Te Pūrākau o Raukura me te Rama o te Whakapātaritari - Day 27
The Story of Raukura and the Lamp of Detachment
In the serene valleys of Aotearoa, a young wahine named Raukura lived among her iwi. She was known for her tireless dedication to her kawa and tikanga—the sacred customs handed down by her tūpuna. She worked on the marae, tended the whenua, and performed the karanga with a voice that resonated like the winds of Tawhirimātea. Yet, in her heart, Raukura felt a longing.
One night, under the light of a full moon, Raukura sought the guidance of her kaumātua, Matakite. He was a tohunga of deep wisdom, known for helping others navigate the wairua realm.
“E Koro,” Raukura said, “I fulfill all my responsibilities to the iwi, but I still feel bound by this world. How can I find peace and freedom in the embrace of Io Matua Kore when my journey ends?”
Matakite smiled knowingly. “Raukura, come to the whare tīpuna at dawn. Bring nothing but your open heart.”
The next morning, Raukura arrived. Inside the whare, a single lamp made of carved pounamu glowed softly. Its flame flickered, yet remained steady.
“This lamp,” said Matakite, “is your mahi, your duties, and your attachments. Your task is to keep it burning, no matter what happens. But remember, the flame is not yours to own.”
Raukura nodded and embraced her new role. Day by day, she cared for the lamp, ensuring it burned brightly while continuing her mahi—weaving cloaks, planting kumara, and guiding her younger whānau in karakia. As time passed, she began to take pride in how brightly the lamp shone, believing it reflected her worth.
One stormy night, a strong gust from the mountains of Tāwhirimātea blew through the whare. The flame flickered and went out. Distressed, Raukura tried everything to relight it, but the damp air and her trembling hands made it impossible.
Exhausted, she sat beside the extinguished lamp, her heart heavy with shame.
At dawn, Matakite entered the whare. Seeing Raukura’s sorrow, he asked gently, “E hine, why do you grieve so?”
“Koro,” Raukura replied, “I have failed. The flame is gone, and I could not keep it alive. I have dishonored my tikanga and my purpose.”
Matakite sat beside her, placing a reassuring hand on her shoulder. “E moko, the lamp was never yours to hold forever. Its flame, like all things in this world, is impermanent. You have misunderstood its purpose.”
Raukura looked at him with tearful eyes. “Then what was the lesson, Koro?”
“The flame represents your attachments,” Matakite explained. “Your mahi and tikanga are sacred, but if you become attached to the outcomes of your actions, you lose sight of the eternal. True peace, te rongo, comes when you serve with aroha, but without clinging to success or fearing failure. Your ultimate purpose is to let go of all attachments and keep your heart fixed on Io Matua Kore, the source of all life.”
Raukura listened deeply, and understanding dawned in her heart. She began to see that her role was not to control the flame but to nurture it while it lasted, and then release it when its time had passed.
From that day forward, Raukura lived differently. She continued her mahi with devotion, but she no longer tied her self-worth to the outcomes. Whether the lamp burned brightly or dimmed, her heart remained steadfast, her thoughts centered on Io Matua Kore.
Years later, when Raukura’s time came, she lay peacefully, surrounded by her whānau. As the final karakia was sung, her last breath carried the whisper of Io Matua Kore’s name. Her spirit soared, free from the bonds of the material world, reunited with the eternal light.
Moral of the Story:
In life, we must fulfill our tikanga and mahi with dedication and aroha, but without attachment to the results. Everything in this world is temporary, like the flickering flame of a lamp. True peace comes when we let go of our attachments and fix our hearts on Io Matua Kore, the eternal source of life. When we embrace detachment, we can find liberation in this life and beyond.
⚠️ DOGS DIE IN HOT CARS. If you love them, don't leave them. ⚠️
It's a message we share time and time again, and this year, we're calling on you to help us spread that message further.
Did you know that calls to SPCA about dogs left inside hot cars made up a whopping 11% of all welfare calls last summer? This is a completely preventable issue, and one which is causing hundreds of dogs (often loved pets) to suffer.
Here are some quick facts to share with the dog owners in your life:
👉 The temperature inside a car can heat to over 50°C in less than 15 minutes.
👉 Parking in the shade and cracking windows does little to help on a warm day. Dogs rely on panting to keep cool, which they can't do in a hot car.
👉 This puts dogs at a high risk of heatstroke - a serious condition for dogs, with a mortality rate between 39%-50%.
👉 It is an offence under the Animal Welfare Act to leave a dog in a hot vehicle if they are showing signs of heat stress. You can be fined, and prosecuted.
SPCA has created downloadable resources to help you spread the message even further. Posters, a flyer, and a social media tile can be downloaded from our website here: www.spca.nz...
We encourage you to use these - and ask your local businesses to display the posters if they can. Flyers can be kept in your car and handed out as needed.
This is a community problem, and one we cannot solve alone. Help us to prevent more tragedies this summer by sharing this post.
On behalf of the animals - thank you ❤️
Poll: Would you rather: Christmas in summer forever or winter forever?
Just a bit of a fun poll to get you thinking.
If you had to live out your Christmas days, would you prefer it was a summer Christmas or a winter Christmas?
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61.7% Summer
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36.6% Winter
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1.7% Other - I'll share below
Te Whakapono o Tūmanako - Day 30
The Faith of Tūmanako
In a small village nestled between the mountains of Aotearoa and the vast ocean, lived a young Māori man named Tūmanako. His name meant “hope,” and his kuia (grandmother) often reminded him, “Tūmanako, e moko, your name carries a promise to the world. You must learn to walk the tides of life with grace.”
One summer morning, Tūmanako’s world was upturned. A fierce storm rolled in from the sea, its winds howling like angry taniwha. His whānau’s (family’s) marae was badly damaged, and the crops they relied on were swept away. Despair gripped the village. Many cried to Tangaroa, the god of the sea, asking why such calamity had befallen them.
Tūmanako, too, felt the sting of loss. “Why, Kuia?” he asked his grandmother. “Why does life bring so much suffering?”
His kuia sat beside him, her face weathered with years of wisdom. She handed him a tī kouka (cabbage tree) leaf. “Take this, moko. Bend it.”
Tūmanako did as he was told. The leaf bent but did not break.
“Now, hold it tighter and twist it harder,” she said.
He twisted until the leaf sprung back and slapped his hand, leaving a sting. His kuia smiled gently. “This leaf is like life. It bends under the weight of the wind but refuses to break. Yet when we fight against it, we feel pain.”
Tūmanako listened but wasn’t sure he understood. His kuia continued, “Life is a cycle, moko, just like the seasons. There will be days of sunshine and warmth, and days when the rain soaks the earth. Both are needed for growth. To fight against the storm is to forget the blessings it will bring in its wake.”
In the following weeks, Tūmanako began to embrace his kuia’s wisdom. Instead of mourning the storm, he worked with the village to repair the marae. They sang waiata (songs) of strength and unity as they planted new crops. Tūmanako noticed the soil, enriched by the storm’s floodwaters, yielded more bountiful kumara than before.
Years later, Tūmanako became a respected rangatira (leader). When challenges arose, he would remind his people of the tī kouka leaf. “We are like this leaf,” he would say, holding it high. “Life’s storms will come, but we will bend, not break. Let us move with the winds, not against them.”
The people of the village came to cherish this teaching. They learned to greet hardships with calm hearts and open minds, trusting that every storm would eventually bring new growth.
And so, the wisdom of Tūmanako and his kuia lived on, teaching the generations that to accept life’s ups and downs with equanimity is to find inner peace and wisdom.
The moral of the story is:
Resilience comes from embracing life’s challenges with acceptance and grace. Just as the storm nourishes the earth, adversity can lead to growth and wisdom when met with an open heart.
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