The forest of Hatuga is alive. Not merely in a general way, by association with the organisms that populate its endless expanse, no – the forest itself is truly living and breathing. In every speck of dirt, every trickling stream, every quivering palm frond, one finds a beating spirit. Despite this unusual consciousness, the roles of its eco-organs do not change in the larger body. Each has its own place in Nature, and naturally gravitates towards a nature that is natural.
It is still possible to be almost too enthusiastic about one’s place in nature, however – to emphasize what is natural, and forget what nature must do. One such speck of Hatuga, overflowing with enthusiasm for itself, is Ammolite.
Ammolite is an ancient gemstone. Primarily an emerald green, yet somehow shining a whole cascade of colors when sunlight glints just right off its ridges. And there was nothing Ammolite enjoyed more, nothing at all, than staring into its reflection as it tried to bring those hidden colors out. When the other residents of Hatuga stopped for a glimpse of its reputable sheen – that was what gave the Ammolite purpose. These eyes, gazing in wonder and respect at this gemstone of many colors. To absorb these admonitions was its role in nature.
An acorn’s purpose is to grow a tree. That tree will provide refuge and nourishment for a great number of diverse creatures. But sometimes the most important actions are not part of nature, and set something in motion that seems rather unnatural. When an acorn falls, that is a part of its purpose; it falls towards the dirt, where it will burrow and take root. But what happens when Ammolite, mesmerized by its multi-layered reflection in a rippling pond, obstructs the path between acorn and dirt? Then the acorn never meets the dirt, plinking off the Ammolite’s hard carapace and plipping into the water. Nature is not disrupted; it ceases to exist within the acorn.
The Ammolite did not feel this mere tree nut. It was only irritated by the ripples caused, disturbing its reflection. This lasted for but a moment, and the reflection burst through once again with untouched splendor to the Ammolite’s relief. But relief is unnatural, especially for the idealistic nature of the Ammolite. Horrified, as it stared harder and harder into the glassy surface, the Ammolite realized that a chunk of itself was missing. Right where the acorn plinked, an iridescent chip had dislodged and vanished.
A gleam blinded the Ammolite from the depths of the pond. Past its reflection – in fact, forever dissolving that reflection in a rainbow light – was the missing piece. Smudged with mud, mired in moss, but struck by the sun in a way that permanently achieved the Ammolite’s optimum optics. Enraged at the audacity of its missing piece, horrified that it could not be gotten back, Ammolite was so besieged by feelings that it didn’t know what to do.
The pond was deep. In actuality, it was only six feet deep, but such diminutive depth is just enough to frighten our Ammolite crouching at the water’s edge. It lamented its lost piece, for how could it hope to become whole again when rocks and gems are famous for being denser than water, in practically every situation? Down his whole would sink, lost forever for the sake of a part. What a measly, chalky part it was, compared to the whole! Who needs a chink as weak as that? Still, it was part of the Ammolite, and it longed for that piece. That piece justified its role, the purpose given to it by the forest’s accepting glances, which said, “We see and know your value.” The whole was now worthless, so long as that piece remained out of reach.
Refusing nature has a way of wearing you down – especially since wearing down is just as natural, and refusing to understand this only expedites the process. It began to show on the Ammolite, more and more pieces flaking off its beautiful coat, until it realized that completeness was more than just sediment packed together. Completeness was a fundamental foundation in its own understanding of Ammolite-ness. But then the Ammolite stopped thinking, because those thoughts made no sense. All it needed to know was that it would never be whole again without that missing piece, and that this diminished value was not worth protecting. Which, of course, it had determined at the beginning.
The Ammolite stopped its waiting, stopped its worrying, and tumbled headlong into the pond – to sink, yes, but to be made whole again. So what if it was trapped at the bottom of the pond? This insignificant pond would be made greater, for then the Ammolite’s purpose would become the pond’s purpose! All of Hatuga would gather to gaze upon the enlightened Ammolite, who turned waters to rainbows and muds to clouds. That pond would become a portal to heaven, and all of Hatuga would appreciate and understand just what that flawless gem brought to nature’s order. And so the Ammolite made peace with its piece, becoming whole once again as it settled on the pond floor atop its wayward chip.
But then something unnatural happened.
Against all odds, against the very fundamentals of science, the Ammolite began to float. With its missing piece in tow, the Ammolite rose up, up out of its watery grave! It rolled onto the shore, rejuvenated and rethinking the very understanding of its Ammolite-ness. It could float! What does this mean? Well, firstly, it meant the Ammolite could continue staring at its reflection day in and day out. So that was the very first thing it did.
One could say the Ammolite was petrified, in both figurative and literal senses. The Ammolite now saw a stranger in its reflection – not an Ammolite, not a gem, but an unimpressive grey stone. A Pumice stone, to be precise, in all its pitiful porous plaintiveness. Pumice, by nature, can float, explaining the Ammolite’s miracle. But what was the cost? Now it was no longer defined by Ammolite-ness; rather, it was condemned to see itself only in terms of Stone-ness. What the Ammolite refused to understand is that stones, like Pumice, serve an important role in the nature of Hatuga. They were not fragile colorful things to be looked upon, but hearty and practical, useful and reliable, active and essential.
But the Ammolite had been used to being praised as Ammolite for so long, it could not come to terms with the fact that it was no more than a simple stone. Instead, it sought to uncover how this unnatural state of nature came to be. Was it a mystical transfiguration? Were the waters blessed with Alchemical properties? Was it a stone all this time, deluding itself into appearing more valuable than it actually was? Then what was the point of diving in after its missing piece?
After weeks of searching for answers to no avail, the Pumice plunged back into the pond. It hoped it would change again, returning to the state of Ammolite-ness it once lay claim to. Better it would be, the Pumice thought, for me to become Ammolite again and sink to the bottom, forever remembered for my beautiful being!
Such a change never happened, would not happen, no matter how much the Pumice wished. No, it could only float where its shining reflection once stared up, dreaming of what it had thought itself, or what it once was. Floating in its own remorse, until water seeped into the holes that peppered its entirety, filled its Pumice-ness with the heavy weight of natural order, and sank the former Ammolite into the pond’s murk where it has been remorselessly forgotten.
Morning's Early Dark 