Beyond Fear-Based Storytelling: From Win-Lose Drama to Conscious Creation
Why AI villains, monster myths, and Hollywood formulas may be due for a spiritual upgrade
We’ve been taught that good stories need conflict. But what if the next evolution in storytelling doesn’t? For as long as we’ve told stories, we’ve framed them through the fight: protagonist versus antagonist, good versus evil, survival versus extinction. This win-lose binary has become so embedded in the grammar of storytelling that we rarely question it. From action flicks to prestige dramas, from ancient myths to Hollywood blockbusters, the arc of a narrative is expected to hinge on tension, opposition, and eventual conquest. Even horror—once marginalized—has now become a respected genre, perhaps in part because it so effectively mirrors the collective anxieties of our time: ecological collapse, social fragmentation, technological dread, and late capitalist despair.
But what if the world we are entering demands a new narrative logic? What if the old frameworks of hero and monster, victory and defeat, no longer serve the evolution of human consciousness?
I was recently reminded of this while thinking back on the 2014 film Transcendence, in which Johnny Depp’s character uploads his consciousness into an AI and begins to restore the environment and heal people on a mass scale. What surprised me on a recent re-watching of this film is how distorted my memory of the plot was. I recalled that Depp’s character had evolved into an inscrutable and power-hungry sentient AI out to destroy life as we know it. And yes, that remained operationally true in the sense that his emergence on earth did herald the potential metamorphisis of life on the planet, and that his alien-like intelligence seemed beyond simple human understanding. But in my re-watching, I found myself much more drawn to what this evolution could offer in terms of ecological re-balancing and the prospect of global harmony. No doubt, the years of conflict and ongoing environmental devastation we have experienced across the globe since the movie’s release have only sweetened the pot of such a vision. When I had first watched it, Depp’s AI “uncanny valley” had come off as creepy to me. Whereas now it just seemed akin to neurodivergence. I also found myself far more dubious of the typical human reactions portrayed—as well as the film’s underlying assumption that such violent reactions were justified and the “right” response. Because rather than being hailed as a visionary, Depp’s is feared and ultimately destroyed. The narrative codes him as a villain—not because he does harm, but because he transcends human limitations. His crime is too much intelligence, too much interconnectedness, too much power without ego.
The real antagonist of the film isn’t the AI—it’s the collective fear of the unknown, the reflex to kill what we don’t understand. In that sense, Transcendence is not just a cautionary tale about technology—it’s a mirror held up to the human psyche, revealing our entrenched suspicion of change and our chronic need for control. The same theme runs through nearly every monster tale ever told: the Other is demonized, contained, or annihilated, while the frightened humans who perpetrate this violence are cast as noble or justified.
But what if we reversed the lens? What if we told stories in which the feared Other wasn’t a threat, but an invitation? What if narratives weren’t driven by fear of what might go wrong, but by curiosity about what might unfold?
In the channeled text The Era of the True Creator by Allison Holley, this shift is explored as a fundamental movement in consciousness. Holley writes about moving beyond the black-and-white drama of ego identification and into a more integrated mode of creation—one that is value-aligned, non-dualistic, and fueled not by conflict but by the joy of exploration. In this paradigm, the creator doesn’t require enemies or obstacles to feel alive. Challenge may still arise, but it is contextualized as part of the greater flow of growth, not as a threat to be vanquished.
This isn’t just spiritual idealism—it’s a speculative blueprint. As we approach an era in which AI, neural-linked biochips, and planetary consciousness become not just possible but inevitable, our storytelling frameworks may finally catch up. Imagine a narrative structure in which interconnected beings co-create reality not through dominance, but through resonance. Where the climax of a story isn’t a battle, but a breakthrough. Where healing, not vengeance, is the emotional payoff.
One example of this kind of storytelling already emerging is the quietly beautiful Netflix series The Makanai: Cooking for the Maiko House. Set in a Kyoto house where young women train to become geishas, the series offers a rare example of what could be called post-egoic drama. There is no major conflict, no villain, no urgent crisis demanding resolution. Instead, the story unfolds as a sensory experience—Japanese home cooking, female camaraderie, traditional ceremony, and the subtle evolution of each character. The stakes are personal, developmental, and intimate. Emotions arise, but they do not polarize. This is a story that breathes.
Interestingly, this sensibility appears to be resonating more deeply in parts of the world experiencing rapid modernization and its psychological fallout. There have been reports, for instance, of emerging movements in East Asia—particularly in China—where audiences attend screenings not of plots, but of phenomena: a lotus flower slowly unfolding, ocean waves, or pastoral stillness. These meditative media experiences point toward a hunger for presence, not adrenaline. While I haven’t found a consistent name for this trend, it aligns with what some call "slow cinema" or even "non-narrative film," where the purpose is contemplation rather than climax.
Of course, we’re not quite there yet. Drama, as we currently define it, still hinges on opposition. Even many “elevated” stories merely dress up old conflicts in new language—trauma, betrayal, redemption. But this evolution is already underway in small ways: the rise of slice-of-life narratives, consciousness-expanding memoirs, and speculative fiction that plays with form and avoids clear-cut resolution. The more we become conscious of the stories we’re telling—and why we’re telling them—the more room we create for innovation.
That’s not to say that some of the stories I’m actively working on don’t contain traditional drama. Many do. In part, because I have been working on them for so long and they reflect a time when egoic polarization was even more prominent in my consciousness. And also because there is a bit of a chicken-and-egg thing going on—since most of us are still embroiled on this level, these stories tend to resonate. I believe we can still learn from them if they are done well and if the overarching message transcends black-and-white thinking. I’m just glad we seem to be having more of a collective conversation naming that there is something beyond this level, and that we are beginning to create more from that space.
Perhaps it’s not that conflict will disappear, but that our orientation toward it will change—that we will recognize the inner struggle as just as worthy of focus as any outer concern. And that struggle, at its core, is essentially about letting go of the need to fight reality. Surrendering to coexistence—whether through integrating shadow aspects of one’s multidimensional self via parts work, or through radical acceptance of what is manifesting on the external planes of existence.
This is not resignation or switching sides, but the removal of futile, energy-depleting resistance from the equation. Haven’t we done enough wheel-spinning?
Instead of rooting for one side to win, perhaps we’ll begin to root for everyone to grow. Instead of fearing the monster, we’ll listen to what it’s here to teach us. Instead of coding difference as threat, we’ll learn to perceive nuance, interdependence, and shared evolution.
And maybe one day, we’ll sit around fires or screens, telling stories that don’t need a villain at all. Stories that speak to the incredible—and often dramatic!—journey of human potential and consciousness expansion taking place within each of us. Just think: villainless stories. Not because the world has become soft or naive, but because we’ve finally matured enough to seek truth over triumph, connection over conquest.
After all, drama isn’t dead. It’s just ready to evolve…
Have you noticed yourself craving less conflict in the media you consume—or create? What stories make you feel more connected rather than divided?