The soldier sits before the counselor in tears, eyes covered with his hands and body trembling, unable to forget what he’s seen, and what he’s done. A part of him went missing on that battle field, and try as he might, he can’t seem to retrieve it. The counselor, her hand gently laid on his forearm in consolation, tells him she can help; she has been here before, with others, and she knows how to help him seek for and find, and reintegrate, the soul fragment that’s been lost. Asking him several critical questions and listening deeply, she then takes him into a guided visualization to look for his missing part, thereby teaching him ways to better manage and ultimately transform his trauma response. He soon grows calm – and allows himself a small measure of hope.

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 I’ve been writing this book for more than 3 decades, in my head. But first, I had to live it.

Shamanism. The word conjures up vivid images in the minds of many, across cultures.

We think of bright colors, loud drumming and the clanging of bells, high energy, lots of activity, a great deal of mystery, and possibly, an animal sacrifice.

For those fortunate few who’ve encountered genuine shamans, by which I mean indigenous, culturally- and community-embedded, rather than ‘neo’ reproductions, these images may well be accurate for a particular culture; the term is broad, however, encompassing many traditions and with multiple iterations. And while it’s easy to think that this is a phenomenon of the distant past, I assure you: it’s still widely practiced today, in many areas of the globe.

So, what exactly is shamanism – and how widely can the term be applied? Is it religion, primitive superstition, healing tradition, magic? Where did it originate and how (and how far) did it spread? Is the shaman mad, as has been said? (The trance state, hearing voices attributed to spirits, believing oneself temporarily ‘possessed’, can surely give the appearance of psychosis.) Is this demonic, as some religions would have us believe? Are shamans mere charlatans, preying on the vulnerable, demanding a high fee? Or is it all something more?

And if the latter: what? An earth-based form of religion, that we can more easily understand. Talk of spirits and possession may make the outsider a bit uneasy, however. And when it comes to healing, doctors tend to become alarmed, laws of prohibition enacted.

If we wish to compare it to our modern systems of healing, whether physical or mental (spoiler alert: a majority of the world’s cultures, and all shamanic traditions, don’t make this dualistic mind/body distinction), then how does it work? Placebo effect, mind control, or something entirely ‘other’?

I’ve spoken with shamans in various cultures around the world, always aided by local interpreters, and I’ve yet to meet any who don’t immediately nod in recognition when I ask if their work heals the minds of participants – often clasping my hands in kinship, when I tell them I’m a psychologist and recognize a similarity in the shamanic ritual.

Study hard and learn about us, so that you can share this with the world, I was exhorted nearly 2 decades ago by Korea’s top shaman, Kim Keum-hwa, now deceased. [Note: in Korean culture as in much of East Asia, surname precedes given name.] Madame Kim at that moment had just concluded 8 hours of ritual, on a boat out at sea with 200 attendees – and, then age 75, was glowing with energy, infused with spirit.

What is ritual? And does the form itself contribute to healing? Does it conjure a mystical experience, and what exactly is that? And what about the shaman’s trance state – are they simply high on some psychogenic plant or fungus?

And, how could any of this possibly retain value when held up against modern medicine and western psychology?

In the early 1990s I studied transpersonal psychology, which integrates Jungian and humanistic psychological theories with Eastern psychospiritual practices, indigenous wisdom, and mystical experience. Having grown up in North America, I’d long sought to understand the nature-oriented religious and healing practices of its native peoples. And by age 20, I’d adopted an ecospiritual practice centered on the trance state and other non-ordinary states of consciousness, which, in conjunction with meditation, I’ve practiced now for 4 decades. My early professional training also included East Asian traditional medicine and a range of somatic therapies, all of which contributed to my near-lifelong interest in indigenous shamanism.

After years of clinical practice, in January 2005 I emigrated from my country of origin and launched myself into the world at large. South Korea was my first destination, largely due to its living tradition of shamanism and a heritage connected both to Siberia (where the practice originated) and Mongolia (where it is also still practiced to this day), and where I resided for a total of 9 years. I subsequently lived in several other countries and traveled to more than 100 for cultural research. I claim no expertise, but I’ve witnessed many a ritual and conversed with countless shamans, and I’ve attempted to understand.

Shamanism, Folk Psychology, by Anne Hilty, ©2024

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