The Idiot

The idiot lived in a black and gray world, punctuated by the white lightning of hunger and the flickering of fear. Of course the idiot in question really is not an idiot in the classical sense of the word. On the contrary, he is bright, intelligent, empathic and in full command of his mental faculties. After all, a Jedi is expected to be sane. He feels hunger because it is lunch time, and he merely sits here in the cafeteria waiting for some sign from the Force, telling him when he should choose to get his lunch. He has the fear, because he is not sure the Force is out there to tell him when he should go get his lunch.

But ultimately he lives in a black and gray world.

Oh sure, there was a time when he saw the universe in its brightness, color, and glory. There was a time when he was a happy warrior of the Force. Doing what was good and right, instinctively and without fail.

Then the Vong came.

Death, despair and destruction caused him to question the Force. Captivity caused him to question his sanity. And Vergere, well she drove him color blind.

For good or for ill, the way that Jacen sees the world, are those mind-numbing shades of grey. His views of a world without contrasts, one of moral flexibility, they are the products of Vergere.

It is an interesting world. One where the only truth, is that there is no truth, and yes he questions that paradox on a daily basis. This world is built on the firm belief that what is good and right, is a personal matter and different for every individual. This world lacks a Dark Side and it lacks a Light Side as well. It only has the grey. For in this world, dark and light are to facets of the same coin, and that coin is the Idiot. Yet for all the interest and wonder this world has caused the Idiot, it is still a grey, dull world.

It has made the Idiot quite depressed.

Why?

It is simple. The Idiot had heard these things before. What Vergere had taught him, was nothing new to him. Years before the Vong came, and years before that silly bird hopped over to him. He was taught the Potentium by a fallen Jedi named Brakiss.

He knew then that Brakiss was wrong. That what Brakiss taught was fundamentally flawed. As he sits and watches his empty plate he wonders why exactly he believed Vergere when she taught him the exact same thing.

As these thoughts run through his mind for the hundredth time, he hears a strange sound. A scraping. He looks up and notices a young apprentice sitting across from him, a plate of food before him.

He frowns, as it has been many years since one so young has dared venture this close to him. His grayness tends to leak into the Force, and the youngest among them feel it the greatest.

Sometimes he wonders if that grayness is what drew Ben to him.

Finally, he realizes he should say something to the youngling. “Can I help you?”

The youngling just smiles and starts to eat. Between bites of food he says, “Nope. Jus’ eatin’”

“Eating.”

“What?”

“The word is pronounced eating. There is a guh sound at the end of it.”

The boy gives him a lopsided smile. “Does it matter?”

The Idiot stops his instinctive answer in the affirmative and ponders that for a moment. “You know, I really don’t think it does matter.”

“Then why’dja correct me?”

To this the Idiot has no reply. Why did he correct the youngling? Was it instinct? Was it dark or light? Was it for balance?

The Idiot smirks at the youngling. “I corrected you, because it does matter. The words we use are representations of our thoughts and intelligence. When you don’t use them properly, it’s saying you lack one or the other.”

“Then why’dja say it didn’t matter?”

The Idiot frowns slightly. Trying to remember why he said that. Yet he couldn’t. The Idiot knew that there was a sound reason for correcting him. He knew there was a sound reason why it mattered.

The Idiot knew there was a right and a wrong it that regard.

And the Idiot knew that the right and the wrong were external to himself and the youngling.

The Idiot once more looks at the boy, a shining beacon of color in this world of grey. Leaning in, he whispers in a conspiratorial way, “So you would question me some more.”

The boy and the Idiot laugh.

The Idiot feels himself smiling, and he wonders about that. He has not smiled in to long, and has forgotten just how good it feels to do so. Looking at the boy he says, “My name’s Jacen, what’s yours?”

“Dac.”

“Tell me Dac, what do you think is truth?”

“Truth is the same thing as real.”

Frowning at the simple complexity of the answer, Jacen asks one more question. “Do you think good and bad are inside of you, or outside?”

“Both.”

“Excuse me?”

“Both. We are all able to do good and bad, so it’s inside of you, but there are others who are doing good and bad as well. So it’s outside of you.”

“And the Dark Side? What about it? Is it inside or outside of you?”

Dac smiles. “Both.”

Jacen frowns once more. “Explain.”

“It’s the same thing as bad. The Dark Side is in you. You can hear it whispering to you, telling you to use the Force to take an extra cookie. It’s both inside as I hear it in my head, and outside as I can see what it does to others.”

The Idiot closes his eyes and ponders. He wonders at the sheer simplicity of that statement. Could it be true? Is the Force both internal and external? Did it control your actions and follow your demands?

Then he runs up on the crux of the problem. What galls him to now end. If it is both, wouldn’t that make Uncle Luke right?

The Idiot has always prided himself on being empathic and smart. Of having a deeper, cleaner connection to the Force than his Uncle, as their training, and how they were raised were so different from one another. He always saw it as his uncle the weapon, and himself as the brains.

Could this entire time the weapon have known more than the brains?

In the Force he can hear a small, nearly silent “yes.”

As he accepts this, as he accepts how wrong he was, as he accepts just how much his uncle always did know, the Idiot opens his eyes.

Once more he finds himself in a world of color and beauty. A world where things range from black to white, range from no color to all color. A world where good and evil have meaning, and he can fight for one or for the other. He smiles and finds himself happy, as there is beauty in the contrasts.

Jacen looks towards Dac. “Would you like to be my Padawan?”

Dac smiles. “Why’dja think I sat here?”