View of Lilacs, 5th May 2020.
The lilac tree out front waves when cars pass
and shakes when the wind blows, animated.
Not a painting, though visionary; less like reality than
Video tape, colour, no sound, played
in a glass window, six panes that change when the gold light breaks
on the hollow roofs of houses, filling space like April –
May. Maybe the white of it stands
for something, splitting glass, fragmenting
space, cutting squares in life so things grow and change
in units, slowly, becoming each its own entity, unjoining
branch from leaf, so though things move they never
create through fusion. When the sun sets there’s
nothing. Or, maybe a room reflected twice, three times, going on forever,
caved by self-sufficiency so as to you unaware
with its completeness. So,
there is no lilac tree, no street, only a drainage pipe running to dryness
after rain, like when a headlight makes you blink back reality
in a vision of purple life in its entirety, waving unaware.
Inner stillness in a changing world
I sit still beside the ever-changing sea and watch the restless tide,
Ever moving, ever busy, going in, going out; going in going out.
I hear the whoosh as waves crash on the foreshore,
With froth cascading in all directions.
I look at the damp sand showing the presence of the changing tide.
Washed by the Holy Spirit, I wonder if God will leave a visible sign on me
that others can see.
Effortlessly a winter storm has carried a fully grown tree high up onto the beach.
Centuries old sand dunes have eroded into the sea by the pounding of the waves in
a single night.
Lord help me to stand firm amongst the constant pounding in my life. Mould and
change me as dramatically as you did the sea shore. Make me as smooth as the
pebbles, churned by the sea, sweetening the rough edges and as unique as the
driftwood washed up. Change is chaotic, but births something new.
He who has the power to move oceans, gently washes my feet and holds me close.
Lord, what are Your plans for the World to-day?
Jesus, what are Your plans for me for the next 12 hours….?
till the water rushes back, filling this place and covering traces of my existence
with the dance of the tide.
Lillian Johnstone 11/5/2020