07/28/2025
Long before the modern world coined the term "post-traumatic stress," there were cultures that deeply understood the invisible wounds left by war. Among several African communities, a warrior returning from battle was not immediately welcomed back into everyday life. Instead, he entered a sacred period of transition—often lasting three lunar cycles—under the guidance and care of a spiritual healer or shaman. This was not punishment, nor exile. It was a ritual of healing, acknowledging that violence scars more than just the body; it disrupts the balance of the soul.
These ancient practices recognized war as a force that fractures the spirit. The belief was that the returning warrior carried with him a chaotic energy, a spiritual imbalance that could endanger both himself and his community if left unaddressed. One of the oldest healing rituals involved placing animal horns on the skin to draw out “stagnant blood”—a method akin to cupping therapy. Later dubbed “African cupping” by colonizers, this technique was more than medicine. It was a ceremonial act—a way of releasing not just physical toxins, but the unspoken pain and emotional residue of violence.
Today, we call it trauma; they called it spiritual imbalance. In our hypermodern, clinical world, where trauma is often treated with pills and silence, there’s something profoundly wise in these ancestral traditions. They remind us that healing is not just about treating symptoms, but about restoring harmony—within oneself, and with the world around. Perhaps, in the rush to advance, we've overlooked the power of ritual, community, and soul-level care. And perhaps, it’s time to remember.
