By Marty Gibson
Did you celebrate the Winter solstice last month?
Celebration of these milestones in the natural world has been a human tradition for tens of thousands of years, but now most people are oblivious even to the phases of the moon.
In New Zealand, the winter solstice celebration is Matariki, which is now a public holiday thanks to the Ardern government’s largess on behalf of employers and taxpayers.
Forget the inevitable divisive racial lens, it’s great to celebrate Matariki. It is a time when Maori would cheer themselves up in the middle of winter by gathering together to feast, remembering those who had departed and planning for the year ahead.
It’s the Southern Hemisphere equivalent of Christmas/New Year, a natural start from the darkest time of the year where we begin to move back toward the light. It’s a time for resolution, a celebration of our connection with the natural world and a reminder of our own mortality.
Perhaps because of their proximity to the horizon, the Pleiades constellation, Matariki, has a place in the folklore of most peoples as a symbol of the ascendance of people into the cosmic realm. Celtic, Muslim, Jewish, Native American, Scandinavian, Asian, Indian, Greek, Polynesian, and more. In Japanese, the cluster is called “Subaru”, and is used as the familiar brand on Subaru cars.
Most commonly represented as seven sisters, the cluster is also sometimes — most commonly in American Indian traditions — viewed as seven orphan brothers, and in Scandinavian and Baltic traditions is represented as Freya’s hen and her chicks.
Marking the appearance and disappearance of the Pleiades cluster is not only a Maori tradition, it is a human tradition. There is, of course, occult symbolism related to the cluster, and it is foolish to take any official recognition of such things at face value.
If you know where to look, the ruling “elites” weave occult symbols into all things they impose on humanity. They are particularly fond of numbers, 33 and especially the number 666, which appears in many corporate brands, including the World Economic Forum’s. The familiar catch-phrase for their “great reset”, endlessly parroted by their middle management is: “build back better”; bbb, 666, get it? They seem to need to rub it in our faces.
This Luciferian “progressivism” represents a separation from nature and objective truth, because they apparently hate wholeness, and holiness. They hate God and instead worship their own cunning, greed and perversions. Human observance of a cosmic event is presented as a Maori thing.
Men and women, children and parents, Maori and non-Maori are set against each other, rather than working in harmony to be more than the sum of our parts.
Rather than integrating our shadow, we are either told the shadow is other people, or we are ourselves the shadow. Rather than a healthy integration of the feminine aspects of men and the masculine of women, we are set to worship fractions of ourselves, even cutting off breasts and balls in the ultimate sacrifice to this strange, ascendant and evil religion.
Those with Maori ancestry are encouraged by government incentives to identify solely as Maori, or else be — in the words of NZ’s Al Sharpton, Willy Jackson — “a useless Maori”. The neo-feudalist state does not want us to see ourselves as unique members of communities within communities — families, neighbourhoods, towns, cities, regions, nations — but rather to sort ourselves by characteristics that allow us to be either the scapegoats for all that is wrong, or else victims set against those scapegoats, divided and ruled over by unelected “experts”.
Evil is never creative, only a perversion of the creative.
Don’t let the way Matariki is set before you discourage you from reflecting on those who left us since this time last year, or seeking to understand Maori culture. It provides needed balance to Western culture.
Get together with family and friends to feast, remember those who have left us, and make plans for the coming year. Think about your life, improve yourself.
Our journey from darkness to light is just beginning.
Marty Gibson has been an engineering polymers technical salesman, a quarry engineer, a used car salesman, and a cleaning contractor. Conceived in Janet Frame’s bed and descended from the first white woman born in Poverty Bay, he has worked in shearing gangs, pruned pine trees and driven trucks in road gangs patching potholes. He has been a bouncer, barman, beekeeper, builder, and painter. He drove prostitutes around Wellington, spent five years as a journalist for The Gisborne Herald, and worked as a media and marketing contractor for iwi, medical organisations and polytechs. He has a bachelor’s degree in science, and post-graduate qualifications in marketing.
He now lives happily in New Zealand’s Florida, Papamoa. He makes olive oil, has a carpet cleaning business, and is a keen gardener, husband and father of three young children.