illustrative media

Encounter with a Wizard

When I saw the wings on this wizard’s hat, I knew it was time for me to share this part of my story. Many of you may recall the first app icon — a simple wizard’s cap crowned with angels wings, the results of my poor attempt to recreate the drawings in my uncle’s notebooks. Few are aware of the encounter which forever seared this image into my mind.

The weeks which followed the second disappearance of uncle Bruce was a time of trial and tribulation — my 40 years in the wilderness; or, if you will, my forty days in the desert, when the urge to dismiss this entire notion and to quit writing altogether almost sent me into the garden of nuts. For the first time in my life, I understood how mental and spiritual anguish could, theoretically, draw blood. There were times I doubted my sanity. I questioned whether the things I saw were real, or if my uncle’s madness had affected my mind in some vicarious way. The loss of my father, the traumatic events of my childhood, and, perhaps, the recent loss of my dear Marie, led me to sit by my window night after night to ponder the path of my own destruction. I was depressed; and I felt there was no place for me in this world.

I began to wonder whether I was just cracking up — whether I wanted the Wizard of Wik to be real so badly that I began to imagine him, subconsciously forcing him to materialize everywhere I went. I began to see him on the side of the road during my trips to town; at the grocery store; in the homeless man limping along the downtown street, begging for a malt and a meal; and even in my education — famous events throughout history began to circulate through my mind, revealing the signature of a subtle and hidden hand influencing the underlying events which are now known to have forever altered the tide of epocs and the entire course of human history.

But I continued to exhort myself. He was there in the beginning, there can be no doubt about that. Those who call me mad need only glance at the bible to learn that Enoch did not see death! And again, in Revelations, the bible prophesies about two men who will come to earth and wage war against an evil empire with the “fire which proceeded forth from their mouth.” What fire proceeds from the mouths of prophets, if not the all-piercng fire of stories? What is a prophet, if not a storyteller?

Everything I ever learned about history began to take new shape as I folded over the pages of my knowledge of this world — pages which were not written by myself, but by many master storytellers. Pages which needed to be ground and sifted in order to sort out the true motives behind the stories. As this miller’s wheel turned round and round in my mind, there was always a sense that even my thoughts were being guided by a subtle, yet powerful hand.

It was during one of these sessions when, deep in meditative thought, eyes closed on my couch, back leaning hard against a pillow, I opened my eyes, and there he was.

I was not even surprised, so peaceful was the air in the room; and the trance I had allowed myself to fall into. His face wore the countenance of a father, and he looked at me in a way which I can only describe as the way a father looks at a son or daughter — caring, loving, and all the the rest. His robe was clean, but dark in color, this time. His staff was sheer elegance, and he held it with the grace of a painting. He was all the good qualities a young man or woman looks for in a hero, and he was the dred of all those who prey on the weak and exploit the poor. He was the voice of one crying in the wilderness, calling forth to a lost and oppressed generation; and he was the righteous ruler, abdicating his throne for the greater good of the people.

But he did not force his presence or his will upon me. He put forth no ultimatums, and issued no commands. He merely found me, as the natural flow of water finds its path to the ocean — we were both looking for eachother. As it turns out, he had been looking for me for a very long time.

My time in the wilderness was over. This was my baptism. The Wizard of Wik showed me a world I always knew was there before my very eyes! A world we must all find, or perish. A world of harmony and nature, of plants and living things coexisting with advanced technology. A world without poverty or crime, racism or hatred, rich or poor. Awe-struck by these wondrous visions, I asked him when all these things would take place: “How long, Sir, until mankind reaches this goal?”

“My dear boy,” he replied, “This is not a vision of the future, but of the past.” Suddenly, the feeling of extasy which had overtaken me turned to discomfort and confusion as the Wizard of Wik lifted his staff. Time and space folded before my eyes, enveloping us into a white sphere — a doorway — by which this story God travels throughout the multiverse. We entered some sort of transparency, clear enough to perceive that we were moving at extreme warp speeds, though we ourselves were as still and as stable as we were moments ago. My eyes pleaded for an explanation.

“I can only show you visions of the past, he said.” To see the future, we must travel. I will show you what the world looks like in the future, and then we shall see if there is anything we can do about it.”

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