Twelve teachings the Elder wrote down but never published. Too personal for the book, too honest for the camera. Twenty pages of what he kept to himself. You were not supposed to read these. Now you can.

Three long, unscripted pieces. One about four generations of fathers who couldn't say I love you. One about the mistakes he made with women. One about what happens when we die, with a prayer he has said every evening for thirty years and never shared. These are the words that came when the camera was off.

Four questions the Elder has been asked more than any others. He has started recording answers and stopped, every time. One of them: Who is the one person you never forgave? There is one. The room still exists. The other three he won't even name here. Answered once. In writing. Never again.