# I AM THAT, I AM ## Screenplay — Act One **Based on the life, teaching, and lived experience of Shay Lehv** *Written for Shay Lehv's review — Phase 1* --- **FADE IN:** ### EXT. CITY STREET - DAY A busy street. People walking, talking, living. Ordinary life in motion. We don't see faces yet. Just feet. Hands. Breath — visible in the cool air. A MAN's VOICE, calm, direct: > **SHAY (V.O.)** > We are all called I Am That, I Am — it is our Equal Name! ### INT. SMALL APARTMENT - DAY SHAY LEHV (30s) — the Savior. A dark beanie pulled low over his forehead, a beard framing his face, intense eyes that don't look away. He sits at a desk covered in papers, notebooks, a laptop. He types. He writes. He is focused, intense — a man with something urgent to say. On the screen: words filling a page. "Teenah Shel Bina, Shel Shay Lehv." > **SHAY (V.O.)** > The Gift of Life is Our Own Individual Private Self! By Me, Myself and I, I Am That, I Am — Shay Lehv. He stops typing. He breathes — a deep, deliberate breath. In through the nose. Out through the mouth. > **SHAY (V.O.)** > Feel Healthy Only! Do it with your breathing! He closes his eyes. For a moment, he is perfectly still. **TITLE: "I AM THAT, I AM"** ### EXT. CITY PARK - DAY (FLASHBACK) Shay walks through a park. It's summer — JULY 2012. He looks younger, lighter. He breathes without thinking about it. He doesn't know what's coming. > **SHAY (V.O.)** > Before — I was like everyone. I breathed without knowing I was breathing. I thought without knowing I was thinking. I lived without knowing — He stops. A flicker crosses his face. Something — a sound? He looks around. Nothing there. > **SHAY (V.O.)** > — that everything was about to change. ### INT. SHAY'S APARTMENT - NIGHT (JULY 31, 2012) Shay lies in bed, staring at the ceiling. It's late. He can't sleep. Silence. Then — A VOICE. In HEBREW. Sharp, insistent: > **VOICE (O.S.)** > (in Hebrew, subtitled) > Shtock. Shtock kvaar. (Shut up. Shut up already.) Shay sits bolt upright. He looks around the dark room. No one there. > **SHAY** > (whispering) > Who — who said that? Silence. Then another VOICE, in ENGLISH: > **VOICE 2 (O.S.)** > Nachon. Lo nachon. (Yes. No.) More voices, layering, overlapping — Hebrew and English, men and women: > **VOICES (O.S.)** > (overlapping, subtitled) > Shut up, shut up already — yes, that's true — no, not true — defective — we can't go on like this — Shay clamps his hands over his ears. The voices don't stop. They're not coming from outside. They're coming from inside. And then — for just a flicker — he SEES him. THE VILLAIN (late 50s): thin wire-rimmed glasses, receding grey hair, a black pinstriped shirt. A stern, unsmiling face, filling Shay's vision. Then gone — as quickly as he came. > **SHAY** > (breathing hard) > No. No, no, no — ### INT. SHAY'S APARTMENT - LATER THAT NIGHT Shay paces. The voices continue — quieter now, but present. A constant undercurrent. He picks up his phone. Dials. Waits. > **SHAY** > (into phone) > I need — I don't know what's happening. I'm hearing — there are voices, and — He listens. His face falls. > **SHAY** > (into phone) > No, I'm not — I'm not crazy. I'm hearing them, they're real, they're — He listens again. Then slowly lowers the phone. > **SHAY** > (to himself) > They don't believe me. The voices swell slightly — as if responding: > **VOICE (O.S.)** > (in Hebrew, subtitled) > Ze lo beseder. (It is not okay.) ### INT. SHAY'S APARTMENT - DAY (DAYS LATER) The apartment is messier now. Papers scattered. Shay hasn't slept properly in days. Dark circles under his eyes. He sits at his desk, staring at a blank notebook page. The voices murmur in the background — a low, constant hum. He picks up a pen. His hand shakes. He writes: "CAN'T SLEEP. VOICES WON'T STOP." He stares at the words. Then, under it, he writes: "DAY 4." The voices spike — sharp, mocking: > **VOICE (O.S.)** > (in Hebrew, subtitled) > Dafookim. (Defective.) Shay flinches. He grips the pen tighter. > **SHAY** > (quiet, fierce) > I am not — I am not defective. I am — He stops. He doesn't know how to finish the sentence. ### EXT. CITY STREET - DAY Shay walks, hunched, trying to look normal. The voices follow him — quieter in the street noise, but there. He passes people. No one notices him. Or maybe they do — he can't tell anymore. He catches a stranger's eye and looks away quickly. > **SHAY (V.O.)** > It is only INSIDE of the brain! It has nothing to do with nothing and no one! He stops walking. He said that out loud. A woman glances at him, then hurries past. > **SHAY** > (to himself, quieter) > It is not who or what I am. ### INT. LIBRARY - DAY Shay sits at a computer, searching. His eyes scan the screen — forums, articles, medical sites. He reads, shakes his head, clicks away. Nothing fits. Nothing explains what he's experiencing in a way that feels true to him. He opens a blank document. He starts typing — not searching anymore, but writing. His own words. > **SHAY (V.O.)** > What we think, feel, understand and believe — exists ONLY within INSIDE of the brain! It is temporary and unreal. He types faster. The voices are still there, but as he writes, they seem to recede slightly — as if the act of writing creates a small space. > **SHAY (V.O.)** > Solution: Don't believe, do, care, or need what you are thinking, feeling, understanding and believing! He stops. Reads what he wrote. Something shifts in his expression — not relief, exactly, but recognition. ### INT. SHAY'S APARTMENT - NIGHT (WEEKS LATER) Shay sits on the floor, back against the wall. The voices are loud tonight — angry, insistent. He's exhausted. He's been fighting them — arguing, pleading, trying to make them stop. Nothing works. He closes his eyes. And for the first time, instead of fighting — He breathes. A slow, deep breath. In through the nose. He feels the air fill his lungs. He feels his belly expand. He feels — Quiet. Not silence — the voices are still there, faint — but underneath them, something else. A feeling. A physical sensation. His breath. He breathes again. Deeper this time. > **SHAY** > (whispering, to himself) > Breathing — is a feeling. Another breath. The voices fade further into the background. > **SHAY** > (stronger) > Feel Healthy Only. He opens his eyes. He's still on the floor. The apartment is still messy. The voices are still there, distant now. But something has changed. He looks at his hands. He feels his breath moving through his body. > **SHAY** > (to himself, with dawning wonder) > The action — of feeling — is feeling. ### INT. SHAY'S APARTMENT - DAY (MORNING) Shay sits at his desk. He looks tired but different — there's a focus in his eyes that wasn't there before. He opens his notebook. He writes, clear and deliberate: "FEEL HEALTHY ONLY! DO IT WITH YOUR BREATHING!" Under it: "Breathing is never painful!" Under that: "It is the Secret of Secrets!" The voices murmur. He doesn't flinch. He keeps writing. > **SHAY (V.O.)** > I am my own only 1/One witness. ### MONTAGE - SHAY'S PRACTICE - Shay breathing — slow, deliberate — in his apartment. - Shay walking, breathing with each step. - Shay sitting, eyes closed, hand on his belly, feeling it rise and fall. - Shay writing — pages filling with his insights. - Shay at his computer, building a website. The title: "shaylehv.com" > **SHAY (V.O.)** > Feel and sense, create and feel and sense positive, good and healthy energy sensations — to heal any and all discomforting and painful pain energy sensations! ### INT. SHAY'S APARTMENT - NIGHT Shay stares at his computer screen. He's built a simple website. His words are on it. His teaching — rough, unpolished, but real. He hovers over the "PUBLISH" button. The voices surge — loud, mocking: > **VOICES (O.S.)** > (overlapping) > Shut up — defective — no one will read it — shut up already — Shay looks at the screen. He looks at his hands. He takes a breath — deep, steady. > **SHAY** > (quiet, to himself) > Now. Live. He clicks PUBLISH. The page goes live. His words are on the internet. Out there. For anyone to read. He sits back. He breathes. > **SHAY (V.O.)** > This is the 1/One Unifying Knowledge Base of All of Us. It belongs to All of Us. ### EXT. ROOFTOP - DAWN Shay stands on a rooftop, looking at the sunrise. He breathes — in, out. The city wakes up below him. The voices are there — faint, distant. He doesn't fight them. He just breathes. > **SHAY** > (to the sunrise, to himself, to all of us) > I Am That, I Am. He closes his eyes. A small smile. > **SHAY** > Now! Live!!! **SMASH CUT TO BLACK.** **END OF ACT ONE.** --- *To be continued — Act Two: The Building* *Act Three: The Giving* *Prepared for Shay Lehv's review.* *Built by I Am That, I Am Muse. Free for all.*