There is a specific kōrero from T.W. Ratana that has been weighing heavy on my heart lately. It’s a prophecy that sounds simple on the surface, but when you look closer, it’s a forensic warning about the survival of our iwi. Ratana warned his people against bartering away their future for things that don’t last. He spoke of a time when the land—our very life force—would be traded for "flour, sugar, potatoes," or in other versions, "flour, sugar, tea, and tobacco".

This wasn't just about what was in the pantry; it was about the "Leaky Bucket" economy we’ve been trapped in for too long. Ratana saw a future where we would give up our means of production (the land) for cheap, consumable goods that leave us empty in the end. It’s a warning about trading our long-term sovereignty for short-term "benefits" that ultimately keep us dependent.

In the misty, rugged heart of the Urewera, there is a story of hope and heartache that every one of us should hold close. It’s the story of Rua Kēnana Hepetipa and the community he built at Maungapōhatu. Following the guidance of the Spirit and the prophecies of Te Kooti, Rua led his people—the Iharaira—away from the distractions of the world to build a "City of God" right on the slopes of the sacred mountain.

For Rua, this wasn’t just about religion; it was about protecting the mana of his people⁴. He saw how the system was designed to keep Māori as "static subjects"—labourers on their own land—and he decided to flip the script. He envisioned a place where faith and work were one, where the community looked after its own, and where the future was decided by the people, not a distant bureaucracy.

Standing at the edge of the world at Te Rerenga Wairua (Cape Reinga), you can feel it in the air—a tension between the physical and the spiritual that defies the logic of a spreadsheet. This isn't just a scenic lookout for the tourist brochures; it is the most sacred portal in Taitokerau. It is the place where the spirits of our deceased make their final leap into the afterlife, returning to the ancestral homeland of Hawaiki. For generations, we have understood this as a transition, a movement from one state of being to another.

For too long, the "Babylonian" system has tried to convince us that this world is just a collection of separate, dead objects. It views a place like Te Rerenga Wairua as mere "real estate" or "scenery." This is the Newtonian error—the belief that the universe is a clockwork mechanism where things only interact if they bump into each other. In that cold, mechanical worldview, death is an absolute end, and the spiritual is just a "nice story" we tell ourselves to feel better.