Prelude: The Trifecta of the Good Life
Comic Con 2015, San Diego
The electrical charge at the conference was reaching mega voltage, superheroes wielding superpowers to terminate antiheroes; antiheroes posturing to thwart their noble aims. The environment could rightly be depicted as a circus, tens of thousands of people filling the halls and the stairwells, spilling out onto the sidewalks and streets, jamming street corners sporting bizarre and outlandish apparel. It was a whirlwind of color and sound, green, red, and orange hair, ray guns, robots…cosplayers mimicking death defying fights, lasers, brute force tactics on display from superheroes wearing brawny costumes. It was manic, glorious, gratuitous, intense, whimsical, mysterious, eccentric, a mecca of all things’ fandom.
Throughout the conference, a nonagenarian man glided effortlessly through throngs of people, pausing to pose for pictures with adoring fans. One group after another, then another, and another, he moved as if his mortal body were carried by a wave of ethereal energy. Thousands clamored for a picture with their hero. His presence felt otherworldly, and the electric energy surrounding him seemed to illuminate the air, casting a magical aura over the gathering.
Immediately following the impromptu photo-opts, pictures were socialized by adoring fans. “Hey!” a reporter shouted laughingly while trying to weave through the crowd to catch up with agile man. “Slow down, you’re going to break the internet!”
He continued the high pace to appease as many fans as possible while making his way to the stage for his question period.
“Oh, my God!” he heard a young woman exclaim to her friend. “There’s so much going on, how are we going to see it all?” Awestruck her head swiveled from side-to-side trying to take it all in. “It’s like trying to drink from a fire hose!” she exclaimed. “I don’t know where to start!”
“How about starting with a picture with me?” the man asked.
She turned and was stunned still. “Stan…Lee…,” she stuttered.
He smiled brightly.
“Yes, yes, yes!” she exclaimed and thrust her phone into a passerby’s hand. “Can you take this picture please?” Her friend stood beside her, then no less than ten people fell in behind them as their friends wove out in front to capture the moment.
One of the Lee’s handlers pushed through the crowd. “Mr. Lee!” he said exasperatedly. “You must stay close to us!” He and two others pushed the crowd back and guided him onto the stage.
A hush fell over the room.
Questions were flung toward him like buckshot out of a shotgun. He tried to corral similar question into a single answer. “Chakra the Invincible,” he said about new material coming out. “My first Indian superhero. A Bollywood movie could be in the offering,” he teased. “I am also collaborating with co-writer Stuart Moore.” He winked playfully. “He’s doing the heavy work; I take the credit. We have a wonderful arrangement!” he laughed lightheartedly. “It’s a trilogy based on the The Zodiac Legacy. If you haven’t read it, shame on you,” he jested.
Somehow, an admiring voice, carried on the air of awe, floated over the din, “What keeps you going after more than 75 years in the comics business?”
“It’s not supposed to end. This is what we do," Lee answered matter-of-factly. "I love to inspire an audience,” he said lightly. “That’s what makes life fun.”
Questions were coming fast and furious and he answered quickly to field as many as possible. When the time was near its end, he quieted the crowd “Hold on, hold on, I have time for one more question. For this one, please step up to the microphone.”
Stan’s attention was arrested as a confident shadow weaved through the audience, strutting with a captivating blend of grace and lethal intent. Each step exuded confidence, her movements a ballet of precision. With mysterious allure, she navigated the comic con world, embodying great power through feminine flow. Her walk was a captivating dance of espionage and heroism. Black Widow, Stan mused as she came into focus through the crowd. Transfixed, a long-buried memory of a real-life nemesis surged to the surface of his consciousness. In his naïve youthful folly, he had been seduced and deceived by the enigmatic Viviane, whose spellbinding allure ignited a tumultuous storm of passion and betrayal. Her treachery was a cataclysmic blow, a devastating duplicity that would ultimately forge his destiny, transforming his life into something far greater and more extraordinary than he could have ever imagined.
Black Widow swung her electroshock batons through the crowd to neutralize any would-be heroes clamouring for the mic. It was as if she had sprung from a comic book, embodying the essence of a character perfectly, imagination coming to life.
Imagination, Stan pondered, was like a conscious projector casting creative energy onto the vast screen of the world. It could transform a world beyond turmoil and selfishness to one governed by wisdom and courage. An illumined imagination was the vehicle through which compassion effloresced, and creative minds, unburdened by fear, weaved a tapestry of beauty for the senses and the soul. Imagination was the primal superpower that could project humanity across the threshold of pain and suffering into a whole new world where gentleness and kindness reigned.
In the final third of his long life, Stan was pleased that he had inspired this invisible mechanism in the minds of millions, showing them that imagination was not just the dreamer, but a powerful force for creating a better world. His magic on the planet was almost done and he was satisfied with his contribution. His role now was simply to enjoy and marvel at the impact of his work, cherishing how it touched hearts and captivated minds.
But as Stan appreciated the creative essence of the conference, an ominous foreboding suddenly surfaced in his mind. Like the tip of an iceberg through a calm body of water, an errant emotion briefly spiked into conscious awareness. That emotion, holding both pleasure and pain, was connected to something vastly profound and deep. As quickly as it surfaced, it sank down below awareness and his attention was again captured by the dark figure moving gracefully through the bustling crowd, her keen eyes scanning the faces around her with practiced vigilance, every step echoing with an air of quiet confidence and unspoken power.
Black Widow secured the coveted microphone. She turned back, her lit-up batons battle-ready to nullify any would-be contenders. Nobody rose to the challenge. She turned back to the mic. “Mr. Lee,” she started formally, her voice resonating with confidence, but barely an octave above that of a child.
“You like to describe your superheroes as characters with ‘feet of clay’. They have superhuman abilities, but their daily lives are notably quotidian, characters struggling with feelings of inadequacy, anxiety, and challenges just like the rest of us. Dr. Strange notwithstanding, you don’t create magical, mystical characters. Have you considered writing stories where the hero is Merlin or Santa Claus?” A quiet chuckle surfaced through the crowd followed by an anticipatory silence.
Stan studied this young woman critically, that uneasy feeling surfacing again, this time as a dragon's tail vibrating at the base of his stomach, a serpent's whisper of peril… He pondered the question skeptically, then a playful smile crossed his face. Just coincidence, he thought dismissing that uneasy twitch within the pit of his stomach. He breathed deeply and smiled. He would meet this question head on. “Great question, my dear… Do you mean like an autobiography…?” He swirled his hand like Doctor Strange, then curled his pinky finger toward his palm, winked, and touched his nose with his index finger as Santa might. Bewilderment crossed many faces in the crowd. “No,” he pontificated for a moment. “I prefer to write fiction.” He scanned the puzzled look on the faces of the onlookers. Then a burst of laughter erupted from one man which started the whole group laughing.
The young woman at the microphone did not laugh, but her eyes bore a familiar derision, and the dragon’s tail twitched at the base of his stomach again.
Stan raised his hand, and with the word, “Excelsior!” he waved at the crowd and left the stage.
As his handlers cut a trail through the crowd for him to exit, he could hear fans reflecting on his answer.
“What did he mean by that?” someone asked.
“Nothing. That’s just his sense of humour,” another voice reasoned.
“Does he really think he’s Merlin and Santa Claus…?” he heard a bemused voice ask.
“Maybe he is,” someone else said enthusiastically. “Its Comic Con, anything is possible!”
As Stan Lee continued through the crowd, the exhaustion of a twelve-hour day was setting in fast.
“I bet he’s writing about Merlin and Santa Claus and wants it to be a surprise,” a fan said to his friend.
“I wouldn’t be surprised,” came a reply.
Carried by the last remanent of an electric current running outside and inside his body, Stan was being escorted to his suite. Approaching his room, he thanked his escorts, entered, and locked the door behind him. When he undertook the motions to remove his clothes, the charge of the day diminished, as if he had taken off his superhero suit. His exhausted muscles gave way as he fell back onto his bed, his hands folded gently over his chest, his two index fingers forming a steeple.
As the charge of the day vanished, a surge of warm, calm energy coursed through him, filling his soul with a profound sense of peace. In that moment, he felt overwhelming gratitude for his magical journey on the planet, a long journey now drawing to a close. His body sank into the soft mattress, and his eyes eased closed to take away the room. The question about Merlin and Santa Claus sprung into his mind. Black Widow’s eyes, the way she moved her body, and that question stirred ancient memories. Maybe, Stan thought, the deeper messages of his work were surfacing through the heart of the cultural mainstream. To ask that question was to intuit the trifecta of living the good life.
A wave of newfound energy surged through him as he saw his vision taking shape in young hearts. The synergy of magic, love, and imagination had the power to unlock a whole new world of peace, happiness, and unity. In the midst of lingering conflicts, old hatreds, and division one question from an adoring fan rose above illuminating that hope, passion, and joy awaited those who understood the power of three.
Magic, the unseen force that danced between moments and breathed life into the ordinary, opened a lens of awe, wonder, and possibility. It was the spark that ignited hearts, a whisper to adventure, reminding all to tune out the chaotic noise of the world and tune into a universe full of mysteries waiting to be discovered.
Love, the most powerful of all emotions, bound civilization together in a symphony of compassion and empathy, transcending barriers, healing wounds, and infusing every action with purpose. Love was the heartbeat of humanity, the force that appealed to kindness, to share, and to uplift each other. It was the silent promise that we were never alone, that a radiant everlasting light was there to guide humanity through its darkest hours.
Imagination, the boundless realm of creativity, was the operant to envision unseen worlds. It was the dreamer’s sanctuary, where ideas took flight and possibilities were limitless. Imagination empowered the soul to transform visions into reality, to shape destiny; an invisible projector casting creative energy outward.
Together, Merlin’s magic, St. Nicholas’ love, and Stan Lee’s imagination unveiled the trifecta of the good life. They offered the alchemical elements that, when combined, created a life filled with wonder, beauty, and purpose. Magic reminded us of the extraordinary, love formed the connective tissue, and imagination provided the power to dream and to create anew. Embracing this trifecta, lonely souls would find that the secret to a fulfilling and meaningful life was not hidden in the stars, but within their own hearts and minds.
Stan drifted off to sleep, a smile etched across his withering face, as his centuries-long life played out between dreams and reality. His mind took him back to Medieval times where social landscapes of shifting power, culture wars, and crumbling economic structures were laying the groundwork for the Renaissance. Just as then, the world today was on the edge of profound change and faced with the choice to either take flight on the wings of a modern Renaissance or falter into a catastrophic collapse. Either way, through joy or through pain, evolution would continue its march forward. The future awaited, full of possibilities and promise, poised well for those ready to step into their higher selves and neutralize embitterment, disunity, and transform mental inertia through magic, love, and imagination.
Stan’s eyes flew open, and his body bolted upright. A surge of new energy suffused his mind as he retrieved his journal from the safe. His fingers traced the embossed title, "My Whole Life," on the soft leather cover, and a soft, golden light began to emanate from the letters, whispering ancient stories of days gone yore. His autobiography was destined to be released posthumously, a guide to be read as a spiritually enlightening work of fiction, but was really a narrative account of his experience on the planet. He opened the book and each word seemed to shimmer with life, transporting him back to the critical juncture when this magical journey began.
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