Balance.
That is the key to inner peace and happiness.
Going too far into your passions, leads to feeling empty over time. You keep going farther and farther until you don't recognize yourself in the mirror. An abomination, anathema to the will of the cosmos and creation. The illusion of power is intoxicating. But that's simply what it is. An illusion. The price of passion is steep. But the high of unbridled power is addicting. Power, it makes sniffing spice off a hookers tits seem pedestrian.
Going too far the other way will leave behind a living corpse. A husk with no soul. Simply a living, breathing organism. Functioning, simply because it is not yet ready to die. The inner peace and calm found is an illusion. As life goes on, one will simply kill of more of themselves to not feel anything. To feel at one with the cosmos. Unwittingly removing themselves from creation and all its little wonders. The carefree laughter of children will bring no joy. And the wailing shrieks of a mother holding her dead son will bring no sorrow. A living corpse, who would be better off dead.
The echoes of his actions were still felt throughout the cosmos. Centuries after his death. His order spoke his name with reverence and respect. His enemies, were all dead.
He held onto his conscious. Slowing the merger between himself and the cosmos. Waiting at his tomb, for his successor. Whoever it may be.
He just needed to pass on one simple principal. Balance.
The centuries came and went, but no one worthy appeared to take the mantle an set right the galaxy. Billions of lives hung in the balance, and yet not one soul gathered the courage to venture to his tomb. It's not like his tomb didn't have any visitors, but rabbits, bats and mice don't really make for good disciples.
Time went by, and the man who tamed the galaxy lost his will to remain. He put all his teachings inside a Holocron, and left. To see with his own senses the state of the galaxy he fought for.