bitterness and nostalgia

Things move so quickly, painfully so, while I'm busy living. I often regret not simply being, if only to make memory this incessantly frantic time.

I look back upon myself, I remember what I was and when, and without fail I am shocked, bewildered, that the laughing voice of just one year ago could have survived even its own naivety. Remembering how I once viewed the bohemian ideals of truth, beauty, freedom, and love with such amber shades, like precious stones shining, beaming on the horizon, distant and difficult to attain. Recalling how mere pleasures of the present, physical and fleeting as they were, once seemed so much more desirable than Truth in their palatable closeness.

Much has happened in the past year, all of it (I feel) necessary, for that young and raving fool would have been simple fodder for the enemies of Truth, unable to speak boldly of the ideals that have become the keystone, the very foundation his life has come to build itself upon.

I know what must be done, and in the little wisdom I have gained in the past year, I know that I am nowhere near ready. This emboldens me, gives me comfort, for if I did feel confident in my ability to bring Truth to a people consumed by ignorance and greed, I would have learned nothing at all.