TE TAKINGA MARAE

Te Whetū o Te Wā: The Star of Time

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A Story of Matariki and Te Takinga Marae

Long ago, before the hills of Mourea had names and before the lake knew the echo of paddles, the stars spoke to the people of the land. Among the stars, Matariki—the celestial mother surrounded by her seven daughters—rose each winter from Te Moana-nui-a-Kiwa to signal a time of remembrance, renewal, and unity.

The Call of the Stars

Each year, as the breath of Takurua frosted the whenua and mist curled around the lake’s skin, the people of Ngāti Pikiao turned their gaze to the eastern sky. There, just before dawn, the shimmering cluster of Matariki would appear. To them, it was not just a constellation—it was whakapapa written in the heavens.

Matariki reminded them of those who had passed, the ancestors whose bones lay in the warm embrace of the earth. It called the people together to remember, to plant, to dream again. And nowhere was this call heard more clearly than at Te Takinga Marae.

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The Heartbeat of Te Takinga

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Te Takinga Marae stands not only as a whare tūpuna, but as a bridge between the living and the dead, the past and the future. Named for Te Takinga, the great chief and warrior of Ngāti Pikiao, the marae is imbued with the mana of generations.

When Matariki rose, the people would gather on the ātea, wrapped in cloaks and silence, waiting for the moment when the stars pierced the night. A kaumātua would lift their voice in karakia, sending messages to the stars—to their loved ones now walking among the whetū.

Inside the wharenui, stories flowed like wai from the puna. Children listened with wide eyes as elders spoke of the ancient migrations, of sacred mountains and carved canoes, of the time when Te Takinga himself stood in defence of his people. These stories were not just told—they were relived in every breath and syllable.

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He Wā Whakamahara – A Time of Memory

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Matariki was also a time to name the dead. Beneath the carved rafters, the names of those who had journeyed beyond the veil were spoken aloud. Tears fell, but so did laughter. The dead were not gone—they had returned with the stars.

At Te Takinga, a fire was lit for each star of Matariki. The flames danced in rhythm with the waiata, each one representing a domain: food, health, water, wind, and the bonds of whānau. Children learned that each star had a role to play, just as each person in the iwi did.

Planting the Future

With Matariki came the promise of new life. The people of Mourea turned the soil, guided by Tupuānuku and Tupuārangi, planting kumara and riwai not just as sustenance, but as prayers buried in the earth. Each seed carried a wish, a whisper to the future.

Young ones were reminded: “As Matariki watches over the heavens, so too must you watch over each other.”

At Te Takinga, Matariki became a lesson in legacy. Tamariki learned to weave, to haka, to karanga. They were told, “Your voice is an echo of the ancestors. Speak, and they will hear.”

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The Eternal Return

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Each year, when the stars return and Matariki rises once more, Te Takinga Marae beats like a heart renewed. The marae stands strong—not just in wood and paint, but in memory, in unity, in the living light of Matariki.

For Ngāti Pikiao, Matariki is not just a season.

It is a time portal. A reminder. A star-map leading home.