You examine the second candle for an eighth time. You contemplate that all things are like wax: candles, sheep, and people; and that, like Descartes once suggested, even these are only perceived by one's higher intellect, not through the senses. You realize that your perception of things as separate from each other is only based on your concepts of separation: that this candle, in molten form, in the middle of a pot of wax, would be no different from the wax itself; imperceptible to yourself and others, and perhaps even to itself, if it is capable of such perception. Of course, there are other candles in the room as well, and unless they're cursed or something, they would all be the same in a similar pot.