supre awesome existential trip up a mountain!

We are tiny, insignificant microbes in an endless abyss of space. From whence did we come? What are we? Who are we? What is our role in all of creation?

Our actions cause barely a quantum ripple in the vast ocean of space and time. It is the folly of ponydom that we choose to spend a lifetime in pursuit of wealth and power. We hope to leave a legacy long after our deaths, sacrificing all that we cherish in the process.

I am a wanderer. I am content to drift peacefully without worry or sorrow across the infinite plains of the countryside. Neither the suffering nor the violence of the world shall plague the serenity of my soul. I am one with myself. I am one with the universe.

The only problem? The world is changing...

And I am not.

Tending the Garden

Requiem

Breathless and enthralled, I stand at the peak of Equestria’s highest mountain; Mt. Appleachian. The lightning of a still-great storm shivered through my spine, capturing every fiber of my being as I stood what felt like a world away. The air pulsated with energy, filling my eyes with an almost touchable sense of wonder. The wings I'd been ever blessed to receive vibrated much like the thunder still echoing around me; its low growls boomed irritably at the thought that something, or should I say somepony had overtaken its position atop the throat of the world. However, neither the snowcapped peaks nor the howling winds could draw out even the most nominal amount of annoyance within me, and no matter what the physical cost, I intended to fulfill my mind's desires.

I am alone. I am at peace.

Inhaling sharply, I adjusted the straps of my backpack, retrieved a small set of items, then proceeded to sit back. A small, ornamental sketchbook dropped to the ground as I retrieved a set of quills and an ink pot. With these tools of creation, I would capture the graceful cacophony of Mother Nature, bringing each flash of light, each bit of her visually stimulating phenomena, into the immortal sphere of art.

With each stroke of the quill, my mind dabbled ever further into the details of the world surrounding me. For one, there were the clouds. From the graceful cirrus to the fierce cumulonimbus, the silent sentinels of the sky are truly a force to be marveled.

As I became in tune with the soft and graceful mists, my breathing slowed and I sat back to collect my thoughts. I’m not quite sure why, but some article seemed particularly…interesting, about the clouds tonight; they seemed to somehow remind me of something.

They reminded me of myself.

No matter how strong or mighty, the puffs that dot our cerulean canopy are powerless against the predetermined track they're forced to run on day after day. Similar to ourselves, the wisps above our heads are often related to a coin; for one, they could cry tears of life-breathing water, giving both the ponies and the foliage below the will to keep living. But on the other hoof, they could cast down vicious bolts of lightning, create swirling vortexes of destruction, or bring freezing gusts the likes of which ponykind has yet to experience.

The thing about clouds, though, is that no matter how benevolent they are with their rains, nor how malevolent they with their hailstorms, they never get to go any further than their predecessors. Ironically, I share this same mindset with every pony that's ever lived. All our lives, we're told to strive towards "Out-of-the-box" thinking, when really the seal that adorns our flanks tells both ourselves and those around us what we are to a point.

Even more ironically, I personally was blessed with a talent for drawing; when I received my cutie mark for painting, I was surprised yet optimistic. I came to the conclusion that I was granted some sort of special leverage over everypony else. I and I alone had a unique talent that, when put into practice, could shape worlds. Deciding it couldn’t get any weirder, I followed my artistic career through grade-school, high school, and well into my later years. Now, today, I shun the very divine system that deemed me so worthy as receiving a quill-and-parchment as a label for whom I am. I neglect the thought process that some, "All-powerful entity" dictates our role in the cosmos. I argue constantly with myself about how complex our lives are, and how at the same time, they're more shallow than the puddle on your sidewalk.

Sighing lightly to myself, I continue to dot my parchment with a never-ending slew of ink. It’s almost sad to think that even now, here at what’s supposed to be the spot my greatest creation came to life, I’m arguing morale rights with myself. I feel like I’m betraying myself, yet I continue.

Arrgh, why do I torment myself so? Why bother even thinking about life's grand scheme when there's so much out there to distract one's self? I find that it's simple, really. We, as ponies, just don't want to think about the maybes. I mean, why should we? Nopony's telling us we have to, so why even bother thinking outside of our box? Why bother putting a label on everything when all one really needs to do is sit back and enjoy the world for what it is?

Well, whenever I think about this, I think of an analogy; Why bother looking out your own windows at home, when no matter what you do throughout the day, you end up right where you began it? In your bed. You’re the exact same person as you were in the morning, so why bother experiencing anything else? When one’s in their bed, whether they're on their lonesome, with a partner, or maybe even pet if that's their sort of thing, they always rest their eyes in the same place where they’d opened them.

The only difference? Whether or not they have the good fortune to wake up again.