Tēnā koutou, e kaikoha mā,
Ngā mihi o te tau hōu ki a koutou, ngā mihi i tōu koutou mahi whakatō o ngā kākona aroha. We hope you are well and have had the time, to pause, reflect, and let go of heaviness. We have looked to the past and now our attention quietly shifts direction. Other Whetū come with other gifts.
Our gaze begins to lift once again, we find ourselves pondering what the time ahead holds. Ruminations on what could happen in the future easily occupy our minds.
Will our tamariki be healthy, happy and able to fulfil their moemoeā dreams?
Will what we labour on now ever bear fruit?
Will those we love find peace?
Will the hopes we quietly carry for ourselves ever eventuate?
Amoung the nine Whetū, is the pōtiki, the youngest. Ko Hiwa-i-te-Rangi tōna ingoa. It was to her that our tūpuna entrusted their hopes, aspirations and dreams for the year ahead. It was to Hiwa that these wishes were offered, carried upwards with the hope that, through care, patience, effort and the right decisions, they might one day be realised. It is she who carries our hopes.
Hiwa-i-te-rangi does not guarantee certainty. Rather, she reminds us that imagining a better future is itself an act of courage. Every generation has lived through seasons of uncertainty. Times when the future felt difficult to predict. Where there was volatility, changes in their world and fragile foundations. Yet despite this, our Tūpuna continued to plant. They continued to prepare.
They continued to nurture many things in many forms, knowing that not everything worth growing could be seen immediately. Knowing that they themselves may not see the benefits of this mahi.
"A man has made at least a start on discovering the meaning of human life when he plants shade trees under which he knows full well he will never sit."
-Trueblood, D. Elton. The Life We Prize. New York: Harper & Brothers, 1951.
Perhaps this cultivation is one of the greatest gifts we can offer those we love. Not only the gifts we place in their hands today, but the intentions we hold for tomorrow.
A hope that our tamariki inherit a thriving whenua. A commitment to spend more time with our parents while we still can. A promise to be more generous, more patient, more present.
Like seeds resting beneath winter soil, these gifts begin long before they become visible.
At Mākoha, we often return to the whakaaro that the gift begins long before it is wrapped. It begins in attention, in thought, in the quiet hope that someone else might feel seen, celebrated and loved.
As we carry the spirit of Matariki forward, perhaps Hiwa-i-te-rangi invites each of us to ask a simple question.
What gifts are we sending into the future?
Kia manawaroa.
Nā tātou o Mākoha,