Honoring Indigenous Wisdom: The Roots of Psychedelic-Assisted Therapy
October 13 is Indigenous Peoples' Day, a time to recognize and honor the enduring contributions, resilience, and wisdom of Indigenous communities across the Americas and around the world. As someone who works in the field of psychedelic-assisted psychotherapy, I feel a deep responsibility to acknowledge a truth that is too often overlooked in modern medicine: the healing practices we now call "psychedelic therapy" are not new innovations. They are the continuation of Indigenous knowledge systems that have existed for thousands of years.
The current resurgence of interest in psychedelic medicine—the clinical trials, the FDA approvals, the media attention—rests entirely on foundations built by Indigenous peoples. Yet their contributions are frequently minimized, appropriated, or erased from the narrative. On this Indigenous Peoples' Day, I want to take a moment to reflect on what we owe to these cultures, what we risk losing when we disconnect psychedelic medicines from their origins, and how we can move forward with greater respect and reciprocity.
Thousands of Years of Wisdom
Long before Western medicine "discovered" the therapeutic potential of psychedelic compounds, Indigenous communities across the Americas, Africa, and other parts of the world had developed sophisticated healing traditions centered around sacred plant medicines.
In the Amazon basin, Indigenous peoples have used ayahuasca in ceremonial contexts for spiritual healing, community bonding, and treating physical and psychological ailments for centuries, if not millennia. The Mazatec people of Oaxaca, Mexico, have worked with psilocybin-containing mushrooms in sacred veladas (healing ceremonies) as part of their spiritual and medicinal practices. The Huichol people of Mexico have maintained traditions involving peyote as a sacrament central to their cosmology and healing practices. The Bwiti tradition in Central Africa has long incorporated iboga root bark in initiation ceremonies and healing rituals.
These are not simply "drug use" or "recreational practices." They are sophisticated, time-tested healing modalities embedded within complex cultural, spiritual, and communal frameworks. Indigenous healers—curanderos, shamans, medicine people—have served as the original psychedelic therapists, holding space for profound healing experiences within carefully structured ceremonies that prioritize safety, intention, community support, and integration.
The protocols we use in modern psychedelic-assisted psychotherapy—concepts like set and setting, preparation and integration, the importance of a supportive guide, the recognition that healing requires more than just a chemical compound—these ideas come directly from Indigenous knowledge. We have simply given them new names.
What Gets Lost in Translation
As psychedelic medicines move into clinical settings and pharmaceutical markets, there is a very real risk that we will strip these practices of the cultural context that makes them healing in the first place.
When ketamine, MDMA, or psilocybin become commodified—turned into products to be prescribed, billed, and marketed—we risk reducing profound healing traditions to mere pharmacology. We risk forgetting that these medicines were never meant to be consumed in isolation, disconnected from ceremony, community, relationship with the natural world, and spiritual meaning.
Indigenous traditions understand what Western medicine is only beginning to recognize: healing is not just biochemical. It is relational, communal, and deeply connected to questions of meaning, purpose, and belonging. The medicine itself is only one part of the healing. The container matters. The intention matters. The relationship between healer and participant matters. The connection to something larger than oneself matters.
When we extract the chemical compounds from these plants and fungi without honoring the cultural knowledge that taught us how to use them safely and effectively, we are engaging in a form of biopiracy—taking Indigenous intellectual and spiritual property without permission, credit, or reciprocity.
Appropriation vs. Appreciation
There is an important distinction between cultural appropriation and cultural appreciation, and it's a line that those of us working in psychedelic medicine must navigate carefully.
Cultural appropriation happens when dominant cultures take elements from marginalized cultures—often the same cultures they have historically oppressed—strip them of their original meaning and context, and profit from them without acknowledging their origins or giving back to those communities.
Cultural appreciation involves learning from other cultures with humility and respect, acknowledging the sources of that knowledge, and finding ways to honor and support the communities from which that knowledge came.
In the context of psychedelic medicine, appreciation means:
Acknowledging origins. Being explicit about where these practices come from and who developed them over centuries of careful observation and transmission.
Respecting sacred contexts. Recognizing that some practices are closed or sacred to specific communities and not ours to claim or commercialize.
Supporting Indigenous communities. Finding tangible ways to give back—whether through advocacy, education, financial support, or amplifying Indigenous voices in conversations about psychedelic medicine.
Humility about what we don't know. Recognizing that clinical frameworks, while valuable, do not represent the totality of healing wisdom around these medicines.
Centering Indigenous perspectives. Making sure that Indigenous healers, elders, and community members have seats at the table—not as tokenized representatives, but as leaders and knowledge holders whose expertise is valued.
The Ongoing Harm
It's important to recognize that the relationship between Western society and Indigenous peoples around psychedelic medicines is not just a historical issue—it is an ongoing harm.
Many Indigenous communities continue to face persecution for practicing their traditional ceremonies. In the United States, the use of peyote is legally protected only for members of the Native American Church, while other Indigenous groups who have traditional relationships with the medicine face legal consequences. Ayahuasca ceremonies have been raided, and participants arrested, even when conducted within traditional contexts.
Meanwhile, predominantly white researchers, clinicians, and entrepreneurs are building careers and companies around these same substances, often with little to no involvement of or benefit to Indigenous communities. The disconnect is stark: Indigenous people are criminalized for their sacred practices while others are celebrated and financially rewarded for "innovating" in the same space.
This is not justice. And it's not honoring the roots of this work.
Moving Forward with Respect
So how do we, as practitioners and patients in the field of psychedelic-assisted therapy, move forward in a way that honors Indigenous contributions?
Here are some starting points:
Educate ourselves. Learn about the Indigenous origins of the medicines we work with. Read books and articles by Indigenous authors. Listen to Indigenous voices in the psychedelic community.
Acknowledge and credit. In our conversations, our writing, and our clinical work, explicitly name the Indigenous origins of these healing practices. Don't allow the history to be erased.
Support Indigenous-led initiatives. Organizations like the Indigenous Peyote Conservation Initiative, the Chacruna Institute for Psychedelic Plant Medicines' Indigenous Reciprocity Initiative, and various Indigenous-led advocacy groups are doing critical work. Support them.
Advocate for justice. Push back against the criminalization of Indigenous ceremonial practices while psychedelic therapy becomes increasingly accepted in mainstream medicine. This double standard is unacceptable.
Practice humility. Recognize that our clinical models, while valuable, are not inherently superior to traditional Indigenous healing practices. There is much we still have to learn.
Respect boundaries. Not all Indigenous knowledge is meant to be shared publicly. Some practices are sacred and closed. Respect that.
Question extraction. Before using or recommending any practice or medicine with Indigenous origins, ask: Am I honoring the source of this knowledge? Am I giving back in any meaningful way? Or am I simply extracting what is useful for me?
Gratitude and Responsibility
On this Indigenous Peoples' Day, I want to express deep gratitude to the countless Indigenous healers, medicine keepers, elders, and communities who have preserved and transmitted the knowledge that makes psychedelic-assisted therapy possible.
Your wisdom has survived colonization, forced assimilation, criminalization, and appropriation. You have held these practices with care and intention across generations, even when doing so came at great personal and collective cost.
The healing that happens in psychedelic therapy today—the lives changed, the depression lifted, the trauma processed—is possible because of you.
And with that gratitude comes responsibility. Those of us working in this field have an obligation to do more than simply benefit from Indigenous knowledge. We must actively work to honor it, protect it, and support the communities who have been its stewards.
This means more than acknowledgment statements or land acknowledgments (though those matter too). It means tangible action: changing how we talk about these medicines, where we direct our resources, whose voices we center, and how we show up in advocacy and policy spaces.
It means recognizing that we are not pioneers or innovators in this space—we are students. And if we are going to learn from these traditions, we must do so with the humility, respect, and reciprocity they deserve.
An Invitation to Reflect
Tomorrow, on Indigenous Peoples' Day, I invite you to take a moment to reflect:
If you have benefited from psychedelic medicine or psychedelic-assisted therapy, take time to acknowledge the Indigenous origins of that healing.
If you are a practitioner or researcher in this field, ask yourself: How am I honoring the roots of this work? What am I doing to support Indigenous communities? How can I do better?
If you are simply curious about psychedelics and their therapeutic potential, make an effort to learn about the cultural contexts from which these medicines come.
And beyond tomorrow, let's commit to building a psychedelic medicine movement that is rooted in justice, reciprocity, and respect for the people who made it all possible.
This post was written in honor of Indigenous Peoples' Day 2025. For those interested in learning more or supporting Indigenous-led initiatives in the psychedelic space, I recommend exploring the work of organizations like the Indigenous Medicine Conservation Fund, Chacruna Institute's Indigenous Reciprocity Initiative, and listening to Indigenous voices in the psychedelic community.
