Evanescence

As I step into the Royal Canterlot Gardens, I close my eyes and inhale deeply, appreciating the sweet scent of flowers mixed with the earthy scent that always accompanies springtime. Slowly, I open my eyes to appreciate the splendor of every exotic plant and animal we could manage to collect. Although I wish I could say that the scenery is breathtaking, having centuries to take it all in tends to lessen the impact. Still, its inherent harmony possesses a calming air to it, and I could certainly use a few moments to collect myself.

That’s not to say that I am upset, per se, but something that happened during my weekly tea with my student—no, my fellow princess—Twilight Sparkle has ruffled my feathers a bit. Surely she meant no offense. Perhaps she only meant to provide comfort to me; or could it be her way of assuaging her fears of the future?

With a sigh, I tread a path these hooves have trodden thousands of times before. Most everything bears the colorful petals of full bloom, just waiting for the upcoming gala. The blossoms offer my nose a bevy of enticing, fleeting scents. Each delicate fragrance sparks a memory, or at least a nostalgic feeling where a memory should have been. A small smile graces my lips as I pause beneath a decades-old willow tree growing right next to the path. The workers have trimmed its long boughs to carve a tunnel, gracing the path with a cool shade.

The sweeping branches bear no flowers yet, though such a sight would be nothing new. I have witnessed this tree blossom year after year since it was a sapling. Despite being full-grown now, it still pales in comparison to its long-deceased parent. Of course, the original tree’s bloom put all of its descendants to shame. That tree took my breath away when I first set eyes upon it.

Though, at times like these, I wonder if this tree is actually more striking than the original. I have witnessed thousands of blooms. Perhaps these weary eyes are simply too old to appreciate it fully. How can one see something truly outstanding if they have seen something similar a thousand times before? It just can’t compare to the memory of seeing it for the first time, and the impact it had on my young eyes.

I shake my head, focusing my thoughts again. Twilight can be so foolish—a darling reminder of her naivety and innocence. She asked me if I was lonely or sad that so many ponies that I had come to know and love have long since passed.The way she asked me had an air of sympathy, as though my ageless years somehow make my experiences special.

They’re not.

It took a moment to get it across to her, but I have only experienced a greater volume of things. That doesn’t make them any more poignant than any other pony’s. If anything, it makes them less so.

Marching forward again, I vacate the willow’s generous shade and continue my aimless walk. As comforting as the shade may have been, the sunshine always invigorates me. Quite expectedly, I met a fork in the path just past the old willow tree. It doesn’t really matter which path I choose; after all, I’ve seen all there is to be seen down either one.

I turn and amble down the path to the left. A short trip to the pond could be nice on a day like today.

Twilight had made it seem like I had just revealed a millennia-old secret when I told her that everypony experiences painful losses. Our grandparents and parents grow old and wither, gradually wearing down until they can no longer go on. Friends, family, lovers… we all have the bitter experience of staying behind as we watch them go. Twilight has so far been blessed to not yet know of these pains, but in time, she will know them well.

I suppose my existence is slightly different in that I never really get to follow after them; I find myself still here with my sister, watching over the generations our little ponies leave behind. Still, they are the same bitter experiences everypony comes to know.

The unpleasant thoughts and feelings welling up within me disperse as I halt. Before me, a mother hedgehog leads her babies across the path. I can’t help but smile as she looks up at me for a brief moment before ensuring her children make it across the path. Once they have passed, they aptly vanish into the bushes. After a lingering glance, I again start for the familiar pond.

The hedgehogs aren’t indigenous to Canterlot; the same could be said of most of the flora and fauna residing here in the gardens. The original intent was to make an exotic garden to bring wonder and enjoyment to the few ponies with the prestige to enter.

Today’s ponies don’t know what they’re missing. Sure, the plants and animals may still be exotic, but they’re a far cry from their wild ancestors. Generations of living in this protected place has tamed the animals’ wild spirit. It used to be so exciting to come through and see so much as a bush rustling. Now the animals, although still skittish, are less afraid and far less hostile than the originals.

The upside to the situation is that the excitement of wild animals has been replaced by the serenity and comfort of tame ones. As much as I could use some peace of mind at the moment… the excitement might have been preferable. Or, perhaps instead I should say that some excitement would do more to ease my worries.

Just like that, the bitterness returns. I’ve lied to Twilight. It may have been a lie of omission, but it was a lie nonetheless. She had sought to assuage my troubles, and instead I reflected that back, easing her worries while leaving my own buried deep inside. It’s what I’ve always done with those around me, even those closest to me.

I begin to wonder: is it for the best? Surely selflessness is essential in a ruler. To be selfish is to invite corruption; Luna and I have learned that lesson all too well. But Twilight seems to think that, to be a good friend, one must not only be selfless—they also need to be selfish.

How many long years have my hooves trodden this dirt? And somehow, this young mare—little more than a filly—has come to know nuances of friendship that yet elude me. Maybe there is more yet in this world for me to discover.

Now, that is a comforting thought.

I inhale another long breath as the scent of fresh water reaches me, though I don’t need my nose to tell me the pond is just beyond the next bend. Still, the musky fragrance helps to relax me, if only for a moment, as fleeting memories dance across my mind. Of all the places to visit in the gardens, the pond still stands out as my favorite.

Around the bend, it comes into full view. Its splendor has hardly changed through the years, save for the addition of an artificial waterfall installed some decades ago. The rushing sound may have been soothing for some, but for me it just drowns out the natural sounds of insects buzzing amongst the reeds, the frogs’ serenade, and a rare splash of the many fish thriving just beneath the surface.

I sigh as my negative thoughts bubble up from the back of my mind. Twilight only meant well, but I cannot even tell my own sister of the deep fear hidden away from the world—hidden away from myself. I do not fear death; it does not stalk me as it does the rest of Equestria. It still saddens me when others fell prey to death’s eternal grasp, though I have long since learned to cope with the feelings of despair and regret.

But I don’t have to cope anymore.

More precisely, I don’t need the techniques I have long-since mastered to ease my pain nearly as much as I used to. It still hurts to see those I care about leave for the next world, but the pain has ebbed from the poignant inferno of deepest despair and regret to the unpleasant sting of loss and longing. It haunts me.

Is it that, in fear of the pain, I shield myself from closeness with others? No. Of course not. I still welcome ponies into my heart. So, where does that leave me? I can only imagine one thing, and it is this poisonous thought that haunts me so.

My long years of experience have eroded myself. I was young once, and everything new touched my very soul: beautiful things, painful things, delicate things, difficult things, wonderful things… everything stirred my emotions in ways that I cannot even begin to reach today. As I have experienced so much that life has to offer, time and time again, I just cannot find it within myself to feel those raw, untethered emotions like I used to.

The emotions are still there. I still feel the heat of anger and the chill of loneliness, but the emotions—all of them—have begun to dull. Like an old clock whose gears have started to wear down, my emotions still move me along. But they are slipping. In the future, I fear the gears will stop altogether. What will become of me if my emotions become so muted that they no longer exist?

My demise.

There is simply no other way to describe it. If I allow my emotions to slip away from me, I will be little more than a hollow repository of knowledge and experiences. I will not perish and leave this world. I will simply become a phantom—a living ghost cursed to wander this world for all eternity.

There is a phrase, oft-recited by ponies reflecting on their eventual passing: “Make every moment count.” I have found that, though my moments are not finite like most, this phrase still rings true. It isn’t about a number of moments, or how those spent affect this world. Not at all. It is about truly appreciating everything this wonderful, cruel world throws out. Every laugh and tear, each burning moment of passion and icy pang of sorrow, they all reassure me—all of us—that we are alive.

I am alive. But at times like these, I am forced to reflect on the ugly truth. Though my body may go on and continue living forever, what truly makes me alive is fleeting. Little by little, my experiences make each passing day a bit less colorful—just a bit more grey. Someday it will encompass me, ushering in the cold emptiness of death. Not a bodily death, or even one of the mind; instead, I am fated to simply lose my spirit, the very spark of life, to time’s endless apathy.

My reverie shatters at a splash echoing above the drone of the waterfall. Blinking, I gaze out to find an expanding circle of ripples. I’ve missed it, whatever it was.

With a measured step, I approach the shore. Ruminating on my lot in life will get me nowhere. I should focus on what is here and now. These little things that I may miss hold taut my ever-weakening thread to this life. I cannot afford to let them slip away. I must relish every moment, every opportunity, to ward off the insidious indifference of existence.

Perhaps I will lay bare my fears and weakness. Twilight seems to think that such an act is one of strength and trust. I will have to remember to be strong enough to be weak the next time we have tea.

I crane my neck down to kiss the silty water with dry lips. It bears an earthy flavor that I have tasted a million times before, though it still holds an exotic air far superior to the sterile taste accompanying my chalice. A chuckle nearly escapes my throat as my mind teases the thought of some paparazzo seeing the infallibly refined princess drinking from a pond. I almost hope it to be true; it would surely be entertaining, if only for a moment.

Having taken my fill, I raise my head to take another long look at the artificial pond. I still can’t find anything new from my last visit, or the visit before, or the one before that. With a sigh, I turn and head back to the castle. The ponies there will no doubt be growing anxious in my brief absence.

I’ll just have to find something in the insipid proceedings of the royal court to stir my evanescing emotions. As much as I would love to relish the misery and joy of the past, or set my mind to the hopes and fears of the future, I only have the present. It is here I must find meaning in life and continue to experience all it has to offer, for the moment I no longer find the present enthralling is the very moment my life will end.

After all, what is left after one’s emotions have decayed beyond recognition? I don’t know, but I fear that it is a far cry from living.

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The writing on the wall

The writing on the wall #1 · Sep 9th, 2015 · · ·

I don't know whether to be surprised or disturbed by the train of thought portrayed. Though it does mirror my own concern when I went through my religious questioning phase when I was younger.

Does a being that lives for so long become numb of life's pleasures that they become ultimately bored/ unresponsive to emotions?
When said being reach said point do they become a sort of psychopath, with only the most absurd experiences become anything of interest?

Though more recent I wonder if such affect is the cause for discord`s (to which like Q`s situation as a cosmic being) own personality and why they crave the crazy and chaotic events. But such is a conversation for more lasting being`s I suppose...

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