The Sacred Search
by Chip Duncan

This is a time of transition, for it is a new era.
After arriving at the sacred city of Machu Picchu, no person will ever
be the same again. There will be a transformation, a great transformation
in his or her life. That person will be able to understand, step-by-step,
with much effort, that we all climb up our own mountain, the mountain of life.
And it is important to dedicate those efforts to God,
which is the infinite expressions of the cosmos.

--Victor Estrada, Andean Shaman

During the spring of 1994, my colleagues and I began production of a documentary film series for The Learning Channel called Mystic Lands. There was a demand for programming that would look beyond traditional religious practices and into the world of the spiritual, a world often defined by its lack of absolutes.
Words such as guru, shaman, yoga, Zen, healer, cosmos and meditation had become mainstream. Discussion of the search for the sacred was no longer limited to churches, mosques and synagogues. Buddhism had become "hip" in Hollywood. And for many, ritual and spiritual practices were becoming part daily life.
In my case, I'd always been a bit irreverent - the type of guy that's quick to level the religious playing field with a friendly but sacrilegious joke. Not that I didn't have respect for those who followed their faith -- I had that in abundance. But only as long as they kept their God (or gods) at arm's length.
As a photographer, I'd developed an eye for filming both ritual practices and people. I'd produced a string of travel films around the world and discovered that religious practices and spiritual places were often the most interesting and challenging to film. I also loved the feeling of holy places. I was curious about the bells and whistles, the smells, the icons, and the chants. But what I wasn't prepared for at the start of production was the devotion. The humanness. The humility. The passion. The giving up of oneself to God. I wasn't prepared for the profound, limitless expression of faith I soon found in spiritual places around the world.
During two years of location production, I had the privilege of filming in some of the world's most sacred places. I was able to photograph and script eight productions including Machu Picchu in Peru, India's Taj Mahal, the holy Hindu city of Varanasi, India, the ancient Buddhist ruins of Burma, Tantric Buddhist practices in the Himalayan Kingdom of Bhutan, the ancient ruins of Greece, the Anasazi temples of America's southwest, and the sacred practice of Vodou on the Caribbean island of Haiti.
Was I prepared for the travel, logistics that would challenge an insomniac, 115 degree heat, humidity that left my camera lenses fogged for hours, parasites that preyed on my guts for more than a year, pollution, unsafe transportation, the dangers of malaria and cockroaches in my soup? Yes. Was I prepared for dictatorship in Burma and anarchy in Haiti, red tape in India and rebellion in Peru? Yes. Odd as it may sound, these things are part of documentary filmmaking in the developing world and among the challenges that appeal to my colleagues and to me. What I wasn't prepared for was personal growth and change. I wasn't prepared for spiritual transformation. I wasn't prepared to find God.

Before the Mystic Lands project, my spiritual life had been limited to an Episcopalian childhood (mostly holidays), to reading Christian books by C.S. Lewis and the existential works of Sartre and Kafka, to late night discussions in the college dorm, and occasional meditation. The only holy book I'd ever read in its entirety was the Bahagedva Gita (*check spelling). I was, by my own definition, a sort of naturalist or theist. In other words, I simply followed the logic of nature with the intellectual assumption that "all this" must have come from "some thing." Beyond the recognition that a God of some kind must exist, it just didn't seem worth worrying about. I wasn't bored by the discussion of spiritual matters and I prided myself on being open-minded. But God was not an emotional part of me. And I certainly didn't feel any soulful connection to forces greater than those of earthly definition.
That began to change with a visit to the Anasazi ruins of the desert southwest. I spent several days filming in Arizona's Canyon de Chelley, guided by a Navajo man named Leon Skyhorse and his mother, Marjorie Thomas. Marjorie was a tribal elder with what I can only describe as a sixth sense. She viewed the Anasazi ruins as a living force filled with sacred energy of "the ancient ones."
The popular myth surrounding the Anasazi is that they somehow disappeared around A.D. 1200. However, both the Navajo and the Pueblo people of New Mexico believe the Anasazi simply migrated south to the Jemez and Rio Grande Rivers. But their spirit remained in places such as Mesa Verde, Chaco Canyon, Hovenweep and Canyon de Chelley.
Zuni elder Peter Pino believes that all of the Anasazi ruins were once a part of a great spiritual society, and that they remain sacred places today. According to Pino, "you can sit on the mesa top and just have a quiet moment to yourself, and you can sense the motion of the time when the community was occupied. You sense energy that goes beyond words and essentially, in order to feel what is happening there, you have to feel in the heart, and in mind, and in body."
Pino believes the legacy of the Anasazi is one of transcendence and of oneness with the natural world they worshipped as God. It was a grand legacy, and one I wanted to experience. During two weeks of filming the ruins of the Anasazi, I spent several hours alone in meditation or simply sitting, watching, and feeling myself grounded to the rich brown earth around me. I opened myself to experiencing the energy the elders believed could be felt there. Maybe it's because I was open to it, maybe it's because I took the time to listen with more than my ears, but while sitting on the cliffs of Chaco Canyon, I felt a powerful presence. It was discernable as nothing more than energy. The earth didn't move. I didn't levitate or fly. But I very simply felt, for the first time, that a force greater than me, a force greater than humanity, existed. And that moment set the course for the experiences that followed.

An Andean shaman named Victor Estrada helped me explore the ruins of Machu Picchu with more than my eyes. He taught me how to look within and to open myself to sacred energy.
I researched the Islamic view of heaven at the Taj Mahal and witnessed Hindu cremations at the funeral pyres along Varanasi's River Ganges.
The sacred practices of Tantric Buddhism in Bhutan's Paro Valley and the quiet, meditative beauty of Theravada Buddhism at Burma's Sagaing Monastery helped to slow my pace and to ground me in this world.
At the ancient sites of Delphi, Corinth and the island of Patmos, I chronicled the Greek transition from paganism into one of the world's most devout Christian societies. I felt the powerful words of the Apostle Paul in ways I'd never before imagined myself capable.
And on the Caribbean island of Haiti, I had my head and my heart opened to the sacred practice of Vodou - a beautiful yet often misunderstood faith that mixes the beliefs of west African slaves and the French landowners who brought them to Haiti more than three hundred years ago.

It was a time of transition, of grounding, and of purpose. It was a time of privilege that opened me not just to God, but to the powerful, beautiful impact that history and culture have on the spiritual beliefs we feel and we follow.

For as long as humans have maintained a belief in God and in religious and spiritual practice, misunderstanding and persecution have been at the forefront of our world's disharmony. Today, our religious differences often signal conflict, and passions based on ignorance fuel the fire. As I write this, I'm relatively certain that somewhere in this newspaper there will appear a story of conflict based on religious beliefs.
During the production of Mystic Lands and in the spiritual work I've done since, I've been deeply touched by the one thing I now share with religious followers worldwide. I now believe in God and in the spirit that makes life sacred.
While I'd always waited for that one defining moment when the spirit would arrive, it didn't happen that way for me. It happened over time. It happened because I learned to allow the experience to settle in. And God made the experience grand. God created images to be photographed in the moment. God created a presence in me to photograph them regardless of my emotional state or the relative nature of my belief.
I still see it all, I still see the all within it. Sheets of rain gleaming with a rainbow on the horizon of Arizona's desert. A rattle snake sliding into the ruins of Chaco Canyon. Fog shrouded ruins at Machu Picchu. The tireless faces of Hindu worshippers on the shore of the River Ganges, dripping sacred water onto outstretched tongues. The Taj Mahal cloaked on a misty morning. Amber light reflecting off the dome of Schwedagon Pagoda on a steamy night in Rangoon, lighting the cheeks of young girls worshipping. A young mother, possessed by the Vodou spirit of Damballah, squirming along a cement floor in the slums of Port-au-Prince.
I didn't create these images. I witnessed them. And in them I saw the spirit of God that unites us, the spirit that unites the faithful around the world. It's a spirit that transcends religion. As uncomplicated as it may sound, the energy is universal, loving and without judgment.
For me, it is beauty, an irresistible beauty I failed to see until I opened my eyes and my heart and allowed for its simplicity. Nature. The roller coaster of the human condition. The unexpected circumstance of life.
I'm frequently reminded of the many questions we encountered throughout the production. Viewers, friends, colleagues, the network -- we all had questions when it came to God, religion, and the spirit world.
"Christianity versus Judaism? Why do Muslims pray toward Mecca five times a day? Don't Jews, Christians and Muslims all believe in the Old
Testament? How can the Hindu believe in 300 million gods? Didn't the Inca eat their babies? How can anybody spin a prayer wheel all day long -- and for that matter, why? What's with that voodoo-zombie thing in Haiti? Weren't the Anasazi taken away by aliens?"
We heard them all. Some questions may have seemed ridiculous at the time, but all were relevant then and all remain relevant today. Many have no answer. Some answers are contradictory, some lost in untold history. And all are part of the mystery.
Of course, the sacred locations are easy to talk about because they exist. Many have a cultural, political and spiritual history that lends itself to anthropological and archeological exploration. In others, colorful, entertaining and thought provoking religious practices are still performed every day. Anyone can go, anyone can see, anyone can study, anyone can feel.
But the discovery of faith is part of an individual journey down a path of our own making. To simply say that God exists within is not an answer for anyone. Religious or spiritual dictates rarely convert or transform anyone. The process of discovery and coming to a knowing of God is a deeply personal one.
Though I'd been exposed to Christianity throughout my life, I went into our production without a preconceived notion that any one religion was right or wrong. I believed both then and now that as much as religion has to do with one's personal choices about God, it also has to do with geography, culture, education, politics and money.
Even today, as I continue down my own path, the teachings of Jesus Christ are familiar to me much the way Hinduism would be familiar had I grown up in India. I grew up with Christianity and it continues to surround me. While I've never understood the denominational battles fought by Christians, the idea of "Mere Christianity" as put forth by C.S. Lewis makes sense to me. The power of positive thinking, the belief in the powerful goodness of God as put forth by Norman Vincent Peale makes sense to me. The search for enlightenment through the practice of our own good deeds as put forth by Buddha makes sense to me. An Inca farmer thanking his Gods for rainfall and sunshine makes sense to me. Virtually every religion in the world has God, goodness, and morality at its center.
Culture, politics, history and money influence religion and impact our choices. Because of my experience, my truth -- as I understand it now -- is that I am a hybrid of belief. I've seen too much joy and beauty in all faiths not to cherish them for their uniqueness, their strengths, their virtues and their truth.
The work I did with Victor Estrada, the Andean shaman, helped me feel connected to God in ways no religious practice had before. Like Victor, I don't believe that any one religion holds all the answers and the convergence of my Christian beliefs with various spiritual practices is not a contradiction to me. Rather, it is part of my process.
Regardless of where my path leads, I go there with a universal faith in God. I accept the truth around me. The truth of nature. The truth of human character and behavior. The truth of love, charity and kindness. These are not things we created and no matter which spiritual practice any of us may choose to follow, the acceptance of and belief in God is fundamental to all religions.
It takes very little travel and very little experience to discover that we are much more similar than we are different. The values of love and family supercede all that divides us. Goodness is universal. In Northern Ireland, Protestants and Catholics both love their families. Both attend church. Both believe in the teachings of Christ. Their problems are about politics, not faith. In America, when Christians, Jews, and Muslims make their prayers, they're heard by the same God who hears the whispering wind through a prayer flag in Bhutan.
Peace lies in acceptance, not of our differences, but of our similarities.
There are places that are sacred, places that resonate and vibrate with a timeless energy, an energy that comes from nature and wildlife, an energy that comes from the human presence both past and present. It can be found in the great spiritual places of the world -- Machu Picchu, Bali, Jerusalem, Varanasi, Haiti, Mecca, the Taj Mahal -- but the truth is that the spiritual world surrounds us and is as present on the streets of Milwaukee, Bangkok, Moscow or Capetown as it is in Chaco Canyon.
It's up to us to find it, to recognize it, and to learn to cherish the gifts that God provides us each day, everywhere. A spiritual life and the happiness it brings is not about living in the darkness, it's about choosing to live in the light. It's not about wanting more possessions, it's about freeing ourselves of want. It's not about violence, hatred, war, hunger, poverty or injustice. It's about wiping away a child's tear, extending a hand, listening, smiling, and showing up.

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Note on Author: Chip Duncan is an EMMY award-winning documentary filmmaker who presently resides in Wisconsin. For more information on The Duncan Group or the television documentary RAFTING ALASKA'S WILDEST RIVERS (broadcast nationwide in the USA on July 1, 2001 on the PBS network), please <click here>

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