It's All In the Playing Read online

  A still-camera man hired by ABC publicity was shooting stills with a “blimp” on his camera so the shutter wouldn’t be heard by the sound man.

  Brad and the camera crew sat fascinated as Kevin’s personality seemed to change completely. They strained at the biblical lingo coming out of his mouth.

  The scene with John completed, Tom McPherson came through. He immediately asked for a blindfold and then stood up. The focus puller quickly adjusted for the change of move. Tom walked around the room to a closet concealed in the wall and pulled out a glass mug. Then, with the blindfold tightly tied, he poured tea into the mug from a distance of about a foot above it. He said he saw the water as luminescence rather than liquid. The crew was astonished that he didn’t spill the tea. So was I. He walked to the fireplace and, still blindfolded, extracted a poker from behind a chair and began to poke the fire as he delivered his lines. The focus puller adjusted again. By now the crew was open-mouthed. Tom returned to his original position in the chair, finished his lines, and left Kevin’s body so that John could return and complete the scene.

  The scene ended, and before Butler said “Cut,” John looked at me and said, “Will there be other requirements of channel speaking or is the scene terminated?”

  I looked around at the crew. The cameras and lights seemed to be operating independently of them.

  “Does anyone have anything they’d like to ask John or Tom while we’re here?” I asked.

  Nobody said anything. Then finally Stan said, “Ask what kind of response this show is going to get when it goes on the air.”

  I turned back to John. He thought a moment.

  “It will sufficiently change the consciousness of those who view it,” he said.

  I sat forward.

  “Will that be all then?” he asked.

  “Yes,” I said. “Except for one more thing.”

  “Yes?” he said, cocking his head questioningly.

  “Some of the crew wonder if you and Tom would come through later after work so they can ask you questions. But only if Kevin is not too exhausted.”

  “Yes,” said John. “However, the instrument’s subconscious is jumbled at the moment. We suggest a rest period before our meeting later tonight.”

  The crew murmured thank-yous, John left, and Kevin rolled back to consciousness.

  The crew applauded and we knew that an event in movie-making had been captured.

  But it wasn’t to be that easy. At least not for me. When the cameras came around on me for my side of the scene, the decision had to be made as to whether Kevin would go into trance again so that the entities could give me their stage lines.

  Kevin was too tired and the entities had said it was difficult to access Kevin’s subconscious (where the lines lay) anyway. Kevin couldn’t sit there and play the entities himself, because he didn’t know what they had done. And when he made a well-intentioned attempt at it, it was too funny for me to react to. So the only solution available to me was one that had often happened when I worked with an uncooperative actor who wouldn’t stick around for offstage lines on my close-up. I said my own lines to a blank wall while Kisuna, the script girl, read the lines of the entities.

  * * *

  Later that night, after shooting, some of the crew remained for the promised session with Kevin.

  I checked with the teamsters out on the road—the guys who drive the trucks carrying all the gear—inviting them also. Most of them declined with that “thank you, but we think it’s weird” expression on their faces.

  Then, just as the session was about to begin, Sachi and Simo came in with a bundle of white fluff curled in a basket, blinking its jet-black eyes and wagging its tail. He was an American Eskimo puppy, the likes of which I had admired in a house where we shot. Simo was giving it to me as a late Christmas present. The little puppy brought everyone comfortably down to earth and the woman whose house we were shooting in insisted on holding him because his relaxed energy was so calming.

  Sachi had a date, but Simo stayed to watch the session.

  The crew took comfortable places along the walls and on the floor of the living room at Kevin’s feet. There was a hushed respect about them, as though they knew they were in the presence of a phenomenon that they acknowledged but couldn’t quite understand. I could feel them look to me as a common leveler. They were seeing me in my element—the element that had motivated me to write the book and the script. They knew I was one of them, but I also had become part of the “other world,” as they put it.

  I sat next to Kevin. Kisuna sat a few people away from me to my right. Tina sat on the couch across the room next to Jach Pursel, who seemed to be enjoying the techniques of another trance channeler. I had felt Jach’s energy balancing the set during the shooting that day, as some of the more astonished members of the crew were attempting to sustain their equilibrium during the time the entities were using Kevin’s body.

  Cynthia, the owner of the house, held Shinook on her lap. Some crew members were drinking, some smoking, some simply there to go along with the spiritual ride.

  Kevin explained the phenomenon of trance channeling in a little more detail than we had had time to outline in the screenplay. The crew asked him what was appropriate to inquire about. He said most anything. While acknowledging the presence of Shinook, Kevin thought it was as good a time as any to explain that animals reincarnate, too, but always as animals. They belong to a collective soul group and are here with us humans on earth for karmic reasons which could easily have to do with experiences we had with them in lifetimes past. I, by the way, felt such feelings for Shinook the moment I laid eyes on him.

  So Brad, his camera crew, a few teamsters who had elected to come, and most of the rest of the production crew sat respectfully silent as Kevin went into trance once again for our benefit.

  When Tom came through, several people asked about past lives either with their children or people they were involved with.

  One man asked if he had had a lifetime as an American Indian. Another woman asked if her son was her soul mate.

  Then something happened that was personally revealing for all of us.

  Kisuna raised her hand, brushing her blond hair from her eyes and sitting in the lotus position as she talked.

  “Excuse me,” she began, “but I find myself involved with a very uncomfortable relationship on the set.”

  We all looked around uneasily, some no doubt wondering whom she meant. She rapidly made that clear.

  “I desperately need clarification as to why Tina is acting the way she is toward me. Her attitude is very difficult for me to work with.”

  Tears streamed down Kisuna’s face. She choked slightly before going on. “I realize in many ways,” she continued, “that it is inappropriate for me to bring up publicly, but I need some help because I am making more mistakes than usual in my work and I would like to settle it with her with love.” She hesitated. “Tina?”

  Everyone’s attention immediately shifted over to Tina, who was chatting sotto voce with her neighbor as though she took neither Kisuna nor the spiritual session very seriously. She stopped when she was directly addressed and suddenly looked acutely embarrassed—the more surprising because she was usually so well in control of herself.

  “Please, Tina,” Kisuna was saying, “I would really like to know why you are doing this to me.”

  I had never seen such an intimate movie-set problem made public like this before.

  Kisuna was laying out all her feelings in front of the crew, and because of her honesty, Tina was in a position of public scrutiny. I felt deeply for both women.

  But Tina said nothing.

  “Could we talk?” asked Kisuna.

  Tina, understandably very uncomfortable, looked over at her. “We have nothing to talk about,” she then said. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  Kisuna looked to Tom for direction.

  Tom responded. He sat up.

  “Please,” he began as the r
oom full of people watched, riveted. “Would you, Tina, please come forward?”

  Tina remained in her seat. I felt slightly sorry for her. Public airing is never easy for anybody.

  Tom turned to Kisuna. “Would you stand and come forward, please?”

  Kisuna stood up. She walked to the center of the room in front of Tom.

  “Tina,” repeated Tom. “Would you please come forward?”

  Tina looked at me. I gently gestured she should do it. She shrugged and slowly stood up. Then she moved toward Kisuna.

  “Now, ladies,” said Tom. “Would you please embrace each other?”

  Neither of them moved.

  “Oh,” said Kisuna, “I find this extremely difficult. But I will.”

  She raised her arms.

  “Tina?” said Tom.

  “No,” said Tina.

  Kisuna, her arms outstretched ready to embrace Tina, found herself being stared down by a defiant look.

  “It would,” said Tom, “be a way of starting to resolve this conflict. Perhaps if you just looked at each other and mentioned the word love.”

  “No, I can’t,” said Tina.

  At that moment Kisuna embraced her—but Tina’s arms remained at her sides. I was shocked. I had not realized their relationship had deteriorated so badly.

  Kisuna finally dropped her arms, her attempt at reconciliation thwarted. Tina quietly turned around and returned to her seat.

  Tom said nothing. It was clear that even spiritual entities could contribute only so much to solving human problems. After that it was up to the people themselves.

  Kisuna returned to her place. There was nothing more to be said. After an awkward moment of acknowledged conflict, Yudi Bennet, our female assistant director, spoke up.

  “I would like to know, Mr. McPherson, who is doing the stealing in this company. As we know, quite a few prop items necessary to filming are missing, and is there anything I can do to stop it?”

  Tom was on the spot. It is karmically an invasion of privacy to expose someone from a perspective more knowing than our own.

  “It is up to the persons involved to decide whether they will continue,” he said. “Let me say, though, that nothing will seriously prevent the shooting of this film from continuing. You are all together on this venture because you have been together before. You are involved with innovative communication and you will accomplish it. More than that, the goal of the project is your own individual growth. The project will serve as a catalyst for that growth. Be aware of yourselves during the shooting and you will understand what we mean.”

  All other questions seemed to pale in the wake of this general reassurance and the personal promise implied. Each of us secretly knew that every job we took was another advance toward self-knowledge. This was the lesson for Tina and Kisuna and for all the rest of us observing their growth.

  This was the lesson for all of us who were so goal-oriented, ignoring completely that the process was just as important, that the real goal lay not in the end result but in how we achieved it.

  Brad and the camera crew questioned Tom about what we could expect in Peru. Tom cautioned them to be careful of humidity in their lenses, that it would rain a great deal, and that power could be a problem if we had no backup system. The guys took notes. There were more technical questions, which Tom answered in a way that seemed to satisfy the crew, and then he ended by saying that the show would have a tremendous effect on the consciousness of the audience, that it would be controversial but it would allow people to think more freely about spiritual ridicule. Then he concluded by saying we were all together for a reason and this project would not be the last time. We were destined, he said, to work together not only because of our desire to be innovative, but because we had much to learn from one another. A warm shiver of understanding went through us. Each of us had known somewhere in our hearts that we had drawn ourselves to one another and that we had experienced only the first act of what that meant.

  Chapter 16

  Later that night Simo and I talked about the dynamics on the set. The conflicts presenting themselves seemed to revolve around grappling with issues that related to the growing power of female energy. The chief characteristic of New Age Aquarian energy was the emergence of the yin (female) energy. The time had come for a balance between yin and yang—and in the adjustment of that balance many conflicts arose.

  I looked at our production. I, a female, had motivated the entire project—experienced the spiritual search, written about it, and was now starring in the film about the book. Our first and second assistant directors were female (in positions traditionally held by males), our co-producer was a female, and most of the men on the show were either comfortable with the female sides of themselves or were being forced to allow it. But the most graphic conflicts were occurring not among the men on the set (which is usually the case), but among the women.

  The New Age was addressing itself to leadership by women, which meant not only that men would be required to make a fundamental adjustment in relation to female leadership, but that women would also. The old traditional patriarchal dynamics were going to be replaced, not by matriarchal values but by equality between the two.

  As I looked at the interplay between Tina and Kisuna, one thing seemed clear to me. Tina represented the male-oriented approach to professionalism. Getting the job done well was the high priority, not really stopping to smell the flowers. Kisuna was more introspective, viewing her femaleness as a priority just as important as the task set before her. She might take longer in accomplishing the job, but she wouldn’t deny herself realization along the way.

  Tina expressed her female side by lovingly baking cookies, cakes, and goodies for the crew which she placed in the makeup trailer every morning. She said it was nothing, that it didn’t take long. But with her hours any amount of time she spent was time she could have used for herself and her family. Yet Kisuna was more of a feminist whose highest priority was to understand self so she could be more understanding of others.

  The next day Kisuna called.

  “Just wanted to say I’m leaving,” she said.

  I was stunned at how little I had understood the dynamics of my own set.

  “You’re leaving the show?” I asked.

  “Yes,” answered Kisuna.

  “Why?”

  “Because,” she said, “I’ve not been doing a good job. Production and I both think it’s best that I go.”

  I listened. “But what’s really going on?” I asked.

  Kisuna paused and sighed.

  “Listen,” she began. “I’m ready to go on to something more creative. Being a script supervisor is too left-brained and linear for me now. That’s why I’m making mistakes. I admit it. My father was a director and early on he said I should do the same kind of more creative work.”

  I wondered if she was listening to her heart or the heart that her father had conditioned. Then she continued with how she felt about the set.

  “There’s a lack of honesty among the women,” she said. “They’re all covering their asses, like the men have taught them to do. And they’re swirling in gossip. I mean, are we seeing ugly female traits coming out because many women have positions of power on this film?”

  I said I thought a film set was really a mini-society and we’d probably be seeing a lot more of this kind of thing because of the power women were destined to come into. We talked about how we had been accustomed to defining ourselves by men and that now we were in uncharted territory because we were trying to define ourselves by ourselves.

  “Some of our female traits,” said Kisuna, “make me wonder how much of a feminist I really am. I’m having to deal with my sexuality all the time.”

  I thought that a bit confused, yet I listened to Kisuna carefully. Her outpouring held heavy implications. I thought of how I did or didn’t use my own sexuality in the work environment. I decided it depended on whether I found someone attractive or not; otherwise I felt like one of
the boys. I thought of my own brashness and abruptness when I became impatient with someone. I saw aspects of myself in how Kisuna described others. Then it occurred to me that Tina was a great teacher for all of us.

  “Yes,” said Kisuna. “I can see that,” she said. “And I can see aspects of me in Tina too. I know we all attract the data to ourselves which best enables us to clear up our own issues. I know I’ve drawn Tina and Yudi to me. They are my teachers. I know that. They are a gift for my learning. But now I’m going to move on.”

  There was nothing more to be said. I felt an acceleration of realized growth in Kisuna and admired her rigorous self-analysis. It was painful, yet courageous. I wondered if I would have had the courage to expose my feelings and defects publicly, as she had done in the abortive attempt at reconciliation with Tina during the channeling session. I wondered if I would have felt as Tina had felt if someone had exposed me to my fellow workers.

  “When I stood up,” said Kisuna, “it may not have been politically wise, but that is the old male way of repressing emotions. I needed to be honest with what was bothering me. I have to deal with confronting my emotions or I may as well give up.”

  Kisuna and I talked for a long time. In the conversation I realized more fully than ever how important it was to understand that the work we cut out for ourselves acts as a classroom for our self-knowledge. If we had a job we hated, that in itself said something about what we thought of ourselves. And each work environment that we experienced was a microcosm of life itself. Each day of the week could be viewed as a mini-lifetime, at the end of which we could hope to say we had accomplished a bit more recognition of who we were, and simultaneously know better the identities of our fellow humans.

  I had cause to be grateful to Tina and Kisuna as teachers for me, but they were amateurs compared to John Heard, who had now arrived from New York, ready to shoot, with a brand-new excrescence on the right side of his face—indicating certain unknown pressures had been sustained in New York.

  When I needled him a little, asking what happened to his conviction that he’d rather sell hot dogs on the corner than interrupt the cleanup of his life in New York, he said New York was dirty, and reinforced negativity. My brains, intricately scrambled by now, made no attempt to understand what kind of teaching this must be that I had drawn to myself.