Chapter 1[]
When you have the currents of the universe coursing through your head, waking up was rarely a pleasant experience. On a good day, there were the natural processes that forever cycle and spin: gravity pulling and pushing, strong and weak nuclear forces being tested and broken, electromagnetism radiating out and in, over and under, around and through, all on scales ultimately incomprehensible to any consciousness that was part of the system. Billions of planets orbiting billions of stars orbiting millions of black holes, all careening around some central point to form a glob of stuff called a galaxy, to say nothing of the trillions of comets and asteroids and dwarf planets wandering around. All these objects, rock and mineral, gases and liquids, elemental and molecular whizzing around, often colliding at fantastic speeds to produce more gases or liquids or solids, ejecting heat and light and radioactive particles. Already, this was a monumentally complex picture, more than hundreds or thousands of lifetimes could begin to understand and predict.
"Lifetimes." Life.
On an average day, life was added to this picture and any still sane mind instantly unraveled in self-defense. Trillions of species across those billions of planets, all breathing, eating, moving, hunting, hiding, copulating, digesting, clinging desperately to that which made them "life." From the single-celled to the gargantuan, each life form could be called its own solar system, each planet, a 'galaxy.'
And on a bad day? Self-awareness and consciousness were added, and the now unraveled mind melted into its component compounds. Philosophy, religion, politics, art, culture, tools, architecture, the inferences and implications created and acted upon, consciously and subconsciously, by the individual or the family or the city or the country or the planet or...or...or. The clashes of strangers. War. The subterfuge, battle tactics, and emotions flung at the howling, uncaring void of death. The pride and relief of victory. The agony and loss of defeat. Everything had an effect and was affected. The ebb and flow of matter and energy and metaphysics that was the Universe was a omnipotent, omniscient thing. It had been argued, among those who could argue as such, whether there was or was not a guiding intent, or intents, to this Thing. It had been called many names: The Force, the Power of the Cosmos, The Way, the White Current. It could gather in places, abandon others, according to rules or whims impossible to understand. And, for no reason in particular that could be meaningfully divined, it had been determined that the mind of Neakiirin Sheene was to be considered prime real estate.
Since arriving on Zonoma Sekot, Sheene's mornings had fallen into a routine. As the planet's current primary inched over the horizon to peak through his room's single window, his slow rise to consciousness was immediately greeted by a whorl of confusion, images, and sounds playing through his mind. Prone on his sleeping mat and without opening his eyes, his practiced focus cut through the ever-present torrent of juxtaposed visions, quieting his mind and sealing the doors through which the Force poured itself. On occasion, the planet's consciousness, which referred to itself as Sekot, would slow the influx of Force visions for him, before he awoke and did so himself. He was always grateful for help with the constant chore and would send Sekot a quiet thanks through the Force. Sheene rarely got a response. For an entire planet to have a unified consciousness was unique in the galaxy as far as Sheene knew, so he was never offended at the lack of communication. The inner 'mind' (if it could be called as such) of a planet was a mystery that Sheene had little desire to tackle. Other members of his Order had attempted deeper explorations of Sekot's 'mind,' and the effects on them had been...troubling. But Sekot had only ever been accepting and curious of the things with tiny bodies yet enormous wills, similar in ways to its own, that lived on its surface, so Sheene and those above him were not concerned that Sekot might be malicious.
After clearing his head and ensuring all of his thoughts were his own, he would stretch and go through a long-practiced series of motions and martial arts forms to wake and ready his body. His hands waved and looped slowly through the air, long legs spidered his body across the room and back. Jump, extend a leg to his side, and hold. Retract, arms arcing overhead to spiral to his chest, crouch, step and thrust forward. Selecting a single dust mote or fiber float in the air, Sheene would guide it through his motions as his might guide the hand, head, or torso of an opponent, using as little assistance from the Force as possible. He never lost track of a particle he decided to focus on. Anything that he set his intent upon, information about it would pierce his shielded mind, no matter how he tried to stop the flow. So he had mastered how to use this 'gift' he'd been born with. He'd been called omniscient or psychic by many who didn't understand what was happening, but those were not accurate terms. He was a nexus. Just a switching station among the uncountable pathways the Force created and traveled down in its purpose the join the universe together. Learning how to pick and choose how much of it his much comparatively minuscule mind could use, or simply contain, had been a monumental task. He should have become insane as a child. But guided by the Force, crucial events had conspired to give him a chance to become more than he. He'd recognized them, grabbed hold, and never let go. He had found medical help and training. There were dozens of individuals to whom there was no doubt he owed his current life. And so, he went through his daily motions, exercised his control and restraint of the portals into his mind, and then began his meditation.
