Black geometric chakra symbols in a vertical column down the centre of a person's back, with a white fur coat over the shoulders.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Chakra symbols stacked along the spine

Geometric · Back · Black and grey · Photo

A person is photographed from behind with their hands raised to their head, showing a vertical column of seven black chakra symbols running down the spine. Each symbol is a bold, solid outline with inner detail, with some areas shaded in fine stippling. The ink is black on skin tones, and the white fur coat and blurred green foliage behind frame the composition.

Geometric Back Spine Om symbol Mandala Symbol Column

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

In the year the salt wells failed at Harrowmere, old Ysolde Marr climbed the water tower with a tin of lamp oil and a grievance. The tower had seven niches cut into its spine, one above another, and in each sat a brass dish that nobody had lit since her mother's time. The children called them the tally. The grandmothers said they were there to keep the river from lying.

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Ysolde lit the lowest dish first, the one with the round sunburst scratched into its rim, and the cistern below stopped its sour churning. She lit the second, the crescent-shaped one, and the pipes stopped knocking in the walls. By the fourth she was breathing hard, and the dishes went on and on, each with its own mark pressed into the brass: a lotus, a flame, a little bell. The sixth she had to fill twice. The seventh, at the crown, was a plain ring with a dot in its centre, and she sat down beside it with her knees against the cold metal and waited for her breath to come back.

Below, the quarry men were shouting. A boy came up the stairs with a lantern and said the wells had come back sweet and the goats were drinking again. Ysolde asked him what the seventh dish had been for, before anyone remembered. He shrugged and said his grandfather had called it the eye that looks back. She took his lantern, tipped it carefully, and lit the seventh dish from it.

By morning the valley could see seven small lights in a column against the ash-grey sky, and the dark water in the wells had lifted and tasted of rain. Nobody asked again what the dishes were for. They simply counted them at dusk, the way you count children coming in from the fields, and Ysolde kept the oil tin on the top step where she could reach it.