The Impact of Drum Circles on Mycelium

Few scientists have bridged the gap between biology, spirituality, and Indigenous wisdom as elegantly as mycologist Paul Stamets. Known for his groundbreaking work on fungi, Stamets has long championed the view that mycelium--the vast underground network of fungal threads that connects ecosystems--functions as both the "internet of the forest" and a living intelligence in its own right.

One of Stamets' more fascinating perspectives is the idea that mycelial networks are sensitive to sound frequencies, particularly low, long-wave vibrations. This insight opens the door to a profound intersection: the science of fungi, the ancient practice of drumming, and the collective energy generated in drum circles. Could it be that the rhythmic pulse of drums not only alters human consciousness but also strengthens and harmonizes the very fungal networks beneath our feet?

The Living Intelligence of Mycelium

Before diving into sound, it's important to understand why mycelium is so remarkable. Beneath the soil, these fungal filaments weave vast, web-like structures that can extend for miles. Through these connections, plants share nutrients, send distress signals, and regulate ecosystem health. Stamets has called mycelium "the Earth's natural internet," emphasizing how fungi play a role in resilience and communication within forests.

What makes mycelium even more extraordinary is its sensitivity. Mycelial cells respond rapidly to changes in moisture, temperature, chemical gradients, and electromagnetic fields. They adapt, reroute, and communicate in ways that suggest a living form of intelligence--one not centered in a brain but distributed throughout a network. It is within this context that sound enters the picture.

Sound as Vibration, Energy, and Pattern

Sound is not just something we hear; it is vibration, energy made visible when translated into waveforms. Long-wave or low-frequency sounds--such as those created by drums, didgeridoos, or gongs--penetrate deeply into matter. Unlike high-pitched sounds that dissipate quickly, long waves travel further, shaking the ground and resonating with structures both large and small.

Experiments in cymatics--the study of visible sound--have shown how vibration organizes particles into geometric patterns. Sand on a vibrating plate, for example, arranges itself into mandalas when exposed to specific frequencies. Stamets has speculated that mycelium, too, may respond to these vibratory forces, perhaps strengthening its hyphal connections or even altering growth patterns in resonance with sound.

Mycelium and the Drum

Drum circles, long practiced in Indigenous and spiritual traditions worldwide, create exactly the type of low-frequency, repetitive sound environment that mycelium might respond to. When dozens of people strike drums in synchrony, the earth beneath them literally vibrates. The soil, the roots of trees, and the fungal webs intertwined with them all experience these rhythmic pulses.

Stamets has suggested that the repeated, long-wave tones from drums could stimulate mycelium, encouraging more robust growth. Just as plants have been shown to grow faster when exposed to certain sound frequencies, fungi may thrive under vibrational nourishment. In this way, drumming becomes not just a human bonding ritual but an ecological act that supports the living networks sustaining forests.

Indigenous Wisdom and Science Converge

What is striking about this theory is how it resonates with Indigenous perspectives. Many cultures have long viewed drumming as a way of communicating with the Earth, calling forth spirits, and harmonizing with nature. Shamans and medicine people have used drumming to open channels of communication with unseen realms, including the plant and fungal kingdoms.

Stamets' biological lens lends scientific credibility to this ancient wisdom. If sound vibrations indeed stimulate mycelial activity, then drum ceremonies are not just symbolic--they may be materially nurturing the fungal webs that make life on Earth possible. This convergence of science and spirituality reflects Stamets' broader vision: that fungi are teachers guiding humanity toward ecological balance.

Human Consciousness, Mycelium, and Resonance

The parallel between mycelium networks and human neural networks is well known. Both are decentralized, adaptive systems that process information and respond to stimuli. Drumming, too, is known to entrain brainwaves, inducing states of relaxation, visioning, or heightened awareness.

When humans gather in a drum circle, their brainwaves synchronize, their hearts beat in coherence, and their collective energy field becomes more unified. If, at the same time, the ground beneath them is vibrating in resonance with these rhythms, we can imagine a kind of multi-level alignment: human minds and bodies entraining with one another, while the fungal networks beneath them are simultaneously stimulated by the same vibratory patterns. This could represent a literal "joining of networks"--the mycelium below, the human community above, all bound by rhythm.

Implications for Ecology and Healing

If Stamets' theory proves true, the implications are profound. Imagine ecological restoration projects that incorporate drumming as a means of stimulating fungal growth in damaged soils. Picture communities gathering not just to heal themselves through rhythm but to support the health of forests, grasslands, and gardens by energizing their fungal allies.

On a personal level, this perspective invites us to see drumming not only as a spiritual practice but also as a collaboration with the unseen life beneath us. Every beat becomes an offering, every rhythm a signal of partnership between humans and fungi. The Earth is not a passive stage for our rituals; it is a living participant.

A New Way of Listening

Paul Stamets often says that fungi are the "grandmothers" of ecological wisdom, organisms that remind us of our interconnectedness. The idea that they respond to the beat of our drums is both humbling and inspiring. It suggests that our music is not only for ourselves but also for the greater web of life

When you next sit in a drum circle, imagine the waves moving downward as well as outward. Picture the mycelial threads pulsing in response, strengthening their bonds, and carrying the rhythm further into the soil. Perhaps the fungi hear us in their own way, and perhaps, through vibration, we are already engaged in dialogue. To learn more, look inside my book Shamanic Drumming Circles Guide.

Mending the Sacred Hoop

Among many Indigenous nations of North America, the image of the Sacred Hoop is a powerful symbol of life, harmony, and interconnection. The hoop represents the cycles of the seasons, the circle of life, and the interconnected cycle of birth, growth, death, and rebirth within nature and human existence. It embodies the truth that all beings--human, animal, plant, stone, water, and star--are interconnected parts of a living web. Perhaps the most important aspect of Indigenous cosmology is the conception of creation as a living process resulting in a living universe in which a kinship exists between all things. Thus, the Mother Earth is a living being, as are the Sun, Stars and the Moon.

Yet across history, the Sacred Hoop has been fractured. Colonial violence, forced assimilation, environmental destruction, and the loss of ancestral traditions have broken many of the bonds that once held communities, people, and nature together. To speak of mending the Sacred Hoop is to speak of the work of healing, reconciliation, and remembering our place within the great circle of life.

This process is both deeply personal and profoundly collective. It asks us to recognize what has been broken, honor the wounds, and begin the patient and reverent work of repair.

The Symbol of the Hoop

The circle has always held sacred meaning. For many Indigenous traditions, the circle is the shape of the cosmos itself. The sun and moon travel in circular paths, the seasons turn in endless cycles, and the life of a person moves through stages of birth, growth, maturity, and death--only to continue in spirit.

Lakota holy man Black Elk once said, "The power of the world always works in circles, and everything tries to be round." In this way, the hoop is more than a symbol. It is a mirror of the natural order.

When the hoop is whole, balance is present: balance between the masculine and feminine, the human and more-than-human, the individual and community. But when it is broken, imbalance reigns. We see this imbalance in our modern world through climate disruption, widespread loneliness, addiction, and the ongoing wounds of cultural disconnection.

What Broke the Hoop?

The hoop has been broken in many ways, both historically and spiritually. Colonization brought the forced removal of Indigenous peoples from their lands, the banning of ceremonies, and the trauma of residential and boarding schools. These acts not only wounded people but also tore apart the living connections between communities and the land itself.

But the breaking of the Sacred Hoop is not confined to Indigenous experience alone. In a sense, all people living in today's industrialized world carry fragments of this brokenness. Many have lost their ancestral traditions, their kinship with Mother Earth, and their sense of belonging to a greater whole. We see the results in ecological devastation, alienation, and social fragmentation.

Acknowledging this brokenness is the first step in healing. To mend the hoop, we must look honestly at the history of harm while also reclaiming the wisdom of connection.

Mending Through Ceremony

One of the most vital ways the Sacred Hoop is mended is through ceremony. For Indigenous peoples, ceremonies such as the Sun Dance, sweat lodge, pipe ceremonies, and healing songs are not simply rituals--they are acts of reweaving the web of life.

When a community gathers in ceremony, they call upon the spirits, the ancestors, and the natural forces to help restore harmony. The circle itself--drummers, dancers, elders, children--becomes a living expression of the Sacred Hoop made whole again.

For those outside Indigenous traditions, ceremony can take different forms, but the principle is the same. Whether through prayer, ritual, gathering, or personal practices that honor the sacredness of life, ceremony becomes a bridge to wholeness. Planting a tree with intention, offering tobacco or water to the Earth Mother, or sitting quietly in gratitude at sunrise--all these are ways of repairing the threads.

Healing Intergenerational Wounds

Mending the Sacred Hoop also means tending to the deep wounds of trauma, both individual and collective. Many Indigenous communities speak of the importance of healing not just for the living but for the ancestors and for the generations yet to come.

Trauma, when left unaddressed, perpetuates cycles of pain. But when acknowledged and healed, the cycle is interrupted, and the hoop begins to mend. This work often requires storytelling, truth-telling, forgiveness, and the reclaiming of languages, songs, and cultural practices once suppressed.

For non-Indigenous people, healing intergenerational wounds may mean exploring one's own ancestral stories--honoring what was lost, grieving what was broken, and reclaiming ways of being that foster kinship rather than separation.

The Role of Community

No hoop can be mended in isolation. Community is essential. When people come together in mutual respect and shared intention, healing accelerates. This is why circles--whether in councils, talking circles, or gatherings of prayer--are such powerful spaces for transformation.

To sit in a circle is to remember equality: no one above, no one below, all voices important. In a world of hierarchies and divisions, the circle calls us back to the truth of interconnectedness.

Mending the Sacred Hoop on a community level might mean fostering dialogue between cultures, creating spaces of reconciliation, or working together on ecological restoration projects. Each collective action is a stitch in the torn fabric.

Mother Earth as Teacher

Perhaps the greatest ally in mending the Sacred Hoop is the living Earth herself. The land remembers wholeness, even when humans forget. By spending time in nature--listening to the wind, watching the cycles of growth and decay, honoring the animals--we learn again how to walk in balance.

Mother Earth teaches patience. A forest regrows slowly after fire, rivers carve valleys over millennia, and even a wounded ecosystem can heal when given respect and time. In this way, the Earth Mother offers both model and medicine for our own repair.

A Call to Action

To mend the Sacred Hoop is not a metaphorical task alone; it is a daily practice. It calls for concrete actions:

• Personal healing: tending to our inner wounds, seeking balance in our lives.
• Cultural healing: supporting the revitalization of Indigenous traditions and respecting sovereignty.
• Ecological healing: restoring landscapes, protecting waters, and living sustainably.
• Spiritual healing: remembering the sacredness of all life and living in gratitude.

Each act, however small, is a thread woven back into the circle.

The Calling of Our Time

Mending the Sacred Hoop is not the work of one generation alone. It is the calling of our time and the gift we can offer to future generations. The hoop may have been broken, but it is not beyond repair. Through ceremony, community, healing, and reconnection with the Earth Mother, we participate in a great act of remembrance--the remembering that we are not separate, but part of a circle that holds all beings. When the Sacred Hoop is mended, harmony can return. And when harmony returns, life can flourish again in beauty, balance, and wholeness.