It is often thought by beings in the Galaxy that Jedi are forbidden from love. This is a mistake, in fact we were always taught to have love and compassion for all living beings. Indeed, is the Force not present in all objects and creatures in existence? No, Jedi are actually warned against forming attachments. That is when love can lead to jealousy, or fear of loss. That fear leads to anger, and that anger breeds hatred, a sure path to the Dark Side.
However, can the Dark Side even be isolated as its own entity? Or is it all just "the Force"? Do we merely attribute moral meaning to cosmic forces? Would anyone claim that gravity has a good and bad side? Is it only our mindset, our outlook, our intention that ascribes meaning? After all, if I use the Force to lift rocks, that is a neutral action. But if I do so to clear a path for refugees fleeing the Empire, does that make it a Light Side action? What if instead I pick up those same rocks, and hurl them at the enemy, crushing some and maiming others for life? One action, one same use of the Force, but Light or Dark determined only by my intent or the outcome. But I digress.
In truth, I write this confession to process my emotional state. I struggle with the Dark Side, now more than ever. In the face of an evil as barbaric as this Empire, its purges, eradication of freedoms, genocides and pain, is it not ethical to use any power at my disposal for the greater good? What good are my principles, when the children I was tasked with protecting were slaughtered by the Inquisitorius? In my despair, I gave in. I summoned all my rage, my fear, anger and pain, and turned it on those who had slaughtered my Padawans. But I was foolish, I had power, yes, but no tempering. I was new to such raw power, while my opponents were well trained. They toyed with me, laughed at my pain, and left me, my bones and spirit broken but alive, to suffer in my abject failure. I had betrayed my principles, and still failed to succeed.
That was not my only encounter with the Dark however. The worst came after. In our childish tales, the Dark Side was powered by furious hatred. Nobody ever told us the reality, that hatred comes in so many forms. I hated the Empire, but I hated myself more. It was my weakness, my failure, that led to the slaying of the Padawans. This self hatred burned the brightest in my soul, its suffocating flames choking my thoughts. Dark-siders are fueled by pain, and I found myself subconsciously hurting my own body. In idle moments, I used the Force to stress my reformed bones, re-opening fractures, the spasms of pain feeding my dark passenger. It was most insidious, a self perpetuating cycle, my own pain fueling the Dark, which led to more pain, and so on, as the darkness grew. Yet another way we all failed the Younglings... we never prepared them for such realities, never taught them the true damage of the Dark Side.
And so I limped on for many years. Avoiding the war at large, leading a hermit life, afraid to face anyone for fear of seeing in their eyes the trusting innocence of my failed charges. My thoughts became my reality. Eventually I realised how deep I was in the Dark Side's embrace, which served only to push me deeper, as despite my awareness, I was powerless to change it. My awareness of how far I had fallen only cemented my belief that I deserved this pain, that I deserved to suffer, and the Dark Side was happy to oblige.
There is no happy ending to my tale, not exactly. The Empire still reigns, the Galaxy is still opressed. However, it is important to find the bright rays surrounding the dark cloud. The Rebellion has grown into an army, able to field soldiers and pilots on a galactic scale. While they are vastly outnumbered in military might, their ability to pick and choose engagements continues to drive back the tide of the Empire's relentless march. As for myself, I found salvation of sorts in an unlikely place. Several years following my desent into darkness, I encountered a stowaway on my ship: a young orphan girl, no older than 7 or 8. Initially I tried to offload her to anyone more suited or qualified, local authoritiesor care homes, afraid of repeating my past mistakes, anxious of the possible futures ahead. However, she truly had nowhere else to go, and refused to leave my side. Clearly she saw something in me that I had long since lost sight of. Eventually I took her in, adopting her, teaching her the spacefaring life of a smuggler. Slowly, I began to see myself from outside my own head, absent from the voices that plagued my mind. I returned to smuggling, brached into running supplies past Imperial blockages to refugees, and ended up assisting several missions for the Rebellion. I do not have the temperament to lead, but I have re-learned how to help where I can. Now, a decade later, she is preparing to leave and enlist in the Rebellion, as a pilot. I have faith in her future, and hope she exceeds my every expectation. A small voice still fears the worst, I dread a message that announces she has been killed in action, but I am better able to put such anxieties aside now. It is a struggle at times, but I try to focus only on things which are happening. The past cannot be changed, and the future is unwritten. Obsessing over possibilities only means being absent from the present. I will worry about the worst only when it happens. Until then, I have the now, where she is alive and we all fight for a better Galaxy.
My fears have not vanished, and on my bad nights I still catch myself stressing my old wounds, yet I have found renewed purpose, and have learned to mostly keep my fears in check. I write this message in the hopes that others can learn of my struggle, and feel less alone.
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