Our Mother Called Glory

We walk in such glory. In the streaming sun that makes fire dance on the surface of the sea at sunrise. And in the midst of thunderstorms that tear apart the sky with jagged cuts and roars. We walk in the glory we call mountains, that have only risen because the earth has moved beneath our feet, scarring the landscape with ranges that are overwhelmingly beautiful. Glory goes softly too, gently floating past. A seed fairy that carries the weight of the of world in wishes. Slipping seamlessly past. Carrying a million 'I wish she loves me's and thousands of ‘I wish he was still alive's and so many 'I wish mum could get better's and even more 'I wish there was more love and kindness in this world's . It's only in the last couple of years that I have started to see all the beauties that have been sitting there waiting to be seen. And in noticing, a profound love and appreciation has grown and woven into the fabric of our world. Much like the roots of kahikatea trees that grab onto each other, beneath the surface, out of sight, but hold each other strong in storms. It is with noticing, that appreciation comes, and with appreciation, love, care and kindness for life on land blossoms.

The land is glorious in all of its moods. It holds what we thought had been lost, but isn’t. It provides a home to all that grace it with their presence. It is a big work of art made from infinite tiny paintings, sculptures and maths equations, chemical elements and unseen magic.

I have walked Waikanae Beach in Gisborne as a storm chased the sun from the sky. I walked on a near desolate beach where deep black clouds rolled over the hills, they came and came and the thunder ratted through the valleys. The sun shone eerily at the line between the blue sky and the black cloud. The few people on the beach looked swamped by the sky. Soon to be swallowed by the heavens as they opened. Yet, they walked calmly, unaware? Or unafraid? We could’ve escaped to shelter, or we could’ve run in the rain and danced to the beat of the thunder. Unfazed. I screamed to the sky, let the lightning tear the sky in two, over and over, ripping apart the heavens as rain pelted down. Thunder roared, rattling the bones of the beach. It's wild in every sense. It’s relentless untamed beauty.

I have sat in a paddock by the bush in Taranaki and watched the world come into focus at 6am with my friends. I have listened to the hopeful songs of the dawn chorus. The world seemed to smile, the land lays out glory so humbly that sometimes we have to stop for a second to lap it up. To smile as the world smiles. We hadn't been to sleep yet. We’d been up all night laughing and dancing and living. All six of us were sprawled out, arms round each others shoulders, hand holding her knee, head asleep on tummies, it seemed like a perfect painting. Tummies full of fish and chips and hearts full of laughter. The world is art, just as it is. If it’s looked at from the right angle. How are we meant to appreciate the land and all its beauties, if we haven't had a life in it? How are you meant to love someone you've never met? Meet the grass and the birds and the sand and the mountains. Say hello, kiss them with your feet and soft gaze. Our gentle chatter had faded as the night wore on, we were waiting in the wee hours of the morning for the sun to slip up over the horizon. “Gem, look,” Sally whispered to a dozing Gem. She blinked open her weary eyes, and when they found the line between the bush and the sky, she gasped, and so did all of us. Because the sun came up blazing, a burning fire in the east. That turned the hills golden and the sky all shades of pink. Like wedding rings and candy floss. A new day had broken, and the night was done. The day brought thoughtful faces knowing that last night would never come again. A smile sat softly on my face and I felt all kinds of grateful. Wild hair framed faces filled with utter serenity. This is why I walk this earth. This is why I live. For days like those. The sun would keep glowing inside me long after it set. All the trouble I had that weighed like bricks, suddenly felt lighter. As if the world wasn’t holding me down anymore, it was lifting me up. The grass whispered kind words as it ribboned in the gentle breeze. The stars blinked out of sight. And the land picked me up. I grabbed Gem by the wrist and ran out into the paddock and screamed "I love this!" I screamed to the sky and the trees and to everyone and no one and me. A smile burst off my face into laughter.

The world isn’t always happy or sad either, it can be melancholy just like you and me. I have seen the sun set over the hills in the East Cape. Onepoto Bay is so still on a Monday night at 8:53pm. The clouds lie gently in the sky, if there even are any, like eyelids drifting off to sleep. Time sort of hangs in a lulled suspension. The sun barely whispers to the sea as it slips below the horizon. Bidding a soft good bye until tomorrow. It all feels quite unassuming. But the land is loving us, so we must do the same in return.

The land is glorious in the way it holds what we thought was lost. But isn't. I have had friends and family pass. As has everyone. And though it feels like they have gone forever and they can't give hugs or whisper funny things in your ear, I've realised maybe they still do. In Taranaki I feel it especially. Loved ones have left these shores, and have travelled great lengths. I have realised that they have also travelled nowhere at all. Because if you go and sit under the tree in Pukekura Park, by the band rotunda. You can shelter from the sun and admire the leaves that are sheltering you. Because they come from the people that have been returned to the earth. And you can swim in the rivers and the sea and be wrapped in a hug. Because those waters have touched the sky we’ve all flown in. You can play on the sand that is stained black from the mountain that has always anchored us and watched over us. And when it all seems dark at night, and the world is black and white, turn your face to the sky. They’ll be smiling their starry light, to guide you home. The ranges we can trace with our finger are still standing stoically. I have had a lot of time to think. And the lost ones have led me to this. I didn’t get it before, I thought life was so unfair. But really, I learnt from them, years later. Even when they weren’t there to teach me in person. They never really left. They were born into the leaves that gave me shelter. And braided into the rivers that weave to the sea and hug me. And shone their light at night, when all seemed dark and asleep. When they returned home to the earth and the sky, they never really left. That’s why the leaves are so complex and the flowers so beautiful. And the mountain so strong and the sky so deep. And the ocean so familiar and comforting. Because they hold what seems lost, but isn’t. It’s nice to think that they’re never really are that far away. I believe that to be true.

The world is woven of all beings, gone, living, and to come. So look after the land as if it was your mother, because in a way, it is.

The land we live on feels like home. But in a deeper sense of the word. Because home seems such a simple word for a feeling of belonging so deep it transcends what words can’t even begin to express. I was lucky enough to grow up in Taranaki, where unsullied beauty is abundant. And for that I am forever grateful. So grateful I could pop. And that is where my love for all life on land stems. And that is what I encourage you to do. Notice all the beauties big and small. And through noticing, a fire will grow inside you. A burning passion to take care of the world, because it holds so much. It holds glory in its most pure form. A sense of belonging and home.