Tranquility
Scene 10
A gong sounds in the emptiness, a single deep fundamental resonating endlessly in all directions, filling the void, shaping and defining it. Nothingness becomes space, potential, and into this openness a second chime note falls, a perfect chord, harmonious with the first. Tone and overtone, they sing together, this one now crossing that, intertwining, weaving, blending: and there, at the very crux of their intersection, the third – and the fourth, and the fifth. Five perfect notes, a circle of wholeness, each a part of the others, placed and known within the all. The five-tone overflows, then, combining and separating, the dance of its interstices a kind of melody, too: the music of the unfolding, the possible. These things are all contained within the pregnant moment, the present, this here-and-now: unique, irrepeatable, blossoming from placeless center, binding the beholder into the perfection of its balance.
Qui-Gon lays aside the rake and looks upon his work, the physical embodiment of this listening. Rocks stand here, and there, poised and immovable. About them the complex tracery of sand, a flowing network, a web, a spreading ripple, the chorus of the sum totality.
The Serenity Garden reposes in the tranquility of perfection, in ever-moving harmony. A smile of utter content plays about his mouth, twinkles joyfully in his eyes. There. It is done.
He glances over his shoulder, to be sure his young pupil has also tasted of this supernal bliss, seen and felt what he has. And lo and behold: the boy is still kneeling the 'saber resting across his knees, his face the picture of intense concentration, blue eyes bright and piercing beyond the veil of the sensory, into hidden depths.
The Jedi master pads gracefully across the sand and crouches down beside his padawan. "You see?" he breathes.
Obi-Wan starts out of his reverie. "Oh. Um…. Yes, Master."
The tall man's eyes narrow, as his student casts a guilty look at the finished meditation, eyes flitting uncomprehending between rock and rock, ripple and ripple. His hands tighten about the 'saber's hilt, then relax. He proffers the sacred weapon to its proper bearer.
"Thank you." Qui-Gon fastens the 'saber at his belt, wondering where he has gone wrong this time. "May I ask where your attention was wandering, since it manifestly was not attending to the present moment?"
Flushing slightly, his apprentice fidgets where he sits, bouncing up and down upon his heels, ever so slightly. "That kata you showed me day before last. Actually," he confesses, with only a hint of contrition in his tone.
A short exhalation. A Jedi knows when to admit defeat; likewise, a Jedi knows that victory and defeat are illusory, depending on one's point of view. "Very well," the senior of the pair decides. "I can see we shan't make any further progress until you've burned off a bit of excess energy."
Too naïve – as of yet- to see the double edged nature of this diagnosis, Obi-Wan bounces to his feet. "Yes, Master. We haven't done anything all day." At the rebuffing silence this earns him, he adds," I mean, anything in the dojo."
"Hm." Qui-Gon gravely replaces his own footwear and favors the boy with a very wry smile. TA this phase in the proceedings, he has to admit to a certain degree of throttled nervous tension himself. A bit of exercise will do them both good. And they can return to the exercise shortly thereafter. "Then I suggest we adjourn to the nearest empty salle, posthaste."