A Poem: Work-Life Balance

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.