One Path

by TheOnly

Chapter 3

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It was still early for my parents to arrive home, so upon entering my apartment I took time to settle down and read a little bit. I always kept a small stack of books in the apartment, in case I had nothing better to do. All the chores had already been finished, and I wasn't hungry for supper. My parents wouldn't be home for an hour or two, so reading was the only activity I could do alone. I searched through my stack, picking out a book with the title Equestrian Philosophy. Philosophy. That was a funny word. I didn't remember taking this book out of the library, but it looked interesting. "Chapter one..."

I absorbed the information like a sponge. All the teachings of Maristotle, all the ideas that ponies had, all the different concepts. As much as I'd like to understand everything that I read, I only understood half of that book. Each page brought a different idea. A different outlook. A new way to look at something that I never saw as having multiple sides.

"Trixie, I didn't know you liked philosophy." My father stood in the doorway, watching me read. I turned quickly, jumping away from the book and into the hooves of my father. "You know, I've been reading that book, too," he said.

"It's really interesting, don't you think?" I was beaming with joy. Finally, my father and I could talk about a book, something I enjoyed most. Something we had in common.

"Trixie, if there's one thing you need to know that that book says, it's this: Life is full of paths; be careful in which ones you choose. Everything else in that book is meaningless."

My smile went away as I looked at him sideways. The book hadn't said anything like that, but if my father believed it than so did I. It made sense, too. Life was multiple paths as far as I knew. I'd like to think that I've been taking the right ones at that point. And if my father thought the book was meaningless, so did I.

Philosophy no longer concerned me, I wanted to see what my father had been doing. "So dad, what happened at work these past two days."

"It's been hard. These past few days I've been getting my hooves dirty and working overtime, but I've been getting the eyes from my boss, I might be getting a promotion soon."

"Is that good?" Even though I questioned him regularly, I was still clueless about how business and companies worked.

"Yes, Trixie, that's really good. It means more bits for our family." His eyes drooped. I could sense that he was tired from a long day of work, so I let him trot off to bed. This was the second time in a row I hadn't been able to speak with my father for more than five minutes. Usually he'd come home and we'd talk for hours, but these days he just didn't have the time or was too tired. I guessed it was for the better, with the promotion and all. A few minutes passed, and soon enough my mother trotted through the door.

"Mom!" I ran and gave her a hug, it wasn't everyday that I got to see her. I hoped that we would be able to talk longer than my father and I.

"Hello Trixie," she cooed, kissing my forehead.

"How was your day?" My mother worked at a publishing company, using her excellence in magic to handle the pages of books with expertise. Although I loved my father, most of my traits seemed to come from my mother. My affinity for books and need to learn magic both came from her. The only trait my father seemed to pass on was arrogance, but he called it pride. My eye color also came from my mother, a deep violet. Our manes were practically the same, a light blue with an even lighter blue on the outside. My father did have some influence though, as our coats were both a brilliant azure.

Both my parents were unicorns, but my father was much less experienced in magic than my mother. He said that he never found magic really interesting, so he never pursued it. My mother, however, spent most of her childhood pursuing magic. She spent most of the summer learning new spells, just like I wanted to. But, she recounted the numerous times her magic caused problems within the house, and since our family doesn't have the bits I couldn't cause that kind of expensive damage with my magic.

"It was tiring. Same old books, same old boss. Same old clients..." I could see her looking off to the side, her brow furrowing. It seemed that every time she came home she had some reason to complain about her clients. At least, one of them. One of her clients never ceased to make her angry when she arrived home, and whenever I'd ask she'd just say it was nothing, so I'd given up. There was no point in trying to make my mother talk about her work when she didn't want to. If there was one trait my mother had that I didn't it was that she was stubborn.

"Well, I hope tomorrow is a lot of fun!" I always said that when she came home to cheer her up. It also relieved her when she was tired, so that she knew she could go get some rest and I wouldn't feel bad. That wasn't true, I'd always want to talk with my mother but I let her go get some rest anyway. It was best for her, and the family. Unlike my father, my mom didn't like to talk about things too much. When my father wasn't too tired from work, he could talk for hours about his experiences, and I could listen for hours.

Alone in the living room once again, I curled up on my chair. Even though my father had told me that the book was meaningless, it didn't mean I couldn't read it. I opened the book up to where I had left off, around chapter five. The musings of one of the great pony philosophers was being quoted, his style had been labeled "unique".

[If you skip over this part you won't miss much.]

History. History is an interesting concept. Although many ponies like to agree that history exists so that they can look back upon it and learn, ponies fail to see where history's shortcomings lie. Throughout the ages, history has been written to keep track of everything that has happened. Every important act or event that has occurred is recorded for reference by future civilizations. This is why I pose the question: Where does history fail? It seems to stand that ideas are the only things that move on, that continue. One's ideas that they spread while alive is all that will stay with the new generation. All that can be left behind in the wake of death--the only thing that never dies--is an idea.

Some say that ideas die with the pony, but this is not true. Only unspoken ideas are taken to the grave and killed. The most resilient virus is an idea. Once the brain perceives an idea, it cannot let go. It stays there, refusing to leave. Ideas can never truly die when they are passed on, which is why it is safe to believe that no ideas are new. Anything that can be thought of has already been thought of, and the newer generations simply reuse old ideas. This leads to the idea of history, which exploits the bad ideas so that the future generations can live without failure. If that was so, then ponykind would be living in utopia. No, history fails to exploit the bad ideas, to show the mistakes so that they are never made again. Instead, history only promotes the ideas that won.

History, it seems, is only provided by the victors. Those who come out victorious write history, they spread the word, it is only their story that is passed around. Only they're ideas don't die. These ideas carry throughout history, and they never change. Because what once made victors, will always make victors. And as long as those who fail, who crumble beneath the victors, as long as their ideas are buried beneath the dust, history will never be complete. Until every idea is recorded, every perspective written, ponies will never have true history. It is because of this the world is imperfect. We cannot learn from the mistakes if they are recorded as success.

Once ponies are able to realize this, to correct history and keep ideas alive, then will life be perfect. One only sees life from their own perspective. One spends their entire life seeing the world from their own mind, through their own bias. History shows us the perspective of only one side, and that information is processed by one's mind. Everypony will see everything differently, but it is only our ability to synthesize all the biases to create the true image. Throughout life, one may see a blue rock. Another may seem the same rock, and claim that it is green. It is only by combining the perspectives of all that conclusions about reality can be drawn. To see that the rock is actually blue-green.

Once history and life can be seen from the perspective of all, it will be seen from the perspective of the sky. Because the sky views all, and sees all as it is. It views the world as one would through the minds of everypony. This view and this view alone shows the truth behind what is seen. The view by the individual mind is an illusion. Only collaboration of thought can clear the illusion, and show the truth. Life is full of mysteries, and it isn't proper to try and figure them all out. The best one can do is to hope that life brings them to the end, and they can view the world from the skies perspective. Then, they can hope that they join the night sky as a star, looking over the world and only seeing the truth. Death, not life, brings the truth. Life brings the questions. But we won't understand the answers without going through life.

I yawned. That's enough reading for one night. All the philosophy had made me tired, and my eyes pleaded to close. I laid my head against the couch cushion, allowing sweet sleep to overtake me.