Kauri: Remembering a Relationship That Has Never Been Lost
Reflections from In Communion with Rākau | 21 October 2026
As I sat in communion with Kauri, I found myself contemplating the pathogen responsible for kauri dieback and what this might reveal about our own relationship with Papatūānuku.
I have often reflected on how rākau mirror aspects of our human experience, inviting us to observe what is happening within ourselves and the wider world. As I considered the effects of this disease on Kauri, another understanding began to emerge.
Kauri dieback affects the roots of the tree, particularly the fine roots responsible for absorbing water and nutrients from the whenua. Over time, the disease can interfere with this process, gradually weakening the tree. A Kauri may appear healthy above the ground while changes are already taking place beneath the surface.
What drew my attention was not simply the presence of the pathogen, but the way it disrupted the tree's ability to receive nourishment from Papatūānuku.
The roots were still there. Kauri remained deeply embedded within the whenua. Its relationship with Papatūānuku had not disappeared, yet something was interfering with the flow of nourishment that sustained its life.
I began to wonder whether there was something within this experience that reflected our own relationship with the natural world.
Over generations, many of us have become less familiar with the ways our tūpuna communed with the whenua, the ngahere and the living presence of rākau. There was a time when speaking with trees, observing their condition and recognising changes within the mauri of the environment were part of everyday life.
Our relationship with nature was not something separate from our existence. It was woven into how we lived, how we understood our surroundings and how we responded when something appeared out of balance.
When the mauri of a place was diminished, or when the wellbeing of the environment began to decline, our tūpuna understood the importance of restoring balance through relationship and care.
As I reflected on this, I wondered whether our capacity to recognise and participate in these relationships had gradually become less familiar to us.
Not because Papatūānuku had withdrawn from us, or because we had somehow become separate from her, but because our awareness of this relationship had been diminished.
Just as Kauri remains rooted within the whenua, we too remain part of Papatūānuku. We are sustained by her, nourished by her and held within the living world, whether or not we consciously recognise that relationship.
Perhaps what has changed is not the connection itself, but our ability to receive and respond to what has always been present.
This led me to contemplate the simple act of speaking with rākau.
How do we feel about the possibility of communicating with trees?
Can we approach them as living beings with whom we share a reciprocal relationship?
Can we sit quietly enough to listen, without needing to explain or interpret everything we experience?
I was reminded of a story about Dr Rose Pere and a fruit tree that had stopped producing. She spoke directly to the tree, telling it that she expected it to bear fruit again. If it did not, it would have to go. As the story was told, the tree produced fruit again the following season.
What stayed with me was not the outcome alone, but the familiarity of the relationship being described.
There was no hesitation in speaking with the tree. The conversation was direct, ordinary and grounded in the understanding that rākau were living relations rather than silent objects within the landscape.
Our relationships with rākau do not need to be limited to expressions of admiration or affection. They can involve conversation, responsibility, reciprocity and the everyday exchanges that arise when we recognise another living presence.
For me, this is an important part of the practice of In Communion with Rākau.
We are not attempting to create a connection that does not already exist. We are learning to become aware of a relationship that has always been present.
During our meditation, we brought our attention into the manawa, allowing the breath to settle and placing our awareness within the heart. From this place, we sat quietly with Kauri, without needing to think, analyse or search for an experience.
There was simply the invitation to be present.
As I continue to sit with Kauri, I return to the image of those roots extending deeply into Papatūānuku. They remind me that our relationship with the whenua does not depend upon our ability to recognise it.
We have never existed outside of this relationship.
Perhaps our work is to remember how to receive, how to listen and how to live in reciprocity with the world that continues to nourish us.
These reflections emerged through the practice of In Communion with Rākau, a daily meditation practice within the Rongoā Mauri Collective.
