Gazing at the Light

The lamps are different, But the Light is the same. So many garish lamps in the dying brain’s lamp-show, Forget about them. Concentrate on the essence, concentrate on the Light. In lucid bliss, calmly smoking off its own holy fire, The Light streams towards you from all things, All people, all possible permutations of good,

Horseman of the Soul

Time’s tailor has never made a robe for anyone Without then slashing it to pieces. See how the million fools of this world Pay Satan heaps of gold for pain! Don’t stretch out your legs on this earth-carpet, It is a borrowed bed; fear that day His messengers come to roll it up forever. How