Entering the Ngahere is like Entering Your Soul
Updated: Sep 2
Forest Therapy for the Mind, Body and Soul
Entering the ngahere can be like entering your own soul.
It was the horopito that called me to this particular ngahere.
For almost a year, I had carried the intention of returning. I wanted to sit with this ancient being, to see her in flower and immerse myself in her wānanga.
The first time I visited, I was with whānau and could not give her the time or attention I felt she deserved. I placed the kaupapa gently to one side and waited until the time was right.
A year later, that time arrived.
I drove for three hours and booked accommodation surrounded by ngahere, where I would stay for three days. I considered inviting others to join me, but slowly realised that this particular wānanga was for me alone.
I arrived several hours before check-in, so I went to the ngahere to feel into the space.
Before leaving home, I had already sent out a karanga, letting the ngahere know I was coming. At the entrance, I offered karakia and waited.
I had barely placed my feet upon the forest floor when the kohukohu caught my attention. Moss covered the rākau and whenua like an ancient korowai.
I stopped and drew breath.
The kohukohu did not feel like many separate plants. It felt like one vast being—ancient, protective and deeply woven into the mauri of the ngahere.
As I moved further along the path, the horopito appeared. Her leaves glowed red through the mist. Even before touching them, I could sense their intensity: fire held within a leaf.
She stood in her mana as she had done for millions of years—resilient, enduring and watchful. Horopito is now commercially grown and widely used, but seeing her within her natural habitat revealed something more.
Here, she was the sentinel.
Around her grew an entire whakapapa of living beings—rākau, moss, lichen, fungi, ferns and manu—each contributing to and supporting the life of the whole.
Entering into relationship
The potency of rongoā is not held solely within the physical properties of a plant. It is also held within its mauri, its wairua and its relationships with everything growing around it.
Karakia allows us to approach that world, while tikanga guides and protects the relationship.
When we harvest, we do not simply take. We ask the plant, its kaitiaki and the ngahere itself. We look and listen for tohu that let us know whether harvesting is appropriate.
When the answer is no, it is a firm no.
We must be prepared to walk away without trying to turn that no into a yes. There may be reasons beyond our understanding.
When permission is given, we harvest with reverence and ceremony. We remain in communication with the plant and with the taiao in which it lives.
This relationship—this listening, respect and exchange—is at the heart of rongoā Māori.
When the mind becomes quiet
I continued walking slowly, allowing whanaungatanga with the ngahere to unfold.
Something felt different. Or perhaps it was I who had become different.
I could feel the ngahere not as a collection of separate plants and trees, but as one vast living system. Its mauri seemed to extend in every direction. I became like a compass, sensing the subtle movements surrounding me.
The smallest flutter felt close. The ngahere was almost silent, apart from the occasional movement of wings.
I felt as though I were melting into the forest.
My wānanga had begun.
Entering the ngahere is like entering the soul, and both ask to be approached with reverence.
It is a soulful practice in which the mind gradually takes a back seat and the heart begins to lead. The deeper we enter, the more peaceful the mind can become. The past loosens its hold. There is only the present moment—and, within it, the possibility of moving forward.
At first, the silence may feel challenging. But with practice, that same silence may become something we yearn for.
When you step inside notice the temperature of the ngahere. Notice the light and sounds. Observe the types of rākau there to greet you. What is special about the ngahere? The rākau will guide you the deeper you walk into the ngahere. Pay homage to the manu that you hear. Acknowledge the whenua and all those who walked here before you. Be in awe of the holy ground that lies before you. Do your best to become one with the ngahere. Try not to disrupt the balance of the woven cloak laid down long before you came into being. There is no need to speak in here unless it is to the ngahere.
Before Entering the Ngahere
Before entering the ngahere, pause at its edge.
Offer karakia or waiata and let your kaupapa be known. Then wait and listen for a tohu.
Perhaps a manu will call. A branch may move in the wind. A leaf may fall across your path. A small creature may arrive unexpectedly.
The tohu may be subtle, but something within you will recognise it. The more this relationship is practised, the more trust and discernment can grow.
As you step inside, notice the change in temperature. Observe the light, the sounds and the rākau gathered around you.
Acknowledge the whenua and those who have walked there before you. Pay homage to the manu and all the seen and unseen beings who belong to that place.
Slow your pace.
Sit if you need to. Spend time with the angiangi as it drapes from the rākau. Hongi the kohukohu and draw its ancient mauri deeply into your puku.
Try not to disturb the woven cloak that was laid down long before you arrived. There is no need to speak unless you are speaking with the ngahere.
You are entering an established world. The ngahere will observe how you move, how you listen and whether you have come with respect. Your actions will help determine whether its teachings are revealed to you.
What do you offer?
My offering to the ngahere was my reverence and a promise to share something of the sacredness and beauty it had shown me.
Its offering to me was a deeper understanding of how the mind can become like the ngahere—and how that relationship can support healing.
The ngahere teaches us how to slow down, become still and listen beyond the noise of the mind. It reminds us that healing does not always come through doing more. Sometimes healing begins when we become quiet enough to enter into relationship with what has been surrounding us all along.
The ngahere is not simply a place we visit.
It is a living wānanga, a sanctuary and a teacher.
And when we enter deeply enough, we may discover that we are also entering more deeply into ourselves.
Every year, I host Rongoā Mauri Wānanga with a focus on the forest as healing therapy. The mind can be like the mauri of a ngahere. We just need to learn the tools and resources to be in that space and the ngahere is the best teacher to show us how.
I have been tuning in to forests around Aotearoa to hold spiritual retreats. To learn more about these retreats go to Wānanga & Retreats.
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