The lamps are different. But the Light is the same. So many garish lamps in the dying brain's lamp shop, Forget about them. Concentrate on essence, concentrate on Light. In lucid bliss, calmly smoking off its own hold fire, The Light streams toward you from all things, All people, all possible permutations of good, evil, thought, passion. The lamps are different, But the Light is the same. One matter, one energy, one Light, one Light-mind, Endlessly emanating all things. One turning and burning diamond, One, one, one. Ground yourself, strip yourself down, To blind loving silence. Stay there, until you see You are gazing at the Light With its own ageless eyes.