Mind Over Matter

3 – Of Happy Arrivals and Psychic Practices

        Well, that session went rather well, I say. Though I must admit, her mind was a very… troubling situation. But I’m afraid that is for another record entirely. For now, let me return to my earlier story.

        Anyways, I was immediately greeted when I got off the train by one of the most excitable ponies I’ve ever had the fortune of meeting: Miss Pinkamena Diane Pie. Pinkie to her friends (she finds it absolutely strange that I keep referring to her as Miss Pie, though we are indeed friends). I found it very amusing and somewhat bewildering that she had taken the time to prepare a cake as a welcoming gift, even though multitudes of other ponies were stepping off the train like I had.

        When I had asked her what was going on… or more specifically, “What in Tartarus was that?” she only smiled at me even wider, and launched into a ramble about how she was friends with Rarity and Applejack, the two of which had already known about my arrival. Miss Pie then took me on a tour of the town, pointing out everything that she thought was interesting.

        To this day, I am still in awe of just how long she was able to talk without taking a breath.

        Still, it was quite enjoyable. Miss Pie was, and still is, very easy to get along with. She just has this constant smile to her that I can’t help but share whenever she is around. It’s an effect she has on almost everypony; a rare talent and quality that I wished more could have. In fact, it’s thanks to her that I’m still able to navigate the town with relative ease.

        It’s a strange fact, but if you have something bizarre and unique to associate something with, it makes memorizing items very easy. After all, who else but Miss Pie could make me think of Sugarcube Corner whenever I hear the words, “Rebel Alligator without a Pop”.

        After my impromptu tour, I was led to the small apartment/office that I would be staying in, at least until I could afford something bigger. It used to belong to the old therapist at least, meaning it’s already used to my line of work. The local hospital didn’t have to change the recommendation address for whenever they deemed a patient in need of my specific brand of treatment, too. A fair bonus, at least.

        As I had paid a delivery company to move my belongings here already, I found this was an ample opportunity to see if I could use only my telekinesis to put everything where it belonged. Unfortunately, I could only manage my clothes, some books, and a stack of paper.

        Everything else seemed to… oh, what’s a good analogy… flop about like a rubber snake? No, more chaotic… It looked as if Discord had recently visited and left a parting gift in the form of a redecoration. There, much more accurate.

        But that’s exactly why I needed to continually practice. If I was going to help others control and come to grips with their own minds, I needed to do the same thing to myself. It would be hypocritical otherwise. So, it is really no surprise that for the first two weeks, I refused to set up shop. I did get a few raised eyebrows from the hospital (who would be providing most of my clientele at first), but they did not press the issue.

        In this regards, I gained a surprising amount of assistance from Miss Rarity. You see, she popped in one day to ask if I wished to have a spot of tea with her. I can quite remember this, because she trotted in on me using my Automatic Writing to try and write out a list of my discovered psychic powers, while using Telekinesis to cook lunch.

        All the while, I had lifted myself into the air, but lacked the fine control to keep myself from spinning wildly.

        “Sweet Celestia, Cleaner! Are you alright?” she had asked in a worried voice, and (from what I could tell from my brief glimpses) a bewildered look on her face.

        “I’m fine, Miss Rarity,” I had replied in a strained voice. I tried to tell her what was going on, but at that instant, I had lost all my concentration.

        Did I mention that I tend to fall down a lot in my memories? This was one of those moments.

        I am also a terrible psychic cook. Apparently, my omelet had been burned to a husk of its former golden glory, and the onions next to it…

        [A somber silence falls upon him for a moment]

        They were so young.

        But, that is trauma for another personal session.

        By the time I had managed to pick myself up off the ground, my pen had already scratched out a very detailed description of what I had been attempting; complete with my recipe for a perfect omelet and a list of potential psychic powers I might have. Rarity, being the intelligent and detail-savvy mare that she is, managed to piece it all together for herself.

        Amazingly, she did not seem too surprised. In fact, she came up with the theory that my psychic powers could have meant that I was the unicorn equivalent of… whatever my species was. To be honest, it is so far the best explanation as to why I have these powers. Could my species use its mind to make up for its lack of magic? It would make sense, as I seem to lack the resilience of an Earth Pony, and the precision and grace of a Pegasus.

        We talked for a while, eventually moving over to a delightful café that serves the most delicious chocolate éclairs (well, second only to the ones at Sugarcube Corner). I told her about my plans for the clinic, and she told me of how the latest fashion season was treating her. Evidently, her name had started to become more popular among Canterlot’s upper crust. This was met with mixed reactions from the both of us; I thought it nice that she had extra business, but pitied that she had to endure such snobbish upper class ponies.

        [A pause]

        Allow me to explain something: I am a gentleman. That means that I tend to be polite, honest, and courteous to all I meet. It is a “Code of Honor” that I hold to, which Slender Ties taught me very early on. Even if I am smarter, do not flaunt it. Everyone has something to teach, and I should be open to that. I need to give to others, and do what I can to show some dignity and honor in the world.

        That is why I cannot, for the life of me, stand those rich snobby bastards from Canterlot. Very few of them are worthy of being called a gentleman, yet they wear the title as if it’s some sort of badge! When you are a gentleman, you do not proclaim to the world that you are one! You instead live as a gentleman, and let your actions speak for you. Even on my recordings, though they are private, I find it strange to say it aloud. I only say I am a gentleman when it is required of me.

        Those… those…

        [He lets out a clearly aggravated sigh, and the sound of creaking wood softly echoes]

        Those uncultured arrogant swines think that because they are born into it, they are entitled to it! I find it disgusting and pitiable. I am fortunate that I have only had to interact with them a hooffull of times, and after each time I had to take a shower to cleanse myself of their very presence.

        I apologize for my outburst, but I felt it must be noted on what a proper gentleman is.

        It is comforting to say, though, that Rarity feels the same about most of them.

        During our conversation, though, I found myself actually taking notes in how she described using her own magic to stitch such detailed designs in her dresses. How she could clearly see something in her mind, then transfer it to the needle and thread in her magic. It was all a matter of just letting it flow from her, in a way that seemed akin to walking. By the time you figured out what you were doing, you just had to let it happen naturally, else you run the risk of falling on your flank.

        This came as a late revelation to me. I was so focused in thinking about using my mental abilities, that it hampered their actual execution. I was so excited at this thought, that I clasped Miss Rarity by the shoulders, pecked her on the forehead, and proclaimed, “Rarity, you are a genius!” Then I threw some bits on the table to pay for our treats, and dashed back to my shabby apartment.

        … It’s only now that I realize I kissed Miss Rarity in full public. Strange that neither of us have made a mention of that since…

        [Another awkward silence falls for a few moments]

        Okay then, back to my moment of brilliance.

        I once again tried to recreate my earlier practice, only this time, I tried to push all conscious thought away, and just let everything come to me. It started off slow at first, with my pen writing down an old poem by Cobble Frost that I had memorized on my desk. Then, just a moment afterward, I felt myself lift into the air, supported only by my thoughts. Soon enough, my books began organizing themselves by subject, multiple papers flew up and began recording random thoughts.

        It all strangely chaotic, yet somehow my mind had given a semblance of order to it.

        I even managed to land on both feet when I finished.

        The very next morning, I marched into both the Town Hall and hospital, and let them know that the Safety in Mind Clinic was open for business!

        … This is a very perfect place to end this recording, I feel. No interruptions this time, nothing going catastrophically wrong. I’ll have to use the next recording to go into detail about my first patient, and touch upon how my psychic abilities started to play a far larger role in my profession than I thought they ever would.

It's also how I was able to meet another of my best friends, and one who has managed to keep me sane. I find it ironic, that Miss Hearstrings should fill that role. But that's for next time.

For now, this is the Audio Log of Sir Mind Cleaner.

        A good day to whomever should listen to this.