EGA 2025 Journal introduction
Standing on my mum’s farm, studying a 25-year-old Blunt Leaf-Wattle (Acacia obtusifolia), I realise that this tree I planted 23 years ago mirrors my own time in the ethnobotanical community. Its thick trunk branches out and stretches in several directions, forming a broad canopy — roughly the size of a large car. The last of its flowers and pollen still cling to the slender, stick-like blooms at the tips of its phyllode-lined branches. It’s not only the bees I’ve noticed being drawn to this scruffy old tree, but also ducks and other native wildlife, all seeking refuge from the sun. As the only shade near the dam, this wattle tree stands healthy, well-established and seemingly at home.
A lot has changed across the first 25 years of this century. Though my journey with psychedelics began around the mid-1990s, it didn’t bloom into a passion until years later, following a novel encounter with LSD that reduced the symptoms of my dyslexia in the days directly after the trip. That experience led me on a path in search of the local ‘active’ mushroom, Psilocybe subaeruginosa, to see if I could replicate the experience that had followed my LSD encounter.
When I first started exploring altered states, cannabis, mushrooms (psilocybin), and ecstasy (MDMA) were all completely prohibited and the establishment flatly denied any discussion of their medical value, or any other potential benefit of these compounds and ethnobotanical plants.
There have been bleak periods. My experiences with these substances were wildly different from the headlines and stigma that surrounded them, whether in mainstream discourse or everyday conversations with parents. The so-called “devil’s weed” and psychedelic drugs became symbols of danger, stoking fear across society, even among those with little understanding or exposure to them.
All of this was most pointedly summed up by Mr. Mackey, the school counsellor in the animated TV show South Park. Early in the series, he gives a school presentation warning students about the dangers of drugs, delivering the iconic line: “Drugs are bad, m’kay?” The line is a sharp parody of the oversimplified, patronising tone of establishment anti-drug messaging — messaging that, until the end of the 20th century, seemed set in stone. The ‘war on drugs’ appeared, to many, to be a closed case. But has it always been that way?
In this sixth edition of the EGA Journal, we cast our lens backward to Australia’s first psychedelic-assisted therapy trial in the early 1960s. We hear the story of profound personal growth and self-realisation, such as that of Evelyn Harrison. Harrison, a resilient and courageous young mother, underwent psilocybin-assisted therapy in Melbourne, Australia, during the 1960s. The following decades were a period where psychedelic research, both internationally and within Australia, had fallen out of favour and largely ceased. Our articles pick up the thread decades later, as research was being reframed by the Australian psychedelic underground and beyond.
It seemed the future of this field — especially within academia and institutions in Australia — had been extinguished. Yet around the year 2000, the ethnobotanical subculture began to take root in earnest, despite the absence of sanctioned, above-ground research. It grew from the lively exchange of ideas on internet forums, connecting psychonauts both above and below ground;these ranged from anthropologists to underground chemists and historians. First Nations peoples and conservationists were also part of this emerging movement, working to better understand and protect ethnobotanical plants and cultural practices. This was all coming to a head, particularly as their legal future grew increasingly uncertain.
Prohibition, which had already encompassed plants like cannabis, opium poppies and coca, continued to expand in scope. In 1995, the Australian Government introduced analogue drug laws at the federal level through the Criminal Code Act 1995. These provisions automatically criminalised substances deemed 'substantially similar' in structure or effect to already prohibited drugs. This meant compounds could be effectively illegal even if they had never been explicitly scheduled or, in some cases, had not yet even been synthesised.
Additionally, the possession of drug-related literature was becoming increasingly problematic. Under federal law, specifically the Criminal Code Act 1995 (Cth), possessing documents or instructions related to the manufacture of controlled substances(including books and printed materials) can itself constitute an offence, particularly where there is evidence of intent to manufacture.
By around 2002, Australia became the first country in the world to ban Salvia divinorum, a psychoactive plant native to Mexico, marking another turning point in this expanding wave of prohibition. The move sent a strong signal that even traditional, lesser-known ethnobotanicals were no longer safe from the tightening grip of drug law enforcement.
By 2005, similar analogue laws had been reinforced across various states, further tightening control. This marked a significant escalation in the war on emerging psychedelics and research chemicals. A broad range of compounds, including phenethylamines, tryptamines, and substances like 2C-B, were swept into this widening net. In essence, a compound could be criminalised simply for being like something else already illegal, a slippery and often ambiguous legal standard. It introduced considerable uncertainty for researchers, chemists, and the broader community, making it increasingly difficult to explore or even discuss new substances without risking legal consequences.
This all marked a clear and aggressive shift: the plants and compounds that ethnobotanical and psychedelic seekers held in high regard as tools of consciousness (and as culturally, botanically, and medically significant), were now being swept into an expanding net of pre-emptive restriction. Beyond that, it signalled a deeper encroachment on cognitive liberty. Entire areas of inquiry were suddenly under threat.
It was time to take a stand, whether with a shovel or a pen.
The writing was on the wall. The community needed to step up and find ways to protect and preserve these important plants — whether within the law or, where necessary, outside of it. A wave of grassroots energy and activism coalesced around online forums, such as Shaman Australis, and community hubs, including the Nimbin Hemp Embassy and Happy High Herbs shops. The birth of Australian ethnobotanical conferences and gatherings was also part of this need to come together and fight for the freedom to have a relationship with our plants. Some articles in this journal revisit those formative years, exploring the early programs and topics covered at those pioneering events.
We follow this arc into a more optimistic time in the 21st century, with psychedelic science once again emerging at the forefront of mental health research and treatment. Meanwhile, underground research, though often unrecognised and impeded, continues quietly and persistently in the background.
Alongside this renewed enthusiasm to protect our gardens and sacred plants came a growing call to reignite psychedelic research in Australia. This momentum gave rise to new charitable organisations such as Entheogenesis Australis (formed in 2004) and its sister organisation Psychedelic Research in Science and Medicine (PRISM, formed in 2011). PRISM’s mission was to restart psychedelic research and better explore the medical value of ethnobotanical plants and related compounds. The Australian Psychedelic Society (APS) was also established in late 2016 to facilitate community dialogue and promote standards.
Harm reduction services, many of which had been operating since the 1990s, evolved and expanded. The conversations and support systems surrounding harm reduction at raves, bush-doofs and festivals began to make a broader cultural impact. The idea of pill testing as a tool to reduce harm and better understand the growing and changing drug market was being proposed.
However, even to the current day, governments and law enforcement continue to oppose such harm reduction strategies, and we are only just starting to roll out pill testing trials in Australia. Thanks to harm reduction service providers like DanceWise, the safety of festival goers has remained active and ever-evolving, delivering better care as the years roll on.
The journal articles published here are drawn largely from the communities that have formed around ethnobotany, gardening, psychedelic science and anthropology. They also reflect a wide range of creative and cultural spheres, from electronic dance culture, ancient herbalism and ritual practices to alchemy, contemporary wellness movements and the growing global interest in ethnobotanical tourism.
Some recurring themes emerge throughout these pieces. We revisit both the past and the future of psychedelic studies in Australia. Historical reflections include the influence of internationally renowned psychedelic figures — such as Terence McKenna and Owsley ‘The Bear’ Stanley — who visited or, in some cases, even settled in Australia and left a lasting impression on the local scene.
Several articles examine the significance of the discovery of DMT in one of Australia’s most iconic plant genus: Acacia. Others explore the importance of decriminalisation efforts and highlight notable plants such as Tabernanthe iboga, long used ceremonially in Central Africa and now being investigated for its role in interrupting addictive behaviours. Beyond these, contributors reflect on microdosing, harm reduction and the evolving relationship between psychedelics and mental health. A number of pieces critique the commercialisation of psychedelic culture and explore environmental concerns — from the impacts of cocaine production to the ethics of plant cultivation. Others delve into identity, integration and the role of ceremony, care and cultural continuity.
There are also two feature articles that offer a more in-depth exploration of their respective topics. The first, by Graham St John, explores Terence McKenna’s legendary trip to Australia. The second, by Jonathan Carmichael, examines early psychedelic therapy and the first documented Australian psychedelic study from the 1960s.
The list goes on. While not all contributors are Australian, they are all connected to the local community in some way — most often through their support of EGA and their commitment to sharing ethnobotanical knowledge.
So now I stand in my own ethnobotanical garden in the Dandenong Ranges, looking up at a stunning Acacia courtii. It’s a tall and slender tree, splitting into two large trunks after an early wound — an injury that now seems almost advantageous in its outcome. With its thin phyllodes and beautiful shade of green, it is both elegant and resilient. A rare and threatened species, now around 15 years old, it holds a very special place in my garden. This remarkable tree stands as a testament to the dedication of the ethnobotanical community, which has long worked to preserve culturally and botanically significant plants like this.
This Acacia courtii is roughly the same age as what is often called the ‘psychedelic renaissance’ — a term used to describe the renewed wave of institutional and research-focused interest in psychedelics that began gaining momentum globally around 2010. That same year, EGA invited Rick Doblin to be the keynote speaker of a psychedelic conference held at Melbourne University, where he encouraged a new generation of Australian researchers to help Australia join the global revival of psychedelic research.
But the true beginning of the Australian psychedelic renaissance might more accurately be dated to 2017, marked by a convergence of professionalism and collaboration between above-ground researchers, underground practitioners and rebel gardeners at the landmark Entheogenesis Australis Psychedelic Symposium. Held in rural Victoria over 3 nights, this legendary conference gathering was a high watermark in psychedelic cultural awakening.
It was at this gathering that Rick Doblin returned, joining a growing cohort of Australian researchers who had come together to help lay the foundation for the second wave of psychedelic science and therapy in Australia. Among them were PRISM researchers such as Dr Martin Williams and Dr Stephen Bright, along with others who delivered lectures that would go on to shape the emerging field — most notably Paul Liknaitzky, Monica Barratt, and Vince Polito.
Importantly, it was also at this event that Dr Marg Ross packed a tent and attended her first EGA conference with an open mind and a hopeful heart. This meeting of minds inspired her to lead the first clinical study of Australia’s new wave: a landmark trial of psilocybin-assisted therapy for anxiety and depression associated with terminal illness. Her work has since helped pave the way for numerous psychedelic clinical trials in Australia.
As above, so below: equally important at EGA in late December 2017 were the many unnamed underground chemists, ethnobotanical researchers, activists, revolutionaries, plant custodians, harm reduction workers and informed psychonauts reporting back from the fringes. Their work and dedication were just as vital in bringing the community to this uniquely Australian psychedelic moment as their above-ground counterparts. Collectively, both above and below enthusiasts have laboured to create a second chance for psychedelics to find their place in Western culture and modern life once again above ground; just a stone’s throw away, across a pool rippling from forty years of mainstream suppression and underground resistance. A wave was forming, and the dam was about to crack wide open.
While in Australia for EGA, Rick Doblin also gave a small talk at a Students For Sensible Drug Policy event at the University of Melbourne, with the support of EGA. In the crowd that evening were the forthcoming founders of what would become another major player in the field: Mind Medicine Australia. Rick’s visit in early December for EGA, made possible through the collective effort of the community, was the psychedelic catalyst that helped ignite Australia’s modern psychedelic renaissance.
In my garden, I place a two-year-old Acacia maidenii into the soil. I used native potting mix and local soil, hoping to give it a strong start in its new home. I can see this small tree has been in the pot a little too long, but its established root system will help it have a strong start in its new home. One article in this journal shares an almost mythical tale: how a seed from an Acacia maidenii in Melbourne made its way, through the hands of a Melbourne based ethnobotanist, to the legendary garden of Alexander Shulgin. Shulgin is often called the father of MDMA, as he re-popularised its use, and he’s also well known for the creation of hundreds of novel psychedelics, including 2C-B. In Shulgin’s garden, it is documented that the Acacia maidenii seed from Australia grew into a significant tree of its own.
Back in my garden today, the age of this young maidenii coincides with a major shift in Australian drug policy and public perception. On July 1, 2023, the Therapeutic Goods Administration officially recognised the therapeutic use of psilocybin and MDMA by adding them to Schedule 8 (Controlled Drugs) of the Australian Government’s Poisons Standard. Although they remain in Schedule 9 (Prohibited Substances) in all other circumstances, this change allows authorised psychiatrists to prescribe MDMA for the treatment of PTSD and psilocybin for treatment-resistant depression. These reforms, alongside earlier recognition of cannabis for medicinal and scientific use, mark a cautious but meaningful step toward mainstream acknowledgement of the therapeutic potential of psychedelics. A door once sealed has begun to reopen, inviting new research, dialogue, and care.
Throughout the years when institutions turned their backs, it was the underground that kept the flame alight: through grassroots forums, sacred gardens, community events, and quiet acts of care and resistance. Without formal recognition or support, these networks — and resources like the journal you hold in your hands — preserved knowledge, cultivated rare plants, and held space for meaningful conversation. In parallel, not-for-profit organisations like Entheogenesis Australis and PRISM emerged as vital bridges, connecting the underground to academia, the ceremonial to the scientific, and the cultural to the clinical.
While recent developments in psychedelic medicine are welcome for many, some in the community continue to hope for more substantial reforms — particularly around decriminalisation and broader access to affordable psychedelic medicines. The underground has long supported not only therapeutic but also non-medical, spiritual, and personal uses of these substances, often grounded in traditions of care, ritual, environmental reasoning, and a pursuit of personal and collective autonomy. This evolving conversation remains at the heart of the movement's future.
This sixth edition of the EGA Journal, like the community it represents, is a living archive of shared knowledge. As we plant new seeds, both literal and metaphorical, we move toward a more psychedelic aware future. We hope you enjoy this resource and that it serves as both a celebration of community spirit and a testament to the power of knowledge sharing. In many ways, this volume, alongside the five journals that came before it, stands as a time capsule of the strength, creativity, and resilience of the Australian ethnobotanical community.
April 2025
Kind Regards
Jonathan Carmichael (Ronny), President
Entheogenesis Australis
