After explaining this experience to my client, I
asked him how serious he was about making a documentary, noting
that this would be the most opportune time to get the stories of
these 17 people on film. I knew that once I interviewed them for
the book, they would never tell the story quite as graphically or
emotionally again. Since I had to interview these people for the
book anyway, I suggested it would be wise to interview them on
camera if he ever thought he might want to use this footage for a
documentary some day.
My client responded by saying, “Well, in that case, this
would be a good time to send me that proposal we talked about.”
So I did. And, to my surprise, he accepted it. Gulp!
How did this happen? I wondered to myself. I was merely
suggesting that I film my interviews in case he wanted to make a
documentary in the future. But now, before I had time to even
think twice about it, I was being hired to make the documentary
now. What was he thinking? He knew I’d never made one before.
Yet now he was sending me a check for the downpayment.
In a moment’s notice, our lives can take a very sharp turn.
At first, I was scared to death. But the more I thought about it,
this was a turn that had me excited. It was an incredible
opportunity. Sure I’d never made a documentary, but I did have a
lot of experience behind a camera; I had skills as an experienced
storyteller; and I knew that whatever I didn’t know, I could
learn. So, once I thought it through, my feelings of fear turned
to confidence; that is, until I began to talk to other people
about it.
Without hesitation, I began to tell family members, friends and
colleagues about my new adventure. After all, I was excited and
wanted to share my enthusiasm with those closest to me. Well, most
people shared in my excitement, but a few gave me looks and
comments that basically equaled, “Who do you think you are?”
and “What do you know about making a documentary?”
The first person who did this was one of my closest friends. He
didn’t actually say anything; he just gave me the look. We were
out to dinner at a restaurant when I mentioned it, and his fork
hit the plate about the same time his jaw did. Melissa saw it,
too, so I knew I wasn’t imagining things. But I awaited his
response to be sure I was interpreting his reaction correctly.
When he changed the subject without commenting (not even a word),
I knew his facial reaction was reflecting his thoughts. He couldn’t
think of anything positive to say, so he didn’t say anything at
all. And, in all honesty, his reaction then made me feel insecure.
I wondered if he was justified in thinking that I had no right to
be taking on such an enormous responsibility.
The next person I remember telling about the documentary who
also reacted rather unenthusiastically was a guy I knew from town.
I’d been supportive of him during a new venture of his own, so I
felt safe telling him about my new adventure. After giving me a
look like I just did something really stupid, he actually said,
“What do you know about making a documentary?” (emphasis on
the word “you”). At least he verbalized what he was feeling. I
told him I knew nothing about making a documentary, which is why
it was such a great challenge. This guy seemed disgusted with my
answer.
After four or five critical reactions like this, I eventually
stopped telling people unless I absolutely knew they’d be
supportive. This was such a big challenge and commitment that I
needed all the confidence I could muster to pull it off. But there
were two parts of me that reacted to these naysayers: one that
felt angry with them for making me feel incapable and the other
that wondered if they were right.
It was true that I had never made a documentary before, and
this made me worry that I’d just bitten off more than I could
chew. What if I failed? What if my client was unsatisfied after
working on this for two years? What if the whole world laughed at
me? After all, documentaries are meant to be seen. Now everyone
might see this potential mess-of-a-movie that I was going to make.
At other times, when my energy was high and my confidence was
strong, I reminded myself that I had never written a book before I
wrote my first book, never published a magazine before I started
OfSpirit.com Magazine, never worked as a private investigator
before I started my own investigation agency, and had never
ghostwritten a book before I took on my first ghostwriting
project. Yet since all of those firsts turned into successful
career moves that each lasted several years, I knew I was never
going to become a documentary filmmaker without creating my first
documentary.
The greatest part was that I had a client who was willing to
pay me to make this documentary knowing that I had never made one
before. In essence, I was getting paid to learn how to be a
filmmaker. Thank goodness he didn’t feel the same way as those
friends of mine with the unsupportive comments. In fact, as I
later began to think about those people more clearly, I could see
that my willingness to take a risk to do something new—maybe
even something extraordinary— must have reflected something back
to them that made them feel bad about themselves. Possibly they
felt bad for not being willing to take risks in their own life;
that is, to step outside their safe-zone and fulfill a personal
dream. My client, on the other hand, a successful man and risk
taker in his own right, appreciated my willingness to do this,
which is why he was willing to take a risk on me.
To prepare for my new adventure, the first thing I did was talk
with people in the film business. I talked with four documentary
filmmakers and someone who has been working in the feature film
business in Hollywood for over 20 years. It’s amazing how
helpful people can be when you tell them you’re new at something
and need some advice. I learned more from my conversations with
these people who work daily at their craft than I might have
learned in a year of film school. And the first thing I learned
was what I needed for equipment.
I used the first payment from my documentary fee to purchase
$25,000 in camera, lighting and editing equipment. I got the best
gear that I could afford. And I also purchased over a dozen books
and several DVDs on documentary filmmaking. While I immersed
myself in learning the craft, I also began watching one
documentary a day for three months. I then evaluated these
documentaries according to the information I was learning from my
books and DVDs. Between my conversations with filmmakers, my books
and DVDs, and the 90-plus documentaries I watched and evaluated, I
was absorbing the ins-and-outs of filmmaking in record time.
After three months, it was time to take what I’d learned so
far and put it to use. I had to ship all my equipment from Maine
to Washington State to begin filming. Although I felt prepared to
a point, I wished that I’d had more time to learn. Just to be
safe, I hired an experienced cameraman to help me get the best
footage possible. He had worked on documentaries for the History
Channel and A&E, as well as his own independent projects. He’d
even gone to film school. Although his substantial fee was coming
out of my own profits, it was a price I was willing to pay to be
sure I did the best job possible for my client.
It turned out that hiring this guy was my first major lesson.
He turned out to be a nightmare, both as an egomaniac who refused
to take direction from an amateur (me) and as a cameraman who had
no idea how to properly shoot video. When I finally got the
footage home to look at it, less than half of what he’d shot was
usable—and this was after a week of shooting. I was so grateful
that I had purchased two cameras, because I also had my own
footage, which turned out better than I had expected. What this
expensive mistake taught me was that my own natural instincts and
my crash course education held more value than I had thought. This
film school graduate’s mistakes actually lifted my confidence in
my own knowledge and abilities.
It was another few months before my second week of filming,
which took place in New Jersey. This gave me more time to educate
myself, evaluate more documentaries and play around with my
cameras to test some new techniques. When the time came for the
second shooting, I never questioned my own ability again. I set up
every shot, adjusted the microphones and lighting, and handled all
the interviews myself. This time I hired an inexperienced camera
operator who joyfully followed my direction and was thrilled for
the experience. And when I got this next footage home after
filming, it was exactly what I needed—95 percent of it was
usable.
Once all the footage had been videotaped, it was time to begin
editing the documentary. I suddenly realized that editing video
was an even greater challenge than recording video and one that
required a lot more education. With my client’s agreement, we
decided to wait until I had learned more about editing before
moving forward.
Over the course of a year, I learned how to use the
professional editing software I had purchased, the proper way to
edit a documentary, documentary storytelling techniques, audio
editing methods, the proper use of music in documentary
storytelling, and how to use narration, titles and transitions, to
name just a few of the numerous skills I had to learn.
I finally began the editing process last October 2007. I
naively believed I could complete the editing in three months, so
I priced the editing job according to that amount of time. Once I
got into it, however, I realized that I could do a much better job
if I spent more time on it, even though I knew I couldn’t ask my
client for more money. My client didn’t mind waiting, especially
since he didn’t have to pay for it; so, after a total of eight
months editing, I finally completed the documentary.
Now that it’s done, it’s the first moment I’ve had to
stop and think about all that has taken place in the last three
years. One moment I’m telling someone that I want to create a
documentary. The next thing I know, I’ve worked more than 3000
hours on it and I’ve created one. I’m officially a documentary
filmmaker! Cool. And, most importantly, my client is thrilled with
his documentary.
Had I allowed my fears and insecurities to stop me, I would
probably still be dreaming about making a documentary some day. I
might have died with that dream still inside me. Now I have made
one and know what it takes. I don’t know where this will all
take me next, but I’m proud to have taken on the challenge and
completed it. I dreamed. I risked. I succeeded. Now it’s time
for merely celebrating and sharing the documentary with other
people—especially those people who questioned my ability to do
it in the first place. Perhaps they’ll be inspired to take on
the challenges of their own dreams some day.
JUNE
2, 2008
I Cried, Shivered And Shook During A Past-Life
Regression
Recently, I’ve had a lot of people ask me about past-life regression. I’ve had so many, in fact, that I thought I’d share with you the story about my first experience. Because I never expected it to work for me, you may relate to my experience and feel inspired to try it for yourself. It definitely had a life-changing effect on me.
Like
many people, I read Many Lives, Many Masters by Dr. Brian Weiss in
1996. Dr. Weiss, a graduate of Columbia University and Yale
Medical School, was a bit skeptical when his psychotherapy
patient, Catherine, began recounting the details of her past-life
traumas. These past-life reviews, however, set Catherine free from
the anxiety and nightmares that led her to Weiss’ treatment in
the first place. Weiss was then captured by the idea of using
past-life regression as a treatment tool, and the world became
hypnotized by his best-selling books that retold in remarkable
detail the particulars of his patients’ healing journeys.
I
enjoyed, and even believed, Dr. Brian Weiss’ story in his now
infamous book. Still, it was a gigantic leap for me to go from
believing that Weiss’ patient regressed into a past-life to
believing that I, too, could have such an experience. I had
explored enough spiritual experiences that I had no doubt other
people could achieve hypnotic regression. I just didn’t believe
that I could do it.
So,
one day, when I saw an advertisement for past-life regressions by
a clinical hypnotherapist named Nancy, a practitioner whom I’d
heard positive things about from other spiritual practitioners, I
said, “What the heck. Why not give it a shot?”
I
drove three hours from Maine to Cape Cod hoping Nancy could guide
me to a new level of hypnotic relaxation far beyond anything I’d
ever experienced. With my trusty skepticism still in check, I
wondered if I was wasting my time. But as the sun rose from the
early morning darkness, my optimism increased.
Once
in Nancy’s office, I lied comfortably on a couch with my eyes
closed as she began the relaxation procedure. The first forty
minutes of my hypnotic induction were everything I expected. Nancy
helped me unwind with guided imagery. She walked me through
fields, across valleys, past oceans and individually relaxed every
muscle in my body. The visualization calmed my busy mind until I
lay in a semi-comatose state. I felt as if my body and mind were
one tingling mass of flesh, bones and organs. My breathing became
shallow. My heart rate slowed. My intellect stood to the side. It
was as if my busy little mind agreed to not interfere, yet kept a
protective watch in case it was needed. My resistance to the
experience was minimized by my excitement, although not entirely
free of skepticism and doubt.
“Bob,
you’re now going to walk down a spiraled stairway,” said
Nancy. “It has thirty-eight stairs, one for every year of your
life. At certain ages, I’m going to ask you step off the
stairway and tell me what you are experiencing at that age.
Okay?”
“Okay,”
I said.
Nancy
brought me down the spiraled stairway. When she asked me to step
off the stairway and tell her what I was experiencing, for the
most part I thought I was experiencing nothing. I expected movies
of my childhood to appear in my mind’s eye, but what I saw was a
blank screen. A couple thoughts popped into my head as Nancy asked
questions about the childhood moment I had stepped into, but I was
waiting for the movie and didn’t give these thoughts much
consideration. Sensing that I was having trouble, Nancy continued
guiding me down the stairway.
“That’s
okay. It’ll come,” she said. “Don’t judge it. Just go with
it. It takes a little getting used to. I want you to get back on
the stairway and walk down to the bottom step. This is the day you
were born. Are you with me?”
“I
guess so,” I said. I was putting a lot of pressure on myself,
sure that I’d be leaving her office as her worst client ever.
“At
the count of three, you’ll be at the bottom step of the
stairway. One… two… three… You’re now on the bottom step,
the day you were born. What is happening? You might not see it.
You might just know it. Tell me what thoughts fill your mind?”
said Nancy.
Again,
I saw no movie, but I now paid attention to the thoughts I had
been ignoring. “I think my parents are arguing. My mother
seems sad. She’s upset. I don’t see it, it’s just something
I feel.” I don’t know how I knew this; I just knew it.
“That’s
good. That’s good. Just go with the experience. Don’t judge
it. I’m going to have you go back now just a little to when you
are in your mother’s womb. I’m going to count to three, and
when I reach three, you’ll be in the womb. One, two, three,
you’re now in your mother’s womb on the day of your birth.
What do you feel?”
I
tried not to fight the thoughts and feelings, and a few squeaked
into my consciousness. “I feel like I’m starving for
nutrition. And my mother seems depressed,” I said.
“Anything
else?” asked Nancy.
I
started trying too hard again. Everything went blank.
After
I was silent for a minute, Nancy continued. “Just sit with this
scene a moment. You feel like you’re starving for nutrition.
Your mother seems depressed. Just stay with it, experience it. And
let me know if anything more comes.”
Nothing
more came to me. I was still disappointed that I wasn’t seeing
anything, so I figured I was definitely failing at the regression.
Nancy must have sensed my discouragement, as she decided to move
into a past life.
After
further deepening my hypnotic state, which is really just an
intensely relaxed state of mind, Nancy guided me into deeper
realms of subconscious knowing. She led me down an elevator,
suggesting that I feel more relaxed with each descending floor.
She then verbally guided me out of the elevator and toward a door.
Behind the door was a white light, and apparently a previous
lifetime. While I was still hopeful, my inability to see the
movie-like visions of my childhood had added to my doubt that this
would be a successful regression. All the same, I was able to
envision the door she suggested and the white light behind it, at
least in my imagination, so I persisted. Finally, at Nancy’s
suggestion, I opened the door to discover where I was.
The
following is the actual transcript of this part of the regression,
word for word, that was recorded on tape. I’ve added some side
comments in [brackets] to help you better understand what is
happening in the room and in my thoughts.
Nancy:
“Is it daytime or nighttime.”
Bob:
“I guess it’s daytime. I don’t know if I’m there.” [I
still seriously doubted my ability to do this, and I was sure I wasn’t
doing it correctly.]
Nancy:
“Yeah, just trust it. It becomes more and more vivid as you go
along.”
Bob:
“Okay.”
Nancy:
“Are you inside or outside?”
Bob:
“Outside.” [Again, I wasn’t sure how I knew this. I just
did.]
Nancy:
“Now I want you to simply look down at your feet and tell me
what is covering your feet.”
Bob:
[There was a long pause. I knew what I saw, but I didn’t trust
it. It wasn’t like it was something I viewed in a picture or a
movie. It was more of a knowing of what was on my feet. But I
hesitated because it seemed so cliché—I was wearing sandals.]
“I just want to say sandals, I guess.”
Nancy:
“That’s fine. It may not be that you see it. It may just be a
knowing. Trust whatever way the information comes. And
know that as you continue, it absolutely becomes more vivid and
clear. And so now that you look at your life, look down and tell
me what is covering your legs?”
Bob:
[long pause] “I don’t think anything.” [The truth was that I
saw myself wearing a skirt or kilt, but I wasn’t going to say
that out loud. So I told Nancy the truth.] ”There isn’t
anything covering my legs.”
Nancy:
“Okay, what is covering your chest or torso?”
Bob:
[Another long pause] “It sounds silly. I think it’s some kind
of armor.”
Nancy:
“Uh huh, just go with it. And what is over your head? Do you
have anything on your head?”
Bob:
“I don’t know.” [I saw an armored helmet with two bones or
tusk-like things sticking out of it; but again, I felt silly
saying it. It seemed so fairytale. “I don’t know,” is all I
could say.]
Nancy:
“Let your logical and judging mind step aside, and let whatever
impressions come to mind. Let it come.”
Bob:
“I guess it’s a helmet.” [I also knew that this wasn’t a
battle helmet, but rather a costume or some type of formal wear.
Again, not trusting my thoughts, I just let it slide without
telling Nancy.]
Nancy:
“And about how old are you?”
Bob:
“Forties.” [I got the number forty-three, but told Nancy
forties for some reason, still not trusting what I was getting.]
Nancy:
“And at the count of three, the year is going to pop into your
mind. Just trust yourself to know it. One, two, three… what year
is it?”
Bob:
“1643.” [It came quickly and matter-of-factly. I was
surprised.]
Nancy:
And at the count of three, you are going to know the country or
geographical location. One, two, three… where are you?”
Bob:
“It seems like some Celtic place. I don’t know the country.”
Nancy:
“And now at the count of three, you are going to know your name.
What do people call you? One, two, three…”
Bob:
“George.” [Now if I were making this up, I would have chosen
Clint or Dirk or something. I was actually a little disappointed
with the name George. There isn’t anything wrong with that name.
I just don’t have a good association with it in reference to
people I know. So the fact that “George” popped into my head
gave me a little more confidence that I was actually doing this
hypnotic regression thing correctly.]
Nancy:
“George. Great. Thank you, George, for being here. Tell me,
George, why are dressed in armor? What is happening today?”
Bob:
“I guess it’s a celebration of some sort.” [At this point, I
didn’t feel like George, but rather Bob sensing myself as
George, so I thought it awkward that Nancy was speaking directly
to George. But I understood what she was doing, so I just answered
her questions without correcting her in regards to whom she was
speaking. If you could hear the tape, you would hear my voice as
soft and slow. My answers were brief. Normally, I’m fast to
respond, more articulate than I was during this regression, and
brevity is not generally my forte.]
Nancy:
“George, what kind of a celebration is it?”
Bob:
“It’s a parade.”
Nancy:
“What’s the celebration about? What’s happened?”
Bob:
“We won a battle.” [Nancy was right. Things were becoming more
vivid.]
Nancy:
“Who have you been fighting, George? Who is the enemy?”
Bob:
“The English.”
Nancy;
“So that is a good reason to celebrate, winning a battle against
those English, huh? Tell me, George, what have you been fighting
over? What is the battle about?”
Bob:
“Land.”
Nancy:
“George, what do you do for a living?”
Bob:
“Farmer.”
Nancy:
“Yeah, you’re a farmer. [Nancy seemed to know the answers
before I gave them, as if she was seeing them herself.
When she said “Yeah,” it was as if I got what she was
getting.] Do you have a large farm or a small one?”
Bob:
“It’s a small farm.”
Nancy:
“And what do you raise?”
Bob:
[pause] “Sheep, I guess.”
Nancy:
“Tell me, George, are you married?”
Bob:
“Yes.”
Nancy:
“And what is your wife’s name?”
Bob:
“Linda.”
Nancy:
“And how long have you been married to Linda?”
Bob:
“Twenty-three years.” [Everything was coming really fast now.
I was feeling more confident about my answers.]
Nancy:
“And do you have children?”
Bob:
“One.”
Nancy:
“And what is your child’s name?”
Bob:
[long pause] “Jeffrey.” [Or Geoffrey. I didn’t know the
spelling. That sounded to me like a really unlikely name for
someone of Celtic descent, but what do I know? Maybe Jeffrey or
Geoffrey is a Celtic name.]
Nancy:
“And how old is Jeffrey?”
Bob:
“Nine.”
Nancy:
“Hm hmm, Jeffery is nine. [There she goes again, as if she knew
the answer before I did.] Tell me, what kind of life do you have?
Are you happy, content, sad, disappointed? What is your life like
as you look at it?”
Bob:
“I’m happy… proud.”
Nancy:
“And what are you proud of?”
Bob:
“My heritage.” [It was if I were inside of George feeling his
pride. It was amazing.]
Nancy:
“Yeah. And what kind of a husband are you?”
Bob:
“I’m a good husband.”
Nancy:
“And what kind of a father; do you spend time with your son?”
Bob:
“Yes. When I’m around.”
Nancy:
“Are you gone much?”
Bob:
“Only when we are fighting.”
Nancy:
“And how do you feel about fighting?”
Bob:
“Ah, I’m proud to fight. They are trying to take our land.”
Nancy:
“Yeah, they are trying to take something from you; that’s
wrong. Are you ethical? Do you go by what’s right?”
Bob:
“Yeah.”
Nancy:
“And do you train your son that same thing?”
Bob:
“Yup.”