Ko ahau te moana. Ko te moana ko ahau

I am the sea. The sea is me. 

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I doze, I sleep, I dream, my reality. My brothers have left, I lie awake wondering what new adventures they are up to across the vast ocean of Te Moana-nui-a-Kiwa. I have made that journey numerous times before, and I long to relive that excitement. I find myself swimming alongside my two companions, my two pet tānahanaha. We ride the waves together. We are one with Kiwa riding the back of the waves, playing the curl of the waves, flying the crest of the waves. We are the waves; the waves are us. Bystanders watch from under the brilliant display of red. The bleached sands covered in driftwood beckons the waveriders, calling my companions and me to the shore. We rest, a spring supports and soothes our exhausted bodies, ngā tānahanaha are at home, the spring is their home, the spring of  Ōpōtiki-mai-tawhiti. Tihei mauri ora!   

I am awake. The early morning sun teases with anticipation of the day. I share a car ride back to Ōpōtiki, back for a day on the beach with my local surf club mates. The pohutukawa are in full bloom, and it’s only early season. The spray glistens off the one-metre brake, forming a perfect line, must be one hundred metres offshore. A lone rider sits upon.ski, facing the gentle puffs of Whakaari sitting on the horizon, not looking for a wave but being with the wave.

My connection home is Tangaroa. I paddle the ebbs and flows of a hundred taniwha which binds me to the soul-prints of my tūpuna who stood amongst the coastal resources of my tribal homeland. I sit astride my surf ski in the soothing waters of Te Moana-nui-a-Kiwa looking at the ridge from where Tārawa was first sighted afloat his pae rātā, home in Ōpōtiki-mai-tawhiti.

Tihei mauri ora