The Waves
By Marise Phillips
This trip for me has been a moving meditation. Sitting still and observing, and being continuously grateful for the opportunities that led me to be in Bali for two weeks in October.
Writing this and being given the space to write this and other pieces from provocations has been a rewarding experience. Life back home in Melbourne can feel so busy at times, clogged with many responsibilities in a constant battle for my attention. Having the space to be still, to write, to be surrounded by nature and stories, alone, yet not alone, is such a privilege.
Just to sit and observe the waves, a space that led me to write this piece, is a state of being I hope to carry with me everywhere I go. It is about the illusion of freedom.
I can’t stop watching the waves,
the ruler-perfect line of the horizon,
the crashing, churning water.
It has rhythm. It has no rhythm.
Madness in a glass teacup,
the work of a master glazier
with a thirst for symmetry.
‘I will have order!’ the master-glazier demands.
But the waves do not listen,
messy, noisy children,
in a glass teacup prison.
