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The tattoo journey was delayed a bit, since Rangi was sick with an ear infection and Covid when I arrived in Aotearoa. Then he had an important commission to finish for the new community hall of peace and reconciliation at St. Mary’s Anglican Church, the oldest church in New Plymouth (1846). There are still scars here from the Taranaki land wars of the 1860s when two million acres of land were confiscated from the Maori people. There was a dedication ceremony today at dawn for the toki sculpture Rangi created for the formerly un-located and un-marked graves of four Maori warriors, buried outside of hallowed ground at the church in 1860.

Phil’s grandmother died, too, and he spent a week with his whanau in south Tarankai. Phil is the younger Maori man—whom Rangi is mentoring—who will do the principal inking of my moko.

Rangi is having surgery on both of his hands next month, but remains committed to my moko journey. I am so deeply grateful.

I am meeting with Phil and Rangi in the ‘moko pod’ on his hapu’s property along the Waiwhakaiho River tonight at 5:30. Phil is picking me up. I’ve texted Mark, the videographer, with whom I have been shooting over the past few days, but I have not heard back yet. It is not critical that he be there tonight.

We’ll discuss the moko a bit, but I will also tell Phil my story, tell him what this puhoro means to me, the journey I’m on. Also make sure he’s comfortable with the video we’d like to make.

The actual work on my body begins tomorrow morning, sketching the design on me and the beginning of the inking.

We will work Friday and Saturday (in New Zealand). Take Sunday and Monday off. Continue Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, Friday until it is finished. Mark will be there to record all of it.

So, as I expected, the moko is unfolding in its own time.

All I have to do is show up with my (mostly) naked body, and an open heart.

Except for my current lack of sleep from the dawn dedication, I am quite calm, centered, focused. Ready for whatever the moko journey brings.

I have had many spontaneous and powerful conversations with Maori men and women over the past two weeks—about my journey, about what the puhoro means to me. There have been many tears.

So my journey is as important to others here, as it is to me. It touches them. I have a local support system.

One young Maori man—perhaps 15 or 16—asked what tattoo I’d be getting. When I replied, “Puhoro,” he winced, smiled, said, “Wow.”

That about sums it up.