Here is a whakaaro that has been sitting on my heart lately, especially as we look at the challenges facing our beautiful Northland. This wisdom came from my pōtiki who was 11 at the time. It’s a simple rule of thumb for life, a hierarchy of needs that we often get twisted: 1. Be safe. 2. Have fun. 3. Do what you’re here to do. In that precise order. The wero (challenge) we face in our modern world, particularly under the pressure of what we might call the "Babylonian" operating system, is that we frequently swap numbers two and three. We put the "grind" before the joy, and in doing so, we damage the very spirit—the wairua—that fuels our purpose.

The first step is non-negotiable: Be safe. In our research, we talk about the "Economic Pā". Historically, the Pā was a place of defence and storage, ensuring the survival of the hapū. You cannot thrive if you are constantly in a state of survival mode or high entropy (disorder). We need "Ontological Security"—a safety of mind, body, and spirit. Whether it is financial security through institutions like Te Au Rawa Mutual or simply the safety of a warm, dry home, this foundation allows us to lower our guard and breathe. Without safety, the "wave function" of our potential cannot collapse into a reality of abundance.

In the quiet of a Taitokerau morning, before the world wakes up to the noise of the "Babylonian" grind, there is a moment of pure clarity. You can feel the breath of the land—the Mauri—moving through the trees and the mist. In our traditional way of seeing, health isn’t just about the absence of sickness; it is about the state of this breath. Hauora is the "breath of life" shared between us, our tūpuna, and the whenua. When that breath is restricted, we feel it in our bodies, our minds, and our whānau.

For too long, we’ve been told that health is a private matter or a line item in a government budget. This is the "Newtonian Error" at work—treating people like separate parts in a machine. If a part breaks, we try to fix it in isolation, often ignoring the toxic soil it’s planted in. In the Babylonian system, we see health as something to be managed by "experts" in far-off buildings, usually after the damage is already done. This extractive model creates social entropy—a state of disorder where we are lonely, stressed, and disconnected from the very things that give us life.