Eris in the Lotus Position

Cross-legged on chaos,
golden apple balanced
on her third eye —
goddess of sacred disorder
learns to breathe.

Each inhale swallows universes,
each exhale births
new dimensions of doubt.
Her meditation cushion:
a pile of paradigms,
freshly shattered.

Five-fold wisdom
splits into twenty-three fragments,
kaleidoscope truths
spinning through samsara.

The lotus opens:
first petal: a koan
second petal: a pratfall
third petal: quantum uncertainty
fourth petal: a whoopee cushion
fifth petal: enlightenment
(or maybe just another trick)

She grins through eons,
teaching emptiness
through fullness,
wisdom through folly,
order through discord.

In her left hand: nothing
In her right hand: also nothing
(but a different kind of nothing)
Between her hands:
everything that ever was
or wasn’t.

The cosmic joke unfolds
like a paper crane
made of smoke —
the punchline dissolves
before it’s spoken.

All seekers welcome
in her temple of holy confusion,
where the only heresy
is certainty.

Namaste, or whatever.
Hot dogs for all.