Scroll of Origins — The Artist Who Didn't Want a Throne

Scroll of Origins: The Artist Who Didn’t Want a Throne

In my case, as an artist, I always knew where I’m coming from and I know where I’m going.

What once felt like fantasy has become disturbing in its realism—how my life and my persona combine to describe what looks like my actual reality.

Not all artists have this dilemma. It depends on the medium, I imagine.

There are artists who practice art out of necessity—because they need it to understand the world around them. They can live a quiet life without recognition from any artistic community. Sometimes they only realize they are “an artist” by accident. All that time they thought they were simply living in accord with their nature.

That kind of artist belongs to a large community of people who are satisfied with an art-hobby to occupy their time—and there is nothing wrong with that.

But then there is the other category:

the artist who becomes dangerous to his era simply by speaking.

If Socrates had not held public discourse for the city of Athens, the world would have lost one of the greatest traditions of Western culture. He was executed for it—just like Galileo later in history. These men did not have to contribute anything to the wealth of nations.

Personally? If I were Galileo, I would have kept my mouth shut.

And yet much later the world was glad they spoke—because they inspired generations to ask the difficult questions.

In that regard, this is all I’m doing.

My dream is simple: to have a normal life and enjoy the rest of my days.

But if the world’s energy is heading in the direction I described in my earlier writings as a student, I cannot ignore the irony.

If a vision disturbed my reality and robbed me of my youth, I also can’t pretend I haven’t been vindicated. And when a person tastes vindication, there is almost nothing left to look forward to that doesn’t have diminishing returns.

At this point, simply staying alive—upright in a physical body—would fit me just fine.

But if the world can find some use for me, I would be honored.

If the world continues progressing in the direction I anticipated, my only hope is that it works pleasantly for all who remain on Earth. But gently settling into middle age, I probably won’t be alive when the “dorks” reach that point. It isn’t victory for me either—just resignation: I struggled, and survived, in dignity.

I saw a world completely automated, and humans evolving into the next phase—grafted, to some extent, with machines, under a one-world government.

And the most astonishing thing of all:

I saw myself at the head of that hierarchy.

Why?

Not because I’m the smartest, the strongest, or the best human for the job—

but because I was the chosen one.

Now imagine being twenty-one years old, walking around with that idea in your head. You begin to lose touch with the simplicity around you.

I say that carefully, because I have never been out of touch with reality. I was always aware of everything around me. I simply couldn’t find value in most things.

After all, I was a man on a mission.

Back then I created a character called Saviour.

My concept was that he would be born in a colony on the moon—detached from ordinary life—raised and nurtured to become the savior of humanity.

At that time I wasn’t thinking of the Antichrist.

I was focused on the return of the Messiah.

Then it came to me in a dream:

In the 1960s, a series of children were born around the world carrying a particular gene. Most of these children were monitored from birth by a secret society. Every aspect of their lives was distorted so their lives would be as difficult as possible—short of killing them.

The reason was simple: among this crop of children would emerge either the savior of humanity, or the Antichrist… or both.

Those who failed?

Tough luck.

I wanted to turn that piece into a novel, but the vision itself was so life-shattering that I abandoned the process.

Now, thirty years later, it doesn’t feel like fantasy.

I carry a genuine concern that out of all the boys who survived, one has been selected to become a world president.

Many people assume that this boy—now a man—must have exceptional qualities.

The answer is yes.

He is the most reasonable man in the world. Not that he is not also intelligent—but the reason he is chosen has little to do with achievements and everything to do with his heart.

Everything he endured did not make him bitter or hateful. It made him compassionate and resourceful.

His vision is as large as the universe itself.

This is not fake news or a conspiracy theory to me.

The Messiah is among you, and you couldn’t guess who he is.

Like most of you, I’m clueless…

but some know.

The original plan was to build a base on the moon, kidnap those boys, and take them there. They were to return to Earth as the one named Saviour and his twelve disciples.

But the cost of fighting the war against the Soviets changed the plan.

Notes: It’s a radical departure from scripture… but is it really?

Self-fulfilling prophecies. Accidental births.

Unlike the physicists whose craft I admire, I still have difficulty believing Earth was created by accident.

Even if God were only colliding atoms in the vacuum hoping something would emerge, I still believe the Immortal Supreme has already mastered the art of physics.

Regardless of mankind’s ambition—and any other species scattered across the universe—there is a vision of purpose.

A common destiny.

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