When I laugh I have no chakras.
The sun is my heart.
When I cry the moon comes down
to caress my forehead,
but finds no lotus to kiss open.
Breathing the Beloved's scent
clears my natal chart
of every planet and sign.
The astrologer is bewildered.
All he sees in me
is an empty page full of light.
Don't give me any more
of your esoteric books.
Grace has made me too stupid
to understand.
A poem from The Nectar Of This Breath
https://yourradiance.blogspot.com/
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