It’s astonishing how the image
Of a few balanced stones
Has come to be our icon
Of tranquillity, serenity, calm.
It sells us expensive spa days,
Sweet-smelling oils,
Pedicures, purifying rituals, peace.
You try balancing four stones. Go on.
You’ll get there, eventually.
And as your hand flutters
Over leaving the final adjustment just so –
Someone will glance by, admiringly, and say
‘I don’t know how you do it!’
And your hand arrests them from coming nearer,
As you watch the entire edifice tremble
At their footsteps,
At your breath.
The Zen of this moment
Isn’t the calm serenity of the advertisements -
A holding of all things in cosmic balance,
A resting place of quiet calm.
No; it’s in your hovering awareness
Of the inherent instability of the system –
It’s entropy -
It's in accepting the uncertainty of not knowing when
The certainty of the fall will come.
