Growing up as an Indigenous Māori in Aotearoa/New Zealand, I was subject to a society dominated by white European/Pākehā culture. With a mixed whakapapa (family history) that included both the colonized and the colonizers, I felt a tension between my inner- and outer-worlds that remained dormant for a long time. This feeling persisted and reminded me there was more beneath the surface. On the one hand, expressing myself through words did not come naturally to me, as I lacked the memory, experience, and vocabulary to articulate the undertone of my being. On the other hand, movement gave way to a more insightful form of self-expression.

Yoga asana — the physical postures and poses practiced in yoga — appears static but contains underlying dynamism. For me, it’s mostly in times of pure frustration, fire, or during an overwhelming feeling of giving up or giving in that insight, big or small, arises. However, the magnitude of this experience is met with an equally polarising force. As if it was water meeting fire, giving the rise of steam/something new. It’s here where time and space widen between the next sound, the next movement, and the next breath. This vast, expansive place allows me to connect with something greater than myself. This something greater can be understood as wairua in Māori culture, the spiritual aspect of the self that is connected to the wider world around us. 

Wairua is often accompanied by my tupuna, the Māori word that refers to our ancestors or predecessors who have passed. It is believed to be an essential part of our being and linked to our health, well-being, and sense of identity. In a Māori worldview, our tupuna continue to exist in the spiritual realm and inform, support and guide us through the world and our place in it. This connection between our wairua and our tupuna is a vital aspect of Māori spirituality.

This is not to be understood as one needing to seek intensity or chase certain sensations in order to be with Wairau. Rather, it is an act of remembering to remember. In case you’ve been misled, yoga is not just peace, love, and light.
Yoga can be terrifying, wild, unruly, and unpleasant at times. It can be lonely and even isolating. It’s a comforting thought that I’m not here doing this alone — I have the resilience of my tupuna available and ever-present throughout. Within this tribe stands wahine toa, which in Māori means “warrior women” or “power of the feminine.” There are my foremothers, those who held the capacity to fight but lost their freedom of culture, language, and land. It is with their mana (strength) that I too, have the capacity to confront my conditionings, my neuroses, and my habitual and personal nature.  

In Māori culture, romiromi is the traditional healing bodywork practice, which emphasizes connecting with Tupuna and the divine in all its forms. One of my teachers introduced me to a quote by Buddhist monk and peace activist Thích NhÂt HAnh, who said, “When you touch one thing with deep awareness, you touch everything.” This speaks to a fundamental truth about the universe: that all things are interconnected and that by tapping into this interconnectedness, we can unlock profound levels of insight and understanding. Through the lens of Māori culture, this interconnectedness is not just a philosophical concept but a tangible reality that we can tap into and use to guide our lives toward greater harmony and purpose.

More recently, I have been exploring the art of touch through Zenthai Shiatsu, or Thai yoga massage. Zenthai Shiatsu is a movement-based bodywork that almost looks and feels like a therapeutic dance, woven together with focused attention and loving intention at its core. This practice is a conversation between the giver and receiver that occurs far more profound than words. At the beginning of every session, we take time to connect to the breath. I invoke and invite mine and their tupuna to join and guide us through our session. My teacher often says “Empty, empty, empty, so that you can become the vessel.” This means putting your thinking mind — the stuff you think you know — aside and channeling ancient wisdom and letting it pour through you. It is to be present and in the complete act of service.

I haven’t always known or recognized this experience as what is for me today. It’s only in recent years that my practice has become more than just something for myself. These practices helped to surface and reconcile the unexplainable and unidentifiable that may be the experiences of those who came before me. It’s by virtue of patience, repetition, and reflection that my practice has given me the agency to step into my wahine toa and solidify my Maoritanga (Indigenous culture).

 This hasn’t necessarily given me answers, but instead a glimpse of who I am beyond the sum of myself. Knowing that I am not alone and have an entire lineage of wise counsel and wisdom keepers present has been humbling and empowering.