Feb 25 2018, 09:57 PM
Between the conscious and unconscious, there was the Force. Nestled away beneath the layers of thought, the cloud of biological noises and seemingly-random chemical reactions, there resided the intertwining threads that gave purpose to the chaotic nature of life. There, beneath the haze, lay reason, consciousness of its own; a heartbeat of an entire reality, guiding through each measure an orchestra otherwise devoid of grounding.
There, all was interwoven. Time, space and proportion lost all meaning. Forward was backward was upward; the past and future joined inextricably and bound with the present. All form vanished; there was no shape to the Force, no distinguishing facets or tangible quality to it, and yet its presence persisted. Paradoxical, to understand the Force was to understand the balance of opposing natures. The Force could not be touched, but nevertheless felt. Had no voice, and yet could be heard with supreme clarity. Had no mind, but a will that governed the entire being of the Universe as a brain governed the limbs of its body.
A known quantity; returning to the Force was as if returning home. And yet, to be left so bare to it, exposed in what felt unknown, left one vulnerable.
And it was there, balanced upon the precipice of conscious thought and the expanse of unconsciousness, Fenn Soran 'stood'. Nervousness, fear, uncertainty; chemical imbalances poorly mixed by his biology, surged and threatened to unseat him, but the Bothan held steady in the face of himself. In spite of himself; overturning his own unconscious commands, steadying his heartbeat and his breaths. In a brief moment of instability, the body panicked, and the mind fought itself. A single second of upsurge quelled, balanced out, as the Bothan's conscious mind fell into the depths and locked step with the beat dictated by the grand conduction of the Force.
Reality dissolved. Peeled from the seams. The cool, steely air of the cargo hold faded from perception. Gone was the cold chill of the durasteel decking against his backside, nor the warmth of his own body heat pressed against his clothes; Fenn could no longer feel connection to himself. His biology, his shell, peeled away; bearing what truly resided within to the outside world. The armour-plating of two decades of lies that had been so expertly pierced and penetrated years prior, now stripped bare. Like a reptile shedding its skin, so too did Fenn Soran slough his physical form, his flesh and blood, and emerge from himself.
With but a soft exhale, as if expelling his very spiritual being from its shell, did the Bothan let himself simply go.
The spirit, for few words could truly describe the sensation other than that, left the physical bonds and touched infinity. Weightless, formless; the Force surrounded him and in turn, Fenn surrounded it. Took communion with it, heard the undefinable voice of the Force whisper to him and resonate within his being its will. Bathed in the light of creation and life, all that was and would be, Fenn Soran buckled under the immeasurable weight. The idea of Fenn panicked; the nerves were raw, after all. Sensitive to the touch of the Force, after so long away from its embrace, there was only so much the unconscious mind could take. What had years ago felt as a warm and comforting caress felt as white-hot fires scorching across his spiritual being; reflexively the Bothan shied away, but forced himself to endure. Too long he had been away from it all, weakened and withered in isolation, and now had to reconnect; reshape himself the way the Force had intended for him.
The panic was overcome, as the individual being bled away in the depths of the Force; melted into the chorus of all that was and would be. Dissipated, dispersed into the currents of creation; Fenn could feel his perception of reality stretch beyond all mortal confines. Beyond the body, beyond the stuffy, cold cargo hold. Beyond the Ash Star.
There, nestled between space and time, all was as one. Before him played out the great dance of life; the unblinking mental eye capturing each detail far better than any flesh and blood ever could have. Through the Force Fenn could see the Empire topple; could feel the joy rippling across the Galaxy like a wave as the equation so tremendously weighted shifted back into balance. Fenn could see a redemption, a return from beneath the cloak of shadow into the light; a spark in the twisted and corrupted heart of evil that brought on a conflagration.
But oh, how there was loss. Blood, fire; sacrifice. The scales had been brought into alignment but the cost was staggering, on both sides, in the balancing. Voices; thousands, spoke their names and their demise through the haze, but whilst each voice felt distinctive and clear, their words were not. Syllables, consonants, intermittently decipherable but instantly lost to the void; Fenn instantly felt as if he knew them all, and yet, all were forgotten.
Distress tugged back at the Bothan's ethereal form, threatened to bind him back to the confines of reality once more, but stubbornly did the Jedi allow the fear to subside; fighting the current only to remain standing, but little more.