The Jedi and The Ring

On movement, moral discovery, liberty, and the Living Force

The Padawans had been told that the lesson would concern the telepathic arts. They waited in the chamber, curious, though a little fearful of what the Master might discover before any of them had spoken.

He entered, stood before them, and ignited his lightsaber. For a moment its light moved across their faces. Then he extinguished it and placed it upon the table.

“This,” he said, “is still only a device.”

One of the Padawans looked from the weapon to the Master’s empty hand.

“But we are meant to learn to use it.”

“Certainly. You may study every strike, every block, every movement of the one who teaches you. But consider a river. Would you study every whirlpool and turn of one particular river and then declare that you knew how all rivers must move?”

“I would study the water.”

“And what would you study about it?”

The Padawan considered this.

“Its movement.”

The Jedi nodded. “What we call mastery has movement. What we call a river has movement. Yet we become so occupied with what we have named that we scarcely notice what brought it before us. We say, ‘There is the river.’ We say, ‘There is the master.’ Then we collect what we know about them.”

He glanced toward the table.

“You know the saber is there. You know what it is for. But its resting place is only one position within its movement. It arrived there. It may depart. It may ignite, and it may be extinguished. To know something is also to notice when it is no longer as you knew it.”

The saber rose from the table and ignited beside him. Several of the Padawans drew back. The Master continued looking at them.

“And already you are watching the device again.”

He smiled, and the saber settled quietly upon the table.

“Knowledge has its use. But imagine that you placed everything you knew just beyond your senses, ready to be called upon. Would you consult it, or permit it to command you? There is a difference between having something at your command and offering it your hands.”

The Padawan looked down at his own.

“Is that what the Force teaches?”

“The Living Force moves through you, through me, even through the saber. You must learn to notice more than the motions you have been taught to imitate. There are times when life must confront, and times when it must let go. You will need to discover the difference.”

“And telepathy?”

“The listening of mind,” the Jedi said. “But you have come here wondering what we might hear.”

The Padawan hesitated. Then he nodded.

“Your fear is understandable. But I have no need to examine every fear you have carried, every memory surrounding it, every explanation you have made afterward. What interests me is what you have learned by living. What have you encountered? What have you overcome? What has blossomed within you that perhaps we ourselves have missed?”

“You would sense that?”

“That is what we seek to sense. The moral within your story. And by moral, I mean the lesson your life has brought into understanding. What happened to you matters. What you have become through it matters also.”

He rested his hand beside the saber.

“We have seen power before. We have seen its demonstrations and its outcomes. But the morals of those who overcome it are always different. There is something unique in what each life may bring forward.”

“Then why learn the power at all?”

“Because capability may serve life. But first we must discover whether it has overcome the one who possesses it. We seek telepathic purity: freedom from the hunger to dominate, manipulate, and suffocate another. Otherwise the listening itself becomes an intrusion, and the gift becomes another means of control.”

He lifted the saber once more, leaving it unlit.

“Without that freedom, you may become much like this. A device. Perhaps even a device wielded by someone unwilling to stand here himself.”

The Padawan was quiet for a moment.

“How would I know whether I had overcome it?”

The Jedi turned his hand. Upon one finger was a ring set with a ruby. Its stone was dark enough that the Padawans had scarcely noticed it.

“I received this from a Sith.”

They leaned forward.

“A ring of power. The power of eloquence. The Sith and I had begun an argument, and we spoke for some time. Eventually he conceded. When he did, the ring unlocked from his finger.”

“It had been locked?”

“So he told me. Once worn, it could not simply be taken off. Yet there it was, loose upon his hand. He looked at it and smiled. ‘I don’t think I need this anymore,’ he said. ‘You have shown me something today.’”

The Master turned the ring slowly.

“He held it as though something heavy had become almost weightless. Then he offered it to me.”

“And you accepted it?”

“I said, ‘Sure.’”

One of the Padawans laughed. The Jedi smiled.

“The ruby was burning as brightly as fire. He placed the ring upon my finger, and it locked. Then he said, ‘Understand what has happened. You overcame its power without possessing it. You may receive this gift because you do not need it.’”

The Padawan looked again at the quiet stone.

“He told me, ‘It will adorn you. You will not adorn yourself with the power it holds. Others may see a ring of power, but when they look at this man, they will discover that to him it is only a ring.’”

“A Sith said this?”

“Yes. He had learned something too.”

The Jedi lifted his hand toward the light.

“And as he spoke, the fire began to fade. Here it is now.”

He slipped the ring from his finger. The ruby immediately blazed. The Padawans watched as he placed it upon the table beside the saber.

“Power says, ‘Look what I can do.’ The moral asks, ‘What did I have to become so that I would never need to do it?’”

“But you could still wear it.”

“Yes.”

“And use it.”

“Yes.”

“Then what has changed?”

The Jedi opened his empty hand.

“I can put it down.”

For a while they watched the ring burning upon the table. Then the Master walked toward the open doorway, and the Padawans followed him into the forest.

“Must we overcome emotion also?” one asked. “We are told to feel the Force.”

“To feel it, yes. But consider what happens when you can no longer question what you feel. Hatred moves. Fear moves. Desire moves. Each may produce tremendous movement, yet the person within that movement may become lost.”

They walked beneath the branches.

“You may love someone and become so possessive that you injure the very life you wished to protect. You may fear losing something and become the cause of its loss. You may hate an injustice until you become willing to commit another. The feeling continues, but the reason for it has been destroyed by your own hands.”

“How do you stop it?”

“You must remain capable of contradicting it.”

The Padawan frowned.

“Thinking begins there,” the Jedi continued. “What you have accepted as known is allowed to be questioned. Fear tells you, ‘This is what will happen.’ You may answer, ‘Perhaps not.’ Fear tells you there is no other movement. You remain free to look for one.”

“Even when the fear is strong?”

“Especially then. Restraint, reason, compassion—these allow you to remain present. Otherwise there may be tremendous power moving through you, and very little of you left to decide what it should do.”

The path widened. Sunlight fell across the roots of a great tree.

“Come here,” the Jedi said. “Look at this.”

“A tree.”

“Yes. Now look beyond its name. Notice how steadfast it is in its existence. I could stand beside it and shout, ‘Do this.’ I could whisper, ‘Do that.’ I could tell it what everyone was saying about it. And still it would attend to its growth.”

He laid his palm against the trunk.

“You seek liberty because you already grow naturally. You need air, water, light, the company and care of others. You need room for what is living in you to develop. Liberty, at its simplest, is clarity.”

The Padawan looked up through the leaves.

“But we need guidance.”

“Of course. Guidance helps you find the conditions in which your own lesson may reveal itself. A teacher may help you toward it. Your friends and family may strengthen you through years of living. But none of us can do your growing for you.”

He stepped back from the tree.

“Imagine a ruler held against this trunk. Every point upon it is fixed. Useful points. You can measure growth with them. But the ruler does not grow.”

The Padawan smiled. “The tree does.”

“And you do. There will always be measurements, systems, teachings written somewhere. They may guide you toward progress and prosperity. But a teaching does not grow by itself. The living person must carry it further.”

A squirrel moved along a fallen branch. The Jedi knelt in the moss and waited. After a moment it came closer, paused, and continued past him.

“Did you call it?” the Padawan asked.

“No.”

“You could have.”

The Jedi watched the small animal disappear among the roots.

“Sometimes you forget how important it is simply to get along with others.”

He stood.

“Look at the forest. Each tree has its own growth, yet together they provide shelter for lives they will never notice. Strength may do that. Gentleness may do that also.”

“Is that the moral?”

“It is one you may find here.”

They continued along the path, and the Padawan remained beside him.

“What becomes of a moral after you discover it?”

“Sometimes you carry it quietly for the rest of your life. That is enough. But sometimes the lesson becomes a teaching, the teaching a realization, and the realization finds expression in what you are able to do. In the life of a Jedi, this may become manifestation—a capability in accord with what has been learned.”

“A greater power?”

“You are looking toward the saber again.”

The Padawan laughed, though he still seemed uncertain.

“Imagine that we are standing in a desert,” the Master said. “Nothing but sand before us. I kneel, touch the ground, and water begins to issue forth. What do you see?”

“Something impossible.”

“And after that?”

“Water.”

“And what does it do?”

The Padawan thought for a moment. “It answers thirst. Things could grow there.”

“Yes. That is the moral within the image. It supports life. You might spend the whole afternoon admiring the one who touched the sand and forget that someone needed a drink.”

The Jedi stopped beside him.

“We ask whether a discovery brings betterment. Benefit asks what can be gained. Betterment asks what becomes better. For you, for me, for everyone else. A capability must be examined by what it brings into the lives around it.”

“And the lesson tells us what is possible?”

“It may awaken your imagination. It does not require you to abandon reason. You can examine an image without pretending that you have witnessed its miracle. But you may also ask what it invites you to bring into the world. Healing where there is injury. Growth where life has been prevented from growing. Water where there is thirst.”

The Padawan looked back along the path they had walked.

“Then the Jedi returns with the lesson.”

“Yes. There comes a time when ‘What must I become?’ opens into ‘What must I now return with?’ The discovery begins to belong to more than the one who made it. Perhaps it moves through a community. Perhaps, in time, through an entire world.”

“Because of the darkness he overcame?”

“The darkness does not deserve credit for the light that answers it.”

The Master let this rest between them before continuing.

“And this is why suffocation is so destructive. You may prevent someone from discovering the lesson that only their life could have taught them. Then what is lost may have belonged, eventually, to all of us.”

They reached a clearing. Above them the sky opened, broad and unobstructed.

“I think I understand,” the Padawan said.

The Jedi turned toward him.

“Then let us look at what you understand.”

A red saber ignited in his hand. The Padawan stopped.

“Now unto Order 66,” the Master said.

For a moment no one moved. Then he lowered the blade toward the empty ground.

“Consider it as a parable. The clones are what you know. Your inherited explanations, the words you have learned, the teachings that have fought beside you. They helped you organize the world. You trusted them.”

“And then they turn against you.”

“When what has been learned becomes a command against further learning, yes. What once helped you begins to forbid your movement.”

The red light lay across the grass.

“Understand death. Understand God. Understand Buddha, the higher planes, the world, science. Understand, understand, understand. These may be worthy inquiries. But hear what can hide beneath the demand: ‘You must see only what I have explained. You may discover only what my explanation permits.’”

The Padawan watched the blade.

“Then how can I trust a teaching?”

“You may examine it. You may question it. You may discover where it helps and where it fails. A question need not become your enemy merely because you cannot yet answer it.”

The saber went dark.

“Even this teaching?”

“You will have to think for yourself.”

The Jedi returned the saber to his side.

“A person directed toward the ground for long enough may begin to wonder where the sky has gone. Growth continues, but it twists in search of light. Finding a clear direction again can be difficult. Still, the sky has not disappeared.”

The Padawan looked upward.

“And what if I never discover the gift you are speaking of?”

“You are already deciding what it must look like.”

The Jedi sat upon a fallen trunk, and the others gathered around him.

“You have heard of water in the desert, of wounds closing beneath a hand, of a branch appearing where a stick has touched a tree. Now perhaps you are wondering which demonstration will belong to you. But what has your life taught you? Begin there. What can you bring forward that adds to life?”

“I don’t know yet.”

“Very well.”

The Padawan waited, as though another instruction must follow.

“Breathe,” the Jedi said. “Live. Sense. Grow a strong trunk, a strong vine, interwoven with time and experience, with friends and family. Mind yourself. You do not have to force a revelation into being before you have lived the life from which it may come.”

He looked around at the gathered students.

“You may say that you are searching for your moral. Perhaps, when it arrives, it will seem that the moral was searching for you. A life capable of bringing it forward.”

For a while they sat beneath the open sky. Then the Padawan glanced toward the path leading back to the chamber.

“Master, you left the ring.”

“Yes.”

“Someone might put it on.”

The Jedi rose.

“Then we should return.”

They walked back together. Upon the table, beside the place where the saber had rested, the ruby was still burning. The Padawan stood before it, watching the fire.

“I could put it on,” he said.

“You could.”

His hand moved toward it, then paused.

“I think I would like to know what I have to say first.”

The Jedi smiled.

The ring remained upon the table.