This is a recent poem, only published here. It came to me while I was thinking about the way chakras are typically represented on drawings or photos of people meditating. And then I was contemplating Dr. Strange's third eye, which was creepy, yet cool.
There are ways to be
in the beautiful blackness of space time
and this is but one: egg-shaped and smiling,
your colored cylinders on a yoga poster.
Chakras are real but we cartoon them.
The symbol is not the thing.
Don't write about The Moon.
Don't sketch the pose and spinning wheels
or count the stars. Just be in them.
Stop reading this.
Scrub the whiteboard clean, put away
your markers and sit together silent,
then let those rainbow auras spread
with your many pairs of arms,
with your third eye, ever open in your sleep.