If only for myself I write these thoughts, Iβll write yet more, to satisfy my own yearn for expression, my own desire to be heard, to matter, to be greater than the some of my parts. I know that my mirror reflects a man greater than itβs shown, a man with potential untapped and projections uncapped. I see a man of honour, I see a man of trust and wisdom. A man whoβs allowed experience to guide him but knowledge to shape him. I see him stand, I see him speak, compassionate and firm, a glaring light.
Yet still most days I wonder. Most days Iβm aware of who I am, who I was and who I would like to be – and I wonder, had my previous self been a little more free, free to think free to read, free to learn, free to be; and he had stood before that mirror would he see what I now see? And if that be true, then had time been wasted? Maybe. Or maybe itβs the experience that allows context to be applied to new knowledge. Maybe itβs the pain, maybe itβs the memories, maybe itβs the thoughts that only I can access, in the darkest corners of pneuma that even allow such a reflection to be possible.
These moments lead me to think that my vision isnβt in-spite of experience, but tethered to memory of all ilk. What I mean is that hope is a result of understanding ones experience and supplementing that with knowledge. Iβm saying that growth in and of itself is doomed vanity hunt. For I could educate myself one thousand times over, make all the right decisions on paper and still not be a better Asya.
Hope is my wonder and Iβll be forever busy…