I think Moth has come into my life to remind me not to take myself too seriously. I can be a 50-year-old woman, which indeed I am, with whatever personal history that grew me, whatever serious responsibilities in my career (and however many flaws and insecurities and imperfections), and still play a fairy named Moth. I don’t need to be beautiful or accomplished or dominant in any way–just committed to doing the small but important job I have been given. Moth came into my life to remind me to find joy and to propagate it. She came to me, as in a dream, and said, “Time to let go of the last vestiges of ego”. 

Soul slides into hair that mimics roots:

strands find their way to nourishment.

Soul shakes itself from split ends,

is absorbed with the body by earth: skin

the color of loam, mottled and porous--

thin layer of protection.

We can do better than the System we’ve inherited by our colonising (and colonised) ancestors. It’s time we recognised how damaging it is for all of us, not just those suffering from a lack but also those who appear to benefit from the inequities. When all our people are not given the opportunity to excel, we all suffer. I’m not advocating more programmes for disadvantaged youth and their whānau. I’m saying the System itself needs revising, and what better place to start than with schools that are committed to delivering equitable, free, inclusive education for all?

I gush, I know. But I really am grateful. Not only for all of these blessings but also for the wherewithal to turn the rest off for a bit. It’s out there, floating on the airwaves and the Internet. The truth of the world right now. The suffering. But I am allowed to retreat from it sometimes and just be. It is a privilege, I know, but I can give myself over to it. Not forever but for now. For my mental health. And for my loved ones. There is a way to cultivate joy even in these times. It has to do with nature and with family. It has to do with giving oneself permission, letting go of guilt, which actually serves no purpose at all. It has to do with light.

What I’ve found is that one of the most important things to guard in this life is joy. It will not remove the grief. Of course it won’t. But there is always someone grieving while another is celebrating. There is always someone thanking god for a small miracle, while another is lamenting a loss. Thank goodness. That is what life is like.

Colonisation is a fact. And it doesn’t only refer to the moment of contact between a colonising entity and the indigenous population. There is no “sweet spot” in that process, because it is an ongoing phenomenon. The “colonisation narrative” refers to a much larger sort of matrix that undeniably permeates the entire structure of society and is derived from a history of colonising acts...ones that typically attempt to mute, if not eradicate, the indigenous population because it seems to threaten the expansion of the colonising population’s objectives.

In the same way that I know the newborn is inside of the toddler, the toddler inside of the child, the child inside of the teenager, and so on, I know that I am still Maiden and Mother. Of course. Of course. I will always be a Mother especially. Maybe first and foremost. It’s just such an important thing. But as I embrace becoming a Crone, I will look to the loveliness of this new way of being in the world too.

In short, two cancelled flights later and after a delay that put us in a hotel for four days in a different departure city anyway—we boarded a plane for New Zealand. It was surreal and absurd to watch the explosions of colour along the darkening skyline of Los Angeles as our airplane lifted off. The irony was not lost on us as the Fourth of July fireworks that had been prohibited because of the pandemic went on long after they were no longer visible from our chiclet-shaped windows. Finally we dropped our masked heads back onto the headrests of our seats and closed our eyes. The three of us were on our way across the sea to our baby bird.