JESSICA GERBIC SHARES ABOUT RECONNECTION AND HER PRACTICE OF MAURI TAU

This practise and place have become our safe space.  It is my hope these moments become the foundation for my kōtiro for years to come, muscle memory for her hauora of what it means to be tau. I already notice her familiarity in these practices with her comforting smiles, intense eye contact and the stillness that occurs. Connecting to whenua, in particular oneone has become her place of quietness. If you ever meet my kōtiro she is one seriously busy pēpē – always on the go, so these moments we enrich our hauora in this manner feel precious.  

Using the whenua to whakapiki hauora seems very on trend for me as a Māori clinical psychologist. By virtue all mahi is all about wellbeing, healing and coping. However, it was a deliberate encounter with my tūrangawaewae months before my kōtiro arrived that sparked my love and use of oneone. It has become a way for me to align with atuatanga and to settle my mauri. Reminding myself I am a divine creation and connected to things far greater than my physical self. To me it is about settling into your place of belonging on a spiritual level.

Tau means to be calm. The practice of Mauri tau is to relax, become chill, calm or without panic.  It has become a familiar, intuitive, and healing state I have embedded into my life. Learning to whakahauora in this way has become my form of resistance to colonisation and my contribution to the revitalisation of different aspects of our culture.

In the weeks and months following a Kauae raro wananga at a NUKU event I began to visit many parks, beaches, and various other locations in Tāmaki Makaurau so I could source oneone, gum, wai and so on. It became standard practice for me to leave my whare with empty bags and return home with various things from the taiao. Upon arriving home, I would re-examine, sort, and store the taonga gathered forming my own mini collection. At first, I freely gathered from the taiao adapting and incorporating tikanga as I went that felt right. However, it was not long before I started experiencing a stirring of my mauri that could not be ignored – an unsettled feeling deep within. It was a mix of being mamae and pōuri. For a period, I stopped collecting altogether as I felt uncertain. Other Māori may relate to the existential crisis that occurs when you live off your whenua or when you are the one in your whānau reclaiming matauranga. I was stuck on the significance of the relationship of oneone and whakapapa. I knew the whenua around me before truly knowing that of my own tūrangawaewae. Oneone had opened me up to a new way to experience the taiao, but it became clear the expression of identity represented and the stories that lay within were not mine in Tāmaki Makaurau. This stirring of my mauri was unnerving. I yearned to know my own whenua on a deeper level. I decided the only way to settle my mauri was to return to my tūrangawaewae in Tauranga.

The day I left for Tauranga the sky was grey, and Tāwhirimātea was giving everything a good shake down. My emotions felt just as changeable as the weather looked from excitement to uncertainty to whakama. I spent most of the drive deep within, recollecting the different knowledges mentioned in my whakapapa pukapuka. The names of people and places were all a muddle in my mind. But I knew this trip home was different. I was deliberately seeking an encounter with the taiao, with the whenua and oneone.

The first place I visited was my awa, Waitao. I sat at the waters edge as the cold wai flowed through my fingers and collected it in some jars. I imagined what it was like for my tīpuna back in the day. I wondered what they would think of the over bridge where cars rushed by. What they would think if they came to replenish themselves in the awa. What feelings would surface for them if they saw the awa in its current state? This was not the first time I visited my awa, but it felt different this time. I was there to observe its mauri. Despite the rapid flow it was soothing to listen to the trickling sounds as my awa surged on its way. It reminded me that stagnation is not an option when it comes to the taiao. There is always movement and change, a lesson I needed to be reminded of.

As I ventured further onto my whenua the weather had exposed different elements of the taiao leaving it raw and flowing. While the clouds were grey, the rain had brought a richness to the oneone. It was vibrant, bright in colour and soft to touch. I have a vivid memory of wet tan clay banks with kōkōwai bursting like a deep gash.

In many ways I felt like I was observing the oneone in its rawest and most vulnerable state. I scooped up some of the soft crimson kōkōwai and felt as if I was holding my whakapapa in my hands. The oneone in this moment transcended time, it was a direct and immediate link to my tīpuna. It was as if my tīpuna left lessons locked away in the taiao waiting to be revealed. As I collected and sourced from the whenua, I was able to overlay my whakapapa into these moments. The names and stories of places began to settle in my ngākau. It was a visceral experience that took my whakapapa from a cognitive thing to a felt experience. Through this process I felt how oneone embodied the connection of past, present, and future, connecting myself to whenua and tīpuna.

Whatungarongaro te tangata, toitū te whenua
 As man disappears from sight, the land remains.

I was able to establish a connection with the mana of the whenua, through the mana of the oneone. Providing a foundation of strength within my own whakapapa that felt tangible as I felt an increased confidence in my own mana and Māoritanga. This felt transformative as an urban Māori who is still establishing ties to my tūrangawaewae.

I discovered that oneone is another way to engage with my taha wairua. I was connecting to Papatūānuku. When I was in the taiao I recited karakia frequently, breathed deeply and settled into my surroundings. I was not aware of the benefits of these practises and tikanga at the time but upon reflection they provided a sense of tau. When I sourced gum, it came from the rākau and thus from Tāne Māhuta. I was able to draw on his strengths or reflect on the challenges he faced. It reminded me that aspects of Te Ao Māori are never individual but a reflection of collective existence.

I could feel those benefits upon returning to Tāmaki Makaurau. There was a shift in my āhua, a heaviness had lifted, and I felt clarity. I kept coming back to the practise of mauri tau and how what I had experienced was a means to whakapiki hauora. It was in these practices that I felt the intersection of wairua, ira tāngata and ira atua that feed and settled my mauri. All the stirring, background noise, self-doubt and mixed emotions faded away.