MY SUNDAY COLUMN IN THE UKIAH DAILY JOURNAL, AUGUST 21st.
When we get angry, isn’t our anger usually based on fear? Doesn’t anger come about when we’re afraid of something that threatens us—something more powerful, bigger, stronger or something we perceive as a threat or something that can hurt us? And doesn’t anger make us want to fight back?
When somebody bullies us we are naturally afraid so we gird ourselves to fight—until we grow up, that is, and realize that a bully is just a bully and we don’t need to engage. As adults we find other ways to deal.
Isn’t it the same with a country as it is with an individual? When our leaders feel threatened by a bully, don’t they try to get a gang of friends together to fight? And isn’t that done out of fear purely because they perceived a threat? And sadly, isn’t it true that only after great loss of life sometimes it turns out there was no real threat posed at all?
It seems that many wars we have been involved in have been brought on by fear. Weren’t we afraid that if the communists were not stopped in Vietnam they might spread their evil magic throughout Southeast Asia until the nearby countries fell like dominoes all in a row?
And then, twenty years later, along comes big bad Saddam, a man who likes to brandish his rifle in front of his people to show what a "badass dude" he is. When he attacked his neighbors in Kuwait, didn’t we Americans fear we had to stop him right then and there before he took control of any more oil in the Middle East? He was, of course, hitting us close to home because the Kuwaitis were our friends. And after all, didn’t we have a big investment in mining the "black gold" because didn’t we build the refineries in the first place? Weren’t we afraid Saddam was stealing oil we perceived as being our very own?
And then, wasn’t it said that the bully was building nuclear weapons—and biological ones? So then didn’t we see him as an even bigger ever when he personally threatened our President, George Herbert Walker Bush, the father of our current President? So, isn’t it possible that GHWB was afraid? After all, Saddam, if anybody does, looks and acts like a bully. So the first President Bush mustered all his support—got all his guns and planes and ships and troops—and attacked the bully.
And then along came the son of GHWB who knew that the bully had threatened his dad. Wouldn’t that cause some fear to know your own father’s life had been threatened? And, on top of that, didn’t someone supposedly report that the Bully was cooking up a larger scheme involving weapons of mass destruction? But beneath the surface wasn’t this really all about oil? And didn’t the Bushes make their fortune in the oil business? So wouldn’t it seem to them that the bully was trying to steal the very bread off their table? After all, hadn’t Saddam already tried it once in Kuwait?
So didn’t the new President, the son, surround himself with the kind of people that wouldn’t be afraid to fight a bully? Didn’t he hire "Bulldog Rumsfeld" as he was nicknamed as a wrestler in college, who was certainly someone willing to take on a bully?
It seems that by questioning recent examples of why we went to war, that in each case it was because we were afraid of something. We can see that our leaders were afraid of losing the source of their personal fortunes even though the oil in Iraq wasn’t theirs in the first place.
But as we boys grow up into men, and girls grow into women, isn’t it true that we usually find ways to deal with our fears? Haven’t we learned that one way to overcome what we are afraid of is to face whatever it is head on? While, as children, we are afraid of the dark, usually as adults we are not, simply because we have learned what it is. I know, for me, when I was faced with going to fight in Vietnam as an infantry soldier, I was afraid, but in that case I had no choice but to face my fear—and it was good that I had to.
Children fear the neighborhood bully because he is bigger or stronger or louder; they are afraid the bully will hurt them. But as adults don’t we learn that bullies have become bullies because they themselves are afraid of something?
So I wonder what it is about our country, as big and strong as we are, why it is that our fear is so great that it could cause us to go to war.
By puffing up our chests and putting our bombers in the air, our tanks on the ground and our battleships all around the Middle East, aren’t we actually displaying our fear for the world to see? Isn’t it possible that to someone living in that part of the world, we are perceived as being a bigger, badder bully than even Saddam? And wouldn’t this make the young boys and girls in that part of the world perceive us as the big bad bully in the neighborhood? Since we are bigger and stronger and louder than anyone, doesn’t it seem that we would frighten them for sure? And wouldn’t this make the youngsters want to prove their mettle and want to fight us?
And isn’t this exactly what has happened?
And doesn’t this make it easy for guys like Osama Bin Laden who need only point a finger at America for everyone to notice the big bully named Uncle Sam? After all, haven’t we already invaded that part of the world twice—thrice, including Afghanistan?
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Now here’s an idea…
What if we bravely took a step back and said, "we’ll leave you alone now? You can keep your oil and we’ll spend the money we were using to fight you to build alternative energy sources." Would we be acting foolhardy? After all, don’t we still have other fears to face? Aren’t we afraid Iran is now building a nuclear bomb and aren’t we afraid also that they might somehow sneak it into our country and explode it?
But what if suddenly the Middle East had nothing to fear from us, from America? What if they saw our ships, heavily laden with our troops and tanks and planes and guns pull up their anchors and sail away? What would Middle Easterners think if it was reported in the news that suddenly America was no longer afraid of what was going on over in the region, and no longer even cared? Would they stop selling us oil if we left them alone to handle their own affairs?
Would the young boys and girls in that part of the world still want to fight us, even after we declared peace with them?
Or could it possibly happen that instead of wanting to fight us, that the children would lose their fear and invade our shores with their oil money ready to take on our malls and shops? Isn’t it possible that they would come to America because there’s a better selection of Levis and ipods and they’re even cheaper here?
As noble as I believe soldiers are to give up a life for a cause, I don’t think, along with most of the world that we ever had to fight in Vietnam. When I went there I never really believed I was fighting for a noble cause; I went because I needed to prove to myself I was not afraid. Anyway, soldiers in the field hardly ever know the real reason why a war is being fought—they deal with more immediate and personal concerns.
Now, thirty years later, it occurs to me that maybe we never had to fight in Iraq either. And isn’t it possible that people will we be saying twenty years from now that "maybe we never had to fight in Iran?"
Don’t you think it might be time for our country to redefine bravery on a national level? Couldn’t it be that we are ready to show some real inner fortitude by not fighting even if we are afraid? Don’t you think it might be time for our country to face whatever it’s afraid of? Isn’t the bravest person, or country, the one that shows no fear because of an inner strength that comes from understanding and compassion?
Wouldn’t it be good that when we elect our next set of leaders we chose a group who is simply less fearful than those who currently govern?
Isn’t it up to us, to you and me, since we are the ones who choose those to represent our hopes and dreams, to choose some people from among us who have the courage to stand up and say, "I’m not going to fight just because I’m afraid."
There are plenty of countries that are good at protecting their territory without crossing over into someone else’s. Might it not be true that the way to win wars is to be brave enough not to engage in them at all? And don’t you think that by taking that attitude we may find that other nations might follow us along the path towards peace instead of along the road to war?
And, if they did, what would there be to fight about? Wouldn’t that be, nothing at all?
It took awhile—about ten 40-minute DV tapes—for my brother-in-law and I to realize we had irreconcilable creative differences. When our differences became strong enough to prevent us from moving forward, we did what good brothers-in-law do; we peacefully decided to go our separate ways.
The film became mine to finish, which was, obviously what someone—Buddha, Creation or Mother Nature—had planned. I was left with a sizeable gap in terms of completing the production—the editing. But, as the movie had already taken on it’s own life, I believed it would work something out.
I continued with the filming schedule. Once the monks came out of their Rains Retreat I had plenty to do—setting up interviews with several monks and lay members of the monastic community and completing the long shot list.
For awhile I thought of hiring someone to help with the filming. But then, on second thought, I thought it would probably be easier to do it on my own. I could set up the camera, which can be operated by remote control, and let it roll while I asked the questions.
Learning to interview while operating the camera was a little tricky at first but the more I did it the easier it became. I’d frame the shot then move to the side and start the interview. At opportune moments I’d go back to the camera to change the shot, zoom in or out, or change the tape. The more I did interviews on my own the more comfortable I became with the process. I actually found it worked better to do it all on my own. The people I interviewed seemed comfortable without a another presence. Making the film became easier and more fun.
But fortunately for both me, and for the film, my younger son Andrew who has been making movies since he borrowed our first video camera in elementary school, signed on to help me finish the film. He "was down" to do it as soon as school was out for the summer. He was just completing his freshman year in college.
As soon as Andrew had made the commitment to the film I made the investment in the editing system including the powerful computer needed to run and store all the material.
Andrew has helped turn more than 2,000 minutes of raw digital video into a 90-minute feature documentary. His role has gone far beyond editing, helping me think through every aspect of "Fearless Mountain." He took over the cameraman role as well, and freed me up to do the remaining interviews. I actually do find it easier not to have to worry about the camera when I’m talking with someone. Andrew has helped make the film better in many ways, visually and contextually. And, he actually enjoys spending time at the monastery almost as much as I do. We spent most of a night on top of Fearless Mountain filming a time-lapse sequence during the last full moon.
What I find most interesting about this whole process is how the simple thought of making a movie has actually manifested into one. We are not quite "home" yet with the film. We still have three weeks to go before our deadline of entering the Sundance film festival
Probably the best part of the movie making process has been getting to know the monks of Abhayagiri. Thinking back to the point in time when I first wrote the newspaper article that became the seed for the movie, the monks were still monks to me. Now, after spending six months talking with them, filming their life and the serene environment in which they live, I find myself feeling at home there. Ajahn Pasanno extended the invitation to come back to the monastery any time—"even without your camera," he laughed.
The timeless knowledge of Theravada Buddhism has begun to sink in. Afterall, Andrew and I spend hours at a time listening intently to every word the monks have said—again, and again. I somehow feel this is what the Buddha had in mind.
So many good things have happened during these past six months. I’ve met so many wonderful people that have helped expand me in so many ways that the phrase "anything is possible" has certainly gained new meaning for me.
I’ve learned there is nothing any of us can’t do when an idea comes into our head—especially if the idea is something as relatively simple as making a movie. Fearless Mountain, beginning with the idea itself, seems to have been created almost all by itself—with just a little assistance from Andrew and me.
Why on earth would anyone want to take time off (six months) from blogging? As bloggers know, blogging, like journal writing, is such a wonderful form of expression.
My answer would is, "to make a movie."
More than a year ago, I wrote an article for the Ukiah Daily Journal about a Buddhist monastery in Redwood Valley, about twenty miles north of here. A real estate agent was showing me a remote piece of land and on the way we passed a small bronze sign that read Abhayagiri Buddhist Monastery on a wall beside a road leading up to a forested mountain. The agent, Cindy Lindgren, took a moment off from her mission to sell land to inform me, "That’s where the monks live—the ones you see walking through town with begging bowls." That was my first introduction to the place, but all it took to pique my interest.
Although the land was beautiful I didn’t buy it. In order to reach it you had to cross a river which necessitated building a bridge before even before building a house.
But, in the big scheme of things, it seems the purpose of the trip to see the land was really to lead me to write a story for the newspaper, which in turn instigated the idea of making a movie.
After writing the article and getting to know the Abbot and some of the monks, the thought—a most innocent and simple one —popped into my head one day, "I should make a movie about the monastery." Because the thought was "my" thought and had sprung into "my" mind I assumed, of course that I was the one who was supposed to make the movie! As my friend Mike is fond of saying, "when a horse shows up on my property, I put a saddle on it and take it for a ride."
Sometime later (the process of making this movie has altered my concept of time—slowed it down—"extended it" might be the best way to put it) I received a call from my brother-in-law George. "How would you like to go into the movie making business?" he asked. He had owned a television studio in the Bay Area and had a building full of equipment—editing, sound, lights, etc. His thought was—and it seemed to be a good one—that he would handle the technical side of things and I would do the creative. He thought since I wrote features for the newspaper and was constantly meeting interesting people and going to interesting places, I could provide the subject matter. I thought, "of course, I could," and immediately suggested the idea of making a documentary about the Buddhist Monks at the Abhayagiri Monastery. After all, they were wonderful people, doing something a bit out of the ordinary. It might be an interesting subject for movie-goers.
George liked the idea and we were in business. Well, not really in business because we both wanted a kind of informal relationship in case things didn’t work out. So after saying yes to the relationship, I committed to purchasing the camera and Steadicam and some accessories—all the things necessary for the creative end. George invested in a state of the art editing system and software so we were suddenly in possession of everything we needed to make a movie using digital video, the accepted format for documentaries.
I approached Ajahn Pasanno, the co-Abbot of Abhayagiri. (Ajahn Amaro, the other co-Abbot was on a year-long sabbatical to India.) The other monks liked the idea and so…there we were, we had permission.
I wrote a script based on what I’d learned from writing my article which became the basis for the film. This was in January. As time would have it—"Buddhist time"—the monks were just starting their winter "Rains Retreat" which meant they would be in silence and not be available for interviews. But still, we would be free to film monks walking through the forest, get shots of their huts and whatever nature shots we needed—so although our time frame had been extended by three months, we were off and shooting.
To be continued…