Simple Wisdom

Golden light poured through the tattered mists like rich syrup oozing from a broken honeycomb. Dust motes, or maybe pollen grains, lazily swirled along the luminous paths, and miniscule winged insects reveled in the warm radiance, spiraling up on a draft and then floating gracefully down in solemn, unhurried procession all the way to the soft fragrant earth. Stray droplets of light spattered and dripped off the damp foliage of the lush garden. A single amber shaft – glorious, unbroken- beamed down upon the ancient teacher's wrinkled skull, lending sudden splendor to the few wisps of silver hair which stood up from his head like the last straggling tongues of a dying fire.

As though the thought of fire was a secret password, a key to the inner dimension of things, a veil lifted from the world and the same scene appeared in deeper, richer hues: the teacher's crown of dying fire revealed itself to be a bright aura, the blinding corona of a great star surrounded by a dancing nebula of colors which were the garden, and a flock of small, intensely shining satellites which were his students. They were all united in a living effusion of invisible light, intangible power, flowing in it and through it…

"Pay attention, you must!" A rasping voice shattered the vision, and summoned back mundane reality with a sharp jerk. "Time for meditation it is not."

The group of young students murmured and softly jostled one another, like reeds rustling in the gentle breeze of the old teacher's irritation.

"Your focus you must keep in the here and now," Master Yoda told the child whose mind had so egregiously wandered from the lesson at hand. "Come forward now. Up here. Hhhmmmph."

"Yes, master."

The culprit stepped to the front of the group, to a place directly under the old master's scrutiny. At these close quarters it was apparent that the youngling was already taller than the revered master; they could easily look one another straight in the eye. Yoda held the child's gaze riveted with his own stern but kindly regard until the boy lowered his eyes in deference.

The ancient Jedi withdrew a plump muja fruit from an interior pocket of his frayed robe. "Know you what this is?" he inquired of the class.

"Muja fruit!" one voice chirped.

"Snack time?" another guessed hopefully.

"A ball!"

"Can I smell it?" a small Dressalian wanted to know. His olfactory sense was keener than that most other species'.

"A puzzle this is," the tiny, wizened master chuckled. "Solve it, you must. Somewhere in this garden another muja fruit hidden is. Find this second fruit you must."

The younglings remained clustered expectantly about their beloved teacher, perhaps desiring a further clue or instruction. Their eyes were wide and a few gave solemn nods.

"Go! Go!" Yoda shooed them away, waving a three-digited hand in dismissal.

The group gradually scattered into the garden, padding hesitantly at first along the well-groomed paths and into secret grottos, and then scampering enthusiastically out of view, in pursuit of the mysterious fruit.

Yoda shifted his weight to ease his aching joints and settled more comfortably on his gimer stick. Games of hide and seek were a perennial favorite, a pastime enjoyed by every successive generation of Jedi initiates, but this one always proved more challenging than most. He had taught this same lesson, in many different ways, to so many Jedi over the decades that he could barely remember all the occasions or all the names. Not that it mattered – in the Force, all teaching and all learning were one thing, one ever-flowing river. This particular lesson, for all its charm, never failed to utterly confound at least a few of his innocent charges.

His long pointed ears twitched in amusement as he glanced here and there about the spacious arboretum, watching the younglings' unflagging search for a small, elusive muja. They had been at it now for nearly half an hour. He shoved the original fruit back into a pocket, chortling quietly to himself, and stumped off to find a broad, flat rock on which to rest his weary limbs and observe the antics of the class.

A few moments later he was comfortably settled cross-legged upon a squat chunk of mossy stone. His large green-gold eyes flitted back and forth across the artificial landscape, noting the progress of the hunters. Nearby, behind a screen of water-plants lining a shallow stream-bed, two young voices earnestly conferred.

"What are you doing, Garen?" a human boy asked in the precise inflection of a native Coruscanti or a well-born Mid Rim family. Yoda recognized the daydreamer from earlier in the afternoon.

"Looking under the water," a second, slightly huskier voice answered.

"Muja fruits float," the first boy informed him, an edge of long-suffering condescension tinting his young voice.

A splash and a soft squelching noise heralded Garen Muln's exit from the trickling miniature river. "Since you know everything, what's your brilliant idea?" he demanded of his interlocutor, with the tactless impatience of close childhood friendship. "Where is it, then?"

"Where nobody will look for it, of course," his friend replied promptly, with characteristic assurance.

The water plants' fronds parted and two small figures emerged onto the path near Yoda's rock. Both were muddied to the knees, trousers and hems of loose white tunics irrevocably stained. Neither seemed to care.

Garen Muln growled in exasperation. "If nobody is going to look for it there, then we won't either," he pointed out. "So what's the point?"

His companion stood frowning slightly at the gravel path, arms crossed over his chest in a posture of stubborn resolve. "Then we won't look for it," he decided at last.

Garen squinted, hands on hips, taking a few moments to consider the implications of this new and radical proposal.

"That's stupid," he said.

There was a long pause during which a pair of bright blue-green and a pair of dark grey eyes locked together, flashing unspoken challenge. A heartbeat later, both boys were laughing and tussling on the ground, tumbling and grappling across a patch of manicured lawn, oblivious to the presence of the ancient master who was perched upon his low stone a few meters away.

Yoda's eyes narrowed, and then narrowed further as the mock-fight transmuted into a wrestling match accented by grunts, yelps, and an occasional squeal of mirth. The orderly mound of small stones and mulch which graced this part of the garden was strewn in every direction as the pair of young humans twisted and struggled, shouting and giggling as they sought to subdue one another.

The diminutive Jedi pursed his narrow lips and slid awkwardly off the rock. Hefting his stick purposively, he hobbled forward to this scene of reckless frivolity. With a guttural huff of displeasure, he held up a single clawed hand, palm outward. Immediately both miscreants were pinned to the ground by an invisible and irresistible power. They sprawled helplessly, struggling to free themselves – until they realized whom it was that had so peremptorily ended their contest. Both went limp and blanched, wordless with shock and dismay.

"Enough," the small green Jedi master grunted severely, glaring at the two from under lowered brows. He released his hold on the boys, and they rose shakily to their feet, faces now reddening with shame. Yoda indulged in a long, throaty sigh. He allowed his gaze to travel meaningfully over their begrimed and disheveled clothing, their smudged faces and sweat-dampened hair. They stood transfixed, remorse and dread rippling through their Force signatures.

"My instructions, were you following, Garen?" he demanded of the taller child.

Garen Muln could only swallow. Words did not issue from his mouth.

"No, master," his companion supplied for him.

"Ask you, I did not," Yoda snapped. "Know already do I that paying attention you were not."

The second boy's mouth clamped shut and his lightly freckled cheeks flushed an even deeper shade of crimson.

"We were looking for the hidden muja fruit, master," Garen managed to choke out.

"Looking, call you this?" Yoda growled, sweeping his cane about to encompass the disordered surroundings and the two younglings themselves.

"No, master," Garen intoned miserably, shoulders drooping.

Yoda surveyed them in disapproving silence, waiting patiently for the inevitable.

"I'm deeply sorry, master."

"It was my fault, master."

They received the slightest of nods in acknowledgement and made their bows with evident relief.

"Go you may. To your task attend." Grumbling to himself, he watched the energetic pair scuttle away around a bend in the path. Snorting, he stumped after them , his gimer stick crunching in the gravel as he shuffled along between the cool shafts of light and mist.

Budding Jedi stamina notwithstanding, most the tiny clan members were weighed down by frustration, boredom, and hunger by the time another hour had passed. It was near time for their evening meal, and the arboretum's diffuse light had subtly changed as the overhead illumination banks mimicked the sun's motion across the late afternoon sky outside. Long shadows cast the terraced gardens and cascading banks of greenery in sharp highlight. As though by mutual consent, drawn by some invisible alchemy, the young students trudged back to their starting-place, empty handed. A few mournful faces and many tired ones peered at Yoda in evident confusion. Yawns punctuated the weary silence.

The old master relented. "Give up, do you?"

"Yes master! Yes!" they chorused.

One of the crèche masters waited patiently by the garden entrance, ready to escort the class back to their quarters and a much-needed meal. The younglings fell into line obediently.

All except one.

"Time to leave it is," Yoda informed the straggler. "Join the others you must."

"I haven't given up yet, master," the boy objected. His feet were planted firmly under him, as though ready for a wrestling match. Yoda recognized the daydreamer, the rascal who had fought with Garen Muln, a bright and obstinate character who often had the soft-hearted crèche masters wrapped around his small finger. He seemed bent on disobedience today.

Yoda chuffed, and waved the crèche master away. The younglings filed out the door after her, leaving a palpable flutter of relief in their wake.

He turned back to the sole remaining child. "Know you where the hidden fruit is, hm?"

"No," the boy admitted.

Yoda leaned on his stick and pierced the youngling with his most critical gaze. "Then why so stubborn, hmm?"

Emboldened in the face of an interrogation which would instantly have reduced most the clan's members to hot tears, the boy looked up eagerly. "Because nobody was going to find it, master. It's a trick question, isn't it?"

Yoda's eyes widened theatrically and his ears twitched. "Oh…so wise you are become. Almost as wise as Master Yoda."

Unfazed by the sarcasm, or perhaps missing it entirely, the boy grinned, revealing one missing front tooth and two adorable dimples, the combined power of which the crèche masters must often have found devastating. But Yoda was immune to such infantile charms.

"Well?" he snorted.

"You'll tell me the answer," the boy declared with confidence. He stood expectantly.

The ancient teacher's gravelly voice took on a sharp edge. "What? Tell you? When so clever and stubborn you are? Asking for answer. Giving up that is. Thought you were too proud for that, I did."

The child's dazzling smile faltered a little. Doubt clouded his features. "I'm not giving up," he insisted.

"Then keep looking," Yoda grunted, irritably. He waved a hand at the vast expanse of the arboretum. "Look until you find it. If old enough to talk to Master Yoda like Council member, you are, then old enough you are to find answer yourself. Hhmmmph." He slammed his stick into the soft earth.

"But master –"

"No." The lined, green, impish face was implacable, its centuries of habitual authority crushing the objection with a single stinging word.

The boy flinched but, true to his word, he did not capitulate. "Yes, master," he bowed.

The small figure trudged away, tired but determined, wistfully aware that the evening meal would have come and gone by the time he succeeded, if ever he did. Yoda watched the formidable little Jedi disappear around a bend, and departed, chuckling softly to himself.

The golden light of afternoon had long since poured out its last drop; not even a trickle of the day's warm effulgence escaped from the gloom above. The damps mists descended from their daytime heights and unfurled themselves across the miniature paradise. Glow lamps picked out the neat, sinuous footpaths and cast glittering reflections in the myriad starems and fountains that filled the vast room with the perpetual music of water. In one of the deeper ponds, near the heart of the garden maze, these reflected lights formed constellations, luminaries floating in endless depths, a perfect image of the night sky without.

An eight year old boy sat and peered into this tranquil mirror. He was bone-weary, cold, gnawingly hungry, and at his wits' end. The appointed time for the communal meal had long since passed, and the summer afternoon had succumbed at last to brief evening and then to night. He had been looking for the hidden muja fruit all this time, and none had appeared. He had made a half-hearted attempt to seek it in all the most unlikely places, quite literally leaving no stone unturned. All in vain, of course, because he had known from the start that he would not find the fruit, not in the conventional sense. The game was a puzzle, a riddle, a conundrum. He knew enough to recognize it as such, but not enough to solve it. His peers by now were fed, and had played and stretched and breathed, and were fast asleep on their floor mats. He, on the other hand, was none of these things, and longed for them all – badly.

He picked up a small pebble with his mind and sent it careening into the pool's glassy surface, shattering its smug image of serenity and sending a brisk ripple shuddering across the water in widening circles. If only the mental illusion of the riddle could be so easily smashed! Perhaps it could. Perhaps he simply lacked the skill or insight. Perhaps, as Garen Muln had suggested earlier, he was too stupid to see the obvious.

Shuffling footsteps sounded on the gravel path behind him, and he turned to greet the unexpected newcomer. It was Master Yoda.

The ancient Jedi stumped forward on his cane and plopped down unceremoniously next to the dejected boy. "Found the hidden muja fruit you have not," he observed.

"No, master," the youngling replied miserably. Defeat did not sit well with him.

"Hmmmm. Why not, think you?"

The young student caught an uninvited yawn and turned it into a deep sigh. "Because I'm too stupid," he muttered, past caring about impropriety.

"Too stupid? I think not," the old one said firmly. He paused. "But maybe too hungry, eh?" He withdrew the original plump, round muja from his pocket and offered it to the boy. "If find its match you cannot, then to good use should you put this one," he urged.

The youngling gratefully accepted the offering and bit into the fruit with relish. It was sweet and tangy, succulent and deliciously sweet. They said wisdom was sweet, and he imagined that it would taste like this. At the fruit's core was a hard and wrinkled pit.

The Force laughed, and a thrill travelled down his spine. The boy stopped and turned in wonderment to the small, shriveled Jedi hunched so companionably beside him.

"Master!"

"Hmmm?"

"I found the hidden muja fruit." He plucked the pit from the fruit's soft heart and held it out on his extended palm. "It's the seed."

A slow smile spread across both their faces. The ancient teacher cackled in delight.

"Well done," he rasped. "The second fruit concealed within the first always was. When find what you seek, you cannot, look within. Remember this always."

"I will, master. Thank you, master."

Yoda grunted as he heaved himself back onto his feet. "Now: too late is it for you to be out of bed. Run along, before more trouble you find for yourself. Enough lessons have you learned for one day."

"Yes, master."

Obi Wan Kenobi trotted off toward his clan's dormitory, shamelessly savoring the last bites of the fruit that tasted like wisdom. Tomorrow, there would be more lessons, maybe even another riddle – different, unexpected, challenging. But now…for now, all was well. His bed was waiting for him, he had an excellent story to tell Garen in the morning, and – most importantly – he had found what he was looking for.