A Day in the Life of a Forest Therapy Guide

My partner picked a bunch of pale yellow wattle and magenta gum flowers from a neighbour’s property and put them in a large glass vase on the wooden table outside the bedroom window. Both this morning and yesterday morning, I've been able to lie in bed and watch a white plumed honeyeater - mostly olive with yellow tinges and a smart white dash across where its cheekbones would be if it were human. Small, delicate, beautiful. It spends about five minutes sucking nectar from the gum flowers. The first time, I was a bit nervous it would pull the vase over and imagine the glass rolling off the wooden table and smashing on the small granite rocks the previous owner had the wisdom to lay around the perimeter of the house. But the bird is too light, and the vase has a bulging base and remains stable.

As the honeyeater flits around the flowers, it animates the arrangement so, especially when you can't see the actual bird, the flowers become alive with their own bright colour. I studied animateuring at the Victorian College of the Arts. In CVs I often gloss this as ‘theatre-making’ so people don't think I can create cartoons. But there's something lovely about being a qualified animator.

I used these skills this morning entertaining our hyperactive puppy, Maggie. I took her toy and animated it – it dances on the carpet making subtle little noises, then comes to stillness and is sometimes brave enough to tap Maggie on the nose or foot before darting away. This drives Maggie crazy - she's desperate to catch it in her jaws. Invigorated and entranced - this is the power of animation.

The other day, we were walking with a friend at Dog Rocks on Leanganook (Mount Alexander), and we were talking about whether our parents believed in God. Our friend’s parents were atheists. My partner’s dad, when introduced to the chaplain on his deathbed, said, ‘Hello… Goodbye’. I think my parents are agnostic. I didn’t say it out loud because nobody asked me, but to myself I say, ‘I think I'm an animist’. God is in everything around us, especially these wonderful granite rocks. 

Of course, First Nations people are the experts at seeing the life in nature. This is Dja Dja Wurrung Country. According to a recently placed sign, this is the last place Gal Gal (dingo) was seen on Dja Dja Wurrung Country – ‘But Gal Gal’s Murrun - Living Spirit [also present in the rocks, trees and earth] is strong and one day he will return and camp again with Dja Dja Wurrung people’.

For the past week or so, I've been a little depressed. The definition of depression could be ‘lack of animation’ - certainly, it's a consequence of depression. Animator, animate thyself! Or, more truthfully - Allow the Living Spirit of the animate world you are a part of to be animated within you.

Forest Therapy (or Forest Bathing) as a formal practice originated in Japan in the 1980s, a response to the rapid increase in so-called ‘Western’ stress-related diseases (e.g. heart disease, diabetes, obesity) that had struck so many Japanese since the period of rapid industrialisation following WWII. Enlightened officials in the Japanese Forest Agency recognised their nation’s long history of working the land, looked at the country’s nature-based Shinto religion, and developed a practice of encouraging people to spend time in forests. Since then, thousands of peer-reviewed research papers from all over the world have shown that forest therapy provides participants with significant physiological and psychological benefits, and that these benefits can remain for weeks.

I love taking individuals and groups on forest therapy sessions. Partly it’s selfish – I get to benefit from participating in the activities, slowing down, enjoying breathing, deepening my listening, touching with attention, taking time to notice the beauty of the natural world. But a large part of the enjoyment is noticing the impact the gentle, guided activities are having on the participants, and hearing their stories of being reminded of a grandmother’s special dish by the smell of rosemary, or remembering a relationship with a tree they had as a child, or just appreciating the opportunity to turn off their mobile phones and enjoy being fully in nature. And that’s something we all need.