Traditionally, Matariki has always been a time to acknowledge and farewell those we've lost throughout the year.
This is my second year celebrating Matariki, but my first year taking part in this aspect of it.
Last year I marked the occasion in ordinary (and frankly half-arsed) Pākehā ways.
I made a resolution to read two books a month by BBIPOC (black, brown, indigenous people of colour) authors only. I did some gratitude journalling, forward planning, made an Instagram post and carried on my merry way.
This year is different.
This year I'm more ingrained in te ao Māori than ever before and Matariki simply means more to me now than it did a year ago. I understand more about the maramataka, the practices of our tūpuna and the truths embedded in our narratives.
The one about Taramainuku holds special significance this year.
This year my whānau will say goodbye to my koro, who passed last July, just after the start of the new year.
Ko Jack Yates tōna ingoa. Ko Christina Piko rāua ko Richard Yates ōna mātua. Ko Te Rarawa, ko Tainui ōna iwi.
I think about Taramainuku scooping his soul up in his net and carrying him around for a year. I wonder what that would've been like. Is it a deep sleep? Is it a scenic journey? Or is it like a cruise ship where Taramainuku takes the souls around to see people and do things they need to see and do before they become stars? I like to imagine it's the latter. Koro bloody loved a good tiki tour. He loved a good kōrero even more.
Maybe he just sat with Taramainuku and everyone else in the net and talked their ears off for near 12 months.
Sounds about right. I also like to think about his journey north to Te Rerenga Wairua, where spirits depart for Hawaiki. Will he stop by to see his parents at Taupiri? Travel first to see his tamāriki and mokopuna? Will he revisit his papakāinga for the first time in years while he's in Te Tai Tokerau?
Thinking about him in this way has made coping with his loss a little easier. I don't think of him as gone, I think of him as free; as coming and going rather than just having disappeared entirely, because that's how it feels to me.
Once, my koro had a near-death experience and when he came back to us, he spoke with this strange kind of peace and happiness about how he'd seen his māmā during his brief brush with te ao wairua.
When he passed last year, I felt the absence of his wairua immediately. Of course, it was devastating. But after some time I started to think about how much sense it made; of course he took off. He had places to go and people - like his māmā - to see, that's how he always was.
I'm still fumbling my way through my Matariki and maramataka learnings, but as far as I understand it, Matariki is a time for remembrance, celebration and the releasing of pōuri and mamae - not just in the sense of grief, but in terms of the year that's passed.
As with Pākehā celebrations of the new year, it's a time to reflect, to look back at the things that didn't go to plan, or that challenged you (or completely floored you), and let go of them so that you can begin to move forward into the new year.
As the whakataukī goes, ka mate kāinga tahi, ka ora kāinga rua. Essentially, when one door closes, another opens. That doesn't mean burying things under the rug. It's just freeing yourself from it and figuring out how to find your peace as you move on to new dreams, goals and aspirations. Last year's resolution to read more seems arbitrary and superficial but really, it was a promise to immerse myself in indigenous stories, voices and viewpoints, and to get into a state of mind to think about writing my own book. It was also about disconnecting from tech and slowing down and taking time for myself; things I'd learned over the year prior that I desperately needed.
Matariki is also about family - blood or chosen - and gratitude. Traditionally, the tūpuna would express gratitude for the harvest with a feast, which I guess these days still translates to just being grateful for what you have and sharing that with the people you love.
This Matariki, we will mark the occasion by getting together and remembering Koro over his favourite meal - boil-up. It's not the traditional feast, taken from various parts of te taiao and cooked in fire and earth, but it'll be close enough for us.
As we approach the anniversary of his passing, it's an immensely sad time. But thinking about it in the context of te ao Māori and Matariki helps a lot. In a strange and sad way, Matariki has given me something to look forward to; an opportunity to share a meal with Koro in spirit before he takes off on whatever journey comes next.
There's another well-known whakataukī attached to Matariki: Haere atu rā e Koro ki te paepae o Matariki, o Rehua. Haere, haere, haere atu rā.
Farewell old man, go to the threshold of Matariki, of Rehua. Farewell.
