Visions of a new kind
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About this ebook
Visions of a new kind came to me in my dreams and meditations that only became clear as my life progressed and as world events developed into the new millennium. Within the effortlessness of poetry I found many answers and the manner in which they presented themselves captured the spirit of my questions until each poem became a perfect gift that
Jayne Miller (Jaynee)
I was born in South Island Christchurch NZ and began writing poetry when I felt misunderstood. My first poem was published in the local paper at age four. In my early twenties I left NZ after losing my first child. Determined to be a singer songwriter in Sydney Australia 1986 I became a full member of APRA (Australian Performing Rights Association). In 1987 I returned to NZ and published the first edition of "Visions of a new Kind". The same year I won recording time with NZ Broadcasting House for five of my original songs. 1992 I created and produced "Land Of The Warthogs" in VHS format. It was a spoken word, silent film, stage performance, journey into the underworld. In 2005 it was accepted and exhibited at Melbourne Fringe Festival as a VHS short film and performance (see chapter illustrations). When 9/11 events created world "terrorism" I turned to documentary film making with Art Resistance and later produced my own short docos. *Jaynee Facebook gallery page*. The poem "before meeting you" was requested by Dr. Christine Cole for her book Releasing the Past: Mothers stories of their stolen babies. I took refuge at that time in spiritualist meditation circles and wrote poetry in trance state. Later in my life I returned to performing my original poetry as spoken word in Alice Springs N.T. The indigenous people of Australia say "Alice is the place where the song lines meet". I found my place and finally claimed myself as an artist and a performer in this desert heart. *https://www.facebook.com/jaynee-961216110660317
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Visions of a new kind - Jayne Miller (Jaynee)
…. before meeting you ….
Why is it that I feel
we have not yet really met
eye to eye
mouth to mouth.
Is it because you have yet
so much to learn about yourself
and so much traveling to do?
Or is it that you have to
return to the fork in your road
before you started
taking the easy way out,
over the cliff, to avoid the abyss.
Sometimes I feel we are having
our first ever conversations,
and it is our first day
of discovering each other,
when you tell me the history
of your life, and of life itself,
as your soul sees it.
Why has it taken
so long to find your voice?
Where did you lose it?
We have been on a long journey
to find your own unique feeling tone,
as the vehicle of your heart
and the spokesperson of your soul.
We found its sound
in the waters of the stream,
life’s most perfect melody,
which contains all sounds
as it silently murmurs over
the rocks sand tells
the most ancient secrets
in its passing.
You remembered
how you loved the sea
washing through you,
as though you were
a part of its fluidity,
and you felt complete.
So great has been your pain,
so deep has been your longing,
so long has been your loneliness
since then,
even from yourself.
And now as the tears
wash the grimace
from the mask
that covers your lovely face,
I see the radiance
come back into your smile.
I watch you carefully
from my inner window.
I know you are
as fragile as a leaf
upon the wind.
Still curled upon yourself,
the embryonic beginnings of your
self awareness
unfolding bit by bit,
painfully,
and with miraculous effort.
As though you are trying
to lift a mountain,
so great are the burdens
you have placed upon yourself.
And yet all the time,
beside you
also watching you
rediscover yourself,
smiling at the irony
of your confusion,
is your clown.
Like the genie
or the magician
that you wish you were,
he offers you
the magic that you need,
to transform yourself
and emerge from your cocoon.
Maybe when you too
have become a butterfly,
or a moth,
or even as powerful as
a winged spirit of the universe,
you will then find me too
and realize
I was hovering,
waiting for you to emerge
for a long time.
Only then will we
be able to look into the mirror
of each others eyes
and say ‘I understand’.
Only then will our
thoughts and feelings
become as one,
complete and timeless,
and we will not need to
speak our minds in words alone.
Only then will our
mouths belong
and we remember where
we met before,
and have no fear of
what may follow
on from there,
and of waiting for too long.
So for now
I’ll write your story
and sing your song.
I’ll cradle you in my heart
so that nothing can go wrong.
I’ll be the nightwatchman
at your temple gate.
I’ll tell you who comes back and forth
lest you hear it far too late.
And I wont give up my duty
though I’m weary to the bone.
I wont desert you
while you’re waiting
for your spirit to come home.
Poem and Image "Releasing the past: Mothers stories
of their stolen babies: Page 67
Editor