The Journal of a Master

He can smell the mingled scents of any number of familiar and alien foods emanating from the communal dining hall. He can hear the jovial banter between friends and colleagues as they shared the mealtime together. He can hear the soft padding of boots upon the carpeted hallways, the clack of boots on polished permacrete, as beings from all parts of the galaxy walk the corridors. The hushed and reverent tones that fill the Archives as students and teachers research politics, prepare for missions, and study for lessons are sighs that caress him.

The warmth and safety of this place, the Jedi Temple, runs in his veins and permeates his soul.

It lives inside his heart, the structure he knows so well from birth; it is a living extension of him and his life. It is his home, where dreams are realized and challenges undertaken. There is always a friendly face and a kind word waiting from those within; there is always guidance from Master Yoda and Master Windu. There is the Jedi Council; a tad blinded by their well-intentioned actions, yet nevertheless a strong leadership to hold the Order together.

There are training halls and Meditation Gardens. There is the Room of a Thousand Fountains, which holds so many memories of beloved conversations and realized fears. There is the lake to swim in. There is the crèche where he and Bant met, and there are the classrooms that he shared with friends. There is his room, with his books and model ships floating on repulsorlifts. There is a place for his lightsabre.

There is a place for hopes and tears, there is communion and harmony and shared purpose.

Most of all, there is the Force.

It binds them together; it leads them as one.

And it shows him the home from his dreams - the home of his heart and soul - in the drifting sands and blinding light of the twin suns as surely as if he is still living there to this day.

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x-posted to theatrical_muse