I wrote this poem about 20 years ago. It wasn't aimed at Buddhism per se (wasn't a Buddhist then), but it touches at watching and inconstancy and the earnest desire for wisdom of another way. Nowadays, it fits really well in some ways and so so in other ways.
You cannot ignore what goes on inside you.
You have to make things
beautiful.
You cannot sit idly by while your heart dances in agony and delight.
Let me never forget the beauty of inconsistency and limbo within which I exist, that does not demand my awe or pity, but demands my attention.
(I was in a rental room in San Jose, interning at IBM, miserable.)
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