Truth framed in a master's window (poem)

A master throws one a glance,
Or looks at him intently,
His vision framing you as its image,
He takes for a window what is a mirror.
Comparing seen to said,
The question to be asked,
is the one that cannot be:
What am I doing here?
The master is outside and does not act.

Or inside and cannot touch.
Vision is separation;
the seer wills the seen object,
as yea or nay,
that which saves him or damns itself;
to be touched, and changed,
or to grasp and use.

Thus, aggravated, he demands,
a question prompting not departure but force,
Why are you so bad that I must hate you?  

It is most curious when nothing is.
This fragile wager is my hope,
It doesn’t help,
but we are beyond that anyway;
this fragile wisdom is my refuge and joy.
To tolerate persons, who, God knows, will be as they are,
and love what is there when it might be
Not what it is.
Shun the answers, love the questions,
Mastery’s sole truth is its abandonment,
to unfold is to dismantle.
Why are hateful things so interesting I must explore them?