizenship and adopted a child there, so she has come cultural connections), I feel uncomfortable about the amount of cultural appropriation that goes along with tattooing in Western culture. I remember a trend some years ago of getting Chinese characters tattooed without many people even knowing or speaking the language. (I used to wonder how people weren’t scared they were lied to about what their tattoo said!) And many modern designs in Western culture have originated from those early sailors’ tattoos in the 1700s and 1800s. However, many have not, and where some celebrities like Dwayne “The Rock” Johnson express Samoan heritage through tattoos, others like Mike Tyson who is not of Maori descent has a ta moko design on his face (See this article on a history of tattooing in the U.S. by Sara Etherton). (Image from Visual log of tattoos seen on sailors in a survey done in 1809. (Ira Dye, “The Tattoos of Early American Seafarers, 1796-1818,” Proceedings of the American Philosophical Society 133, no. 4 [1989]: 520-554. accessed here).
I have two tattoos. The first commemorates a flower I have a cultural connection with as well as a number, a colour, and some simples values; the second commemorates an insect I have a cultural and personal connection with. I got them both with close friends at the time during important moments in my life to mark endings/beginnings. Their placement is interesting – one on my right hip, and one on my left foot. I trust the intuition of those choices. I don’t notice them much anymore, they just feel like part of the fabric of me, and I’m thankful that though I got them when I was young, I still appreciate their presence on my body, and I have no need to be buried in a Jewish cemetery anyway.
Exercise: Reflect on any tattoos you have (or have considered getting). How do you feel about them – their aesthetic, meaning, and history? Is there anywhere you would or would not get a tattoo? Do you resonate with the idea that they connect you with your Creator or that they imprint onto your soul?
Blog by Valerie, following recent presentations with breastfeeding and pregnancy groups
We do ceremonies at important moments in our lives, such as weddings, graduations, and funerals. Ceremonies support us to gain knowledge, purify our spirits, and honour life. They can be as simple as a small act done with sacred intention, or as elaborate as a religious confirmation.
“In traditional practices and rituals, birthing involved more than the physical health of the mother and baby. Giving birth was a process of initiation and belonging to the culture that created spiritual links to the land and the ancestral Dreaming.”—Best, O., & Fredericks, B. (Eds.). (2021). Yatdjuligin: Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander nursing and midwifery care. Cambridge University Press.
The birthing journey, from pregnancy to postpartum it is seen in Indigenous science as a time of spiritual initiation for the new mother. Initiations are transitional ceremonies that lead us through Earth’s cycle from life to death and rebirth into a new identity. For first time mothers, this journey is a profound shift from being a maiden into be-coming a mother, and for all mothers it is a journey of be-coming a mother within a new relationship.
In an Indigenous worldview, the mother is seen as a conduit between the spiritual and physical worlds, and birthing trauma as a meaningful initiation into spiritual adulthood. In fact, many Indigenous cultures have initiation rites only for young men, because childbirth (as a birthing mother, through miscarriage, and/or through supporting birthing women) is considered to be the initiation process naturally built into women’s bodies. (Image: Natural Birth Art Print by Sean Frosali, Society6)
Phase 1: Separation from daily reality – being pregnant
The moment a woman is pregnant, she and everyone she meets is in ceremony…The womb is our first orientation on Earth.–Patricia Gonzalez, Red Medicine: Traditional Indigenous rites of birthing and healing
During pregnancy, traditional ceremonies are based on:
Mothers and elders sharing wisdom about birthing, breastfeeding and childrearing;
Cleansing the mother’s space, including her body and home (i.e. massage, smudging);
Community support with certain tasks around the house for the mother;
Taboos and norms about foods, drinks, and activities a mother ought to do or avoid;
Honouring the babies’ soul entering the womb and protecting the mother and baby (i.e. with amulets, prayers, and rituals, and avoiding aspects of life such as funerals);
Helping to welcome and support a new baby (i.e. to ease a first time mother’s anxiety, baby showers).
There are of course many cultural variations on such ceremonies. One example is in parts of India where there is a sort of baby shower called a Valaikaapu in which the mother-to-be is sung to by other women, adorned with bangles, soothed from anxiety with herbal treatment on her hands and feet, and fed traditional nourishing foods. After this ceremony in the third trimester, the mother-to-be traditionally stays at her parents’ house until the baby is born. Another example occurs in parts of Indonesia also begins in the third trimester with the mothers’ parents bringing food to their son-in-law’s family, and the mother ceremonially feeding her pregnant daughter before everyone else eats. The parents-to-be are then given blessings and encouragement by both the whole family, including being wrapped in traditional fabric as a symbol of strength for their union through the birthing journey (Silaban, I., & Sibarani, R. (2021). The tradition of Mambosuri Toba Batak traditional ceremony for a pregnant woman with seven months gestational age for women’s physical and mental health. Gaceta Sanitaria, 35, S558-S560.). (Image from here)
Phase 2: Trauma/ordeal – birthing
In the Mohawk language, one word for midwife…describes that “she’s pulling the baby out of the Earth,” out of the water, or a dark wet place. It is full of ecological context. We know from our traditional teachings that the waters of the earth and the waters of our bodies are the same. —Rachel Olson, Indigenous Birth as Ceremony and a Human Right
During and immediately following birth, traditional ceremonies are based on:
Birthing sites in sacred spaces indoors (e.g. sweat lodges) and outdoors (e.g. natural pools);
Taboos about labour being quiet or loud, and women’s positions (e.g. squatting);
Norms about partners being present at birth, or having their own tasks to do for the baby;
Use of traditional herbal steams and poultices to cleanse the womb, stop bleeding, and help milk start flowing following the birth;
Protecting the baby and mother;
Umbilical cord ceremonial clamping and/or saving, or lotus birthing;
Sensual imprinting for the newborn through wrapping them in traditional clothing, jewellery, fur, and/or blankets; and
Body wrapping and womb re-warming practices for the mother after birth.
There are also many cultural variations for these ceremonies. For example, in Japan umbilical cords are saved and presented to new mothers in keepsake wooden boxes at hospitals. This tradition is meant to keep a good relationship between the mother and baby, and sometimes the box is given to the adult child when they leave home or marry to symbolise a separation in an adult-to-adult relationship. In Australian Aboriginal cultures, cultural birthing areas utilised natural depressions and sacred spaces such as rock formations, caves and water holes, to spiritually connect the child to their Country and their ancestors. Women followed ‘Grandmother’s Law’ which often included practices such as squatting over the steam of traditional medicinal plants after birth to prevent infection, how to name the child, and when the child would meet their father (Adams, K., Faulkhead, S., Standfield, R., & Atkinson, P. (2018). Challenging the colonisation of birth: Koori women’s birthing knowledge and practice. Women and Birth, 31(2), 81-88). (Image from here)
Phase 3: Return/rebirth – becoming a mother
We believe in waiting until 30 days after the birth for any celebrations. In our tradition, we believe that the unborn child has a guardian angel, who is the previous mother of the child. If we celebrate the pregnancy publicly, the spirit of the previous parent might come and reclaim her child — so that the new mother loses her baby!—Vietnamese grandmother quoted in Cusk, R. (2014). A Life’s Work. Faber & Faber.
In the postnatal months, traditional ceremonies are based on:
Protecting the baby and mother;
Naming and welcoming the baby to the land and family;
Building the newborn’s resilience with elements and weather;
“Firsts” (i.e. baths, foods, laughs, rolling over, walking, etc.);
Mother’s rest and recovery from birth (often 40 days); and
Placenta ceremonies.
A sweet example of such a ceremony comes from the Navajo/Diné people of North America have a ceremony to honour the babies’ first laugh, and the person who gets the baby to laugh throws a party where guests are given salt on the baby’s behalf as a symbol of generosity since it was traditionally valuable and hard to get (Brown, Shane. (2021). Why Navajos Celebrate the First Laugh of a Baby. https://navajotraditionalteachings.com/blogs/news/why-navajos-celebrate-the-first-laugh-of-a-baby). Across the world in Egypt, on the child’s seventh day after birth, a Sebou’ ceremony welcomes the baby with a number of traditions related to the cultural meaning of the number seven, such as placing the baby in a sieve and shaking them to symbolise life becoming more dynamic outside the womb, then stepping over them seven times saying prayers for protection and obedience to their parents; a candlelit procession of smudging the house; and a drink to increase breast milk production (Gamal, A. (2015). The Sebou‘: An Egyptian Baby Shower, https://www.madamasr.com/en/2015/11/02/panorama/u/the-sebou-an-egyptian-baby-shower/). And in Nordic countries, babies are traditionally left to nap outside no matter the weather to build their resilience to the earthly elements. Called friluftsliv it translates to ‘open-air life’ and represents cultural importance of enjoying nature and the outdoors all year round (McGurk, L. (2023). Creating a stronger family culture through ‘friluftsliv’, Children’s Nature Network, https://www.childrenandnature.org/resources/creating-a-stronger-family-culture-through-friluftsliv/). (Image by Joey Nash)
Placental ceremonies are based on traditional understandings of the placenta as a spiritual twin, a baby’s guardian angel, a ‘death’ gift offered to the Earth to give thanks for a healthy baby, and a carrier of a holographic imprint for the baby’s life on Earth. Most cultures bury the placenta (a few even give it funeral rites), some burn or eat it, and a few do lotus births (where the placenta stays attached to the baby until it dries out and falls off). The Hmong people in Laos believe a person’s spirit will wander the Earth and not be able to join their ancestors in the spirit world without returning to the place their placenta was buried and collecting it, and the word for placenta in their language translates as ‘jacket’ (https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hmong_women_and_childbirth_practices). In Maori language in New Zealand, ‘whenua’ is the word for both ‘land’ and ‘placenta’, and after childbirth the placenta is buried on ancestral lands to strengthen a child’s connection to culture, often beneath a tree (Soteria. (2020). Māoritanga: Pregnancy, Labour and Birth. https://soteria.co.nz/birth-preparation/maori-birthing-tikanga/). Placentas are dried and eaten to support the mothers’ or baby’s strength in many places, from China to Jamaica to Argentina (https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Human_placentophagy).
Today, it might be hard to decide what to do if you don’t know your Indigenous roots and their cultural traditions, and when because many of us birth in hospitals. I suggest relying on your intuition, and what resonates with you. Some ceremonies common across cultures that you may wish to do for yourself and your baby may relate to:
Prenatal blessings to keep the mother and baby safe;
Connecting the baby to the land and elements (earth, air, fire, water);
Postnatal rituals to keep the mother and baby safe;
Placenta burial; and/or a
Naming ritual.
Keep in mind that you can’t do a ceremony wrong if your heart and intention are in it. The way you feel during and after the ceremony will show you how it went. For my child, we did a prenatal baby shower/blessing with friends and family in person and on Zoom, and we printed out the blessings for our home-birthing space, then ultimately buried them with the placenta a few months after the birth. We chose our baby’s first sensual experiences – sight, smell, touch, and hearing, as her first taste was breastmilk! We brought earth inside to touch to her feet to connect her to the land as she was born in winter, and her placenta burial ceremony was on land where her great-great-great grandmother was buried.
I hope this has given you some things to reflect on and ideas for celebrating your journey into be-coming a mother in a way that feels sacred and special to you and your family. (Two other blogs you may find interesting about my birth and early mothering experiences are: about spirit babies, and mothering amidst intergenerational trauma).