The world is a mess. I stopped paying attention to the news a very long time ago. The point of my official disengagement was when Trump got elected. Though every so often Brexit gets the better of me and climate change alarms me. Then I remember how much of it is true anyway? What do ‘they’ want us to believe now? This has been something I’ve been playing with for a while. As a radical curator, I used to often think about news and global events in terms of a real-time existence. What is actually affecting me, in my now? What is real to me at this moment? This physicality, this moment, this day, this environment. It’s something that I have done my best to adopt over the last ten years. That the things that are upsetting us are constructs. When the things that we can impact with our attention are real and immediate. That’s how I got really into community building. That community building is the best panacea that I know, along with conversation and a good nights sleep. That in isolation most humans live within the reach of terror, with anxiety and depression as intimate friends. May we could only pick up the phone and call anxiety and depression? What do you think they would say? The things we have to reach into and delve in to face our own challenges.
For the largest part of my life, I felt isolated, removed from the collective. The more isolated I felt, the more isolated I became. That my inner landscape was reflected in the world outside of me or was it the other way round. I didn’t fit. Why is that? I don’t tolerate hypocrosy well.
That common sense dictated that our approach to our local environments were deeply flawed. That what we were taught in school and what we were expected to aspire to was contradictory. That although I was expected to have moral value I was to be squashed questioning the value systems of authority. That no big company I have ever worked for has been able to hold to its values. That NGO’s swim in emotional toxicity of the unresolved trauma of the people that run them. All along the watchtower people will sacrifice everything for financial security and a stable home. Imagine that. That those are the two pillars that keep people chained to dying broken system. That nobody wants to swim the moat if it means giving up emotional safety.
There it is humans are hard-wired for safety. Yet empirical structures have managed to isolate us completely in our search for that. That seperated they can control us through isolation and distance. It’s the basic principle of divide and rule. What if you realised we are all bordering on terrified? As dogma attached to exponential economic growth can increasingly be identified as a concern for human society and our only home planet Earth. One has to wonder when will we stop eating the poisoned fruit. Where do we realise our financial security is important and our emotional safety is a valuable resource. That self-healing can only fully be achieved in conjunction with a supportive community of people on the same mission.
For the first time in a very long time, I was off in search of wisdom outside of myself. Where I thought the answers might come from someone else other than me. This was a process that I started a few months back when I decided to undertake some Family Constellation work. During this process, I was fortunate enough to meet a pretty elusive creature in the realms of healers. A land healer who came with a massive piece of selenite, who low and behold had lived in Cornwall and learned her craft from an Englishman who was living there. Oh, the irony. Why are we all so busy trying so hard to fix somewhere other than here?
It was after this session that some strange channelling happened. (I’ve already told some strange things were going on in my life). We were talking about land healing, systemic trauma and the return of the light (that’s a thing) and how all the work that we do is directly connected to healing the Earth, when somehow Credo Mutwa came up and next minute he seemed to be talking to me (Yup I was channelling). That created the beginnings of last weeks mini-adventure and an intention was set that I/we might actually go to see him. As people within the group had already met and had contact with him.
Two weeks that intention was manifested at literally sonic speed that started with a phone call to one of my healer friends, who had continued to express an interest in going. The intention was set. Phone calls were made and from nowhere it was a potential fantasie to go. You see not everybody gets to see Credo, only those who are invited too. That’s what they say anyway. In the meantime, I felt like I was being energetically checked out. Yup, I’m beginning to really believe that that is a thing.
So just like that, we hit the road and never looked back. Then of course as always, it hit me. Narratives, language, the imaginary lines of state and the brokeness of us all. Including me.
What you really need to know is that South Africa is a complicated place. Far more complicated than most people can ever imagine and a road trip is just the kind of adventure that brings that right back to the fore again. For the most part I am lost in a sea of “white” people who live in fear, who have no insight into their own systemic trauma, of not fully belonging and spend a lot of their time writing off “Africans” for not being able to to pick up their own rubbish and the ongoing dialogue of plastic pollution, their poor education and of course underlying threatening nature when in uncontained groups. You think I’m kidding maybe? I’m not. It’s something you might term as “Systemic Racism” which is really just a way of talking about trauma in relation to race. Do you want to know one of the most fucked up things about South Africa or in fact racism? Is that race isn’t really a thing? In fact, skin colour strangely is not representative in any way of a cultural group. This is the fuck up of identity politics. Instead, people go around talking about “Africans” as if that is somehow definitive. Like white South African’s are actually European. It’s a weird idea, as many of them have never been to Europe.
Yet here we are off to expropriate wisdom from Credo Mutwa because we are unable to find it for ourselves.
In recent weeks I’ve recently started thinking about the idea of skin shaming as a term. It’s so much more accurate. There can be no dividing lines between humans. All humans are supposedly genetically 10% Khoi San, we are all from here in Observatory where I write this blog from. The oldest human settlement in the world. Yes, that. We are all one tribe.
Then for the 50 millionth times, I had to doggedly explain the impacts of trauma. That sometimes I thank my lucky stars that I am and “Indigent White” (another new term I’ve been figuring out) that understand how complex it is to be a bastard Scot, (Half English, Half Scottish) never mind anything else. Then I have to remember all the traumas of the empire. All the way back to the crucifixion and before that the idea that we have to use our own children as a human sacrifice to know god (Just a couple of ideas embodied in religious (Empire) abuse). The land grabs, the displacement, the exile, the colonialism, the oppression of culture, the loss of language, the forced labour, the concentration camps, the industrial revolution, the enforced education and removal of children. That very few people to this day have got smart to the idea of divide and rule. That very few people are able to see through the lens of their own systemic prejudices (even me), that often revolve around the importance of hierarchies and of course the fawning effect it incurs (which can now easily be attributed as a trauma response). For me, my trauma response has always been the railing against the existence of them. As I fall further and further down the rabbit hole of trauma. I’m single-handedly teaching myself not to be a human granade. How to remove myself, protect myself and love myself in the face of the insurmountable odds of all the traumatised people that engulf me. We are all fucked up we are all traumatised. Now its something many of us openly admit. Then you have to wonder what if we weren’t what if we all knew love, intimately? What if we all felt joy daily? What if we all were able to see another’s pain as our own.
So you’re probably wondering about Credo? A lot more happened on a life time scale than you might imagine for an impromptu visit with South Africa’s last Sanusi. I read that again and realise how strange it was to think that this meeting and the events round it might be ordinary. Personally, I’m more intrigued about Virginia his wife and why she uses an English name instead of her own? and why I didn’t write down the spelling of her real name so I could write it here unbastardised, honoured and witnessed. None of us are untouched by trauma, especially the great ones. It runs through us like great tsunamis of wisdom if we could only stay afloat in its torrents.
I keep going on about how the last 2 years have brought forth radical transformation in my life. Without telling you what is going on. Nor am I going to share here and there is a reason for this. Sharing isn’t always safe and it’s a privilege to hear my story, it’s going to be gritty and chewy and eyewatering when we get there, and still, I’m not there. I’m not ready to share and you know what that is totally ok.
In the meantime what I am truly finding out is how hard it is to actually share who you are and that people shouldn’t feel entitled to all of you. Yet they do. Like in my previous blog post when I talked about basically being utilised to do the admin work for community activism when it would have been far more beneficial to be put to work doing what I actually do. Which is healing trauma.
I can’t even begin to tell you how long it’s taken me to get here to the whole trauma thing. It’s an origin story of note, that probably started ten years ago. That started with a friend of mine called Cait where we sadly concluded that more people were suffering from trauma than we might even be able to identify. That back then we had no idea how we might tackle the epidemic. That we didn’t know what all the answers were. All we knew really was that people were suffering, even ourselves. We knew that symptoms of trauma tended to isolate people and that most people had no clue what to do when their friends and family were in crisis. That we were more likely to ostracise them for their behaviour, rather than include them out of love. That diagnosis was woefully unable to define the true human story behind the tears, the tantrums, the self-medicating, and the withdrawal. That even Eeyore deserved to be invited to the party. Yet what if the symptoms were more pernicious? What if the behaviours were more troublesome and asked people to question everything that we knew and understood? That the school systems was fucked and equated to child abuse. The corporate working world was nothing more than wage slavery, that made us complicit in a planetary tragedy. That governance was built on nothing more the imaginary lines in the sand and maximised on the idea of human separateness. That modern medicine was looking to kill us. That communities were deliberately under threat from the sickness of greed. That it all felt vapid and soulless and no one had the depth of character or will to dive into another’s pain, because they were totally unable to face their own.
Yet here I am tens years on and I’ve garnered some answers, secure attachment, trust, nurturance, time, and the old fashioned idea of succour. Succour, we even have a word for it, long since forgotten. We know how to heal ourselves, it all boils down to human connection, inclusiveness and of course love.
This year it feels like I’ve taken a crash course in all of the above. I’m also feeling pretty proud of myself in the process. For the first time in the history of my own community activism, I have refused to take on other peoples shit. True Story.
Emotional Labour is the work of me, The Life Doula. I create space, I hold space and I offer up time as if it is an infinite resource and utilising a lost healing magic that seems to have been long forgotten in the realms of 21st-century healing. You can’t hack everything. It is at the very moment we can become grateful for the ageing process, proud of the whispy grey hairs and that wisdom usually has to be earned.
The truth is that Emotional Labour is, for the most part, the work of women. The absorbing, the explaining, the understanding, the coaxing and sustaining of families and communities. It’s the care of the dying, the nurturing of children, the comforting of the ill and distressed and the perpetual maintenance of the household. It’s also the commitment to healing, healing ourselves to be of better service. Healing our selves to create better homes, stronger families and resilient communities and yet so little of this work are appreciated and honoured even though it is the very stuff of life.
These days as healers and let’s be honest here as women we now have to resolve to set boundaries for ourselves. We have to decide to take care of ourselves first, heal our selves first before we ever hope to have a deeper impact on the world at large, even though there is so much to heal. Too often now I have had the call to action. “Kimberley we need your help” and too often now I have learned that the help I have to offer is mistaken for something else. That somehow I can do the work for you. That by me showing up and listening to the problem at hand is a cure and that due to my caring nature I might be willing to solve the problem by taking on the role of community enabler. That I will be project manager, researcher, facilitator, admin assistant, fundraiser and counsellor. All for free of course.
The answer is I can and I won’t. The truth is my house isn’t in order. I expect too much from hurt people. The best remedy I have for this is, of course, is getting back to the drawing board and straight back into dharma. Chopping water and fetching wood, figuring out where the mix up happened and re-committing to healing myself first, loving myself best and serving reason from a cup that radiates joy.
The age of Aquarius is here. The divine feminine is on the rise and emotional mastery is calling to us. Nurturance is key and taking on the emotional labour of others is over. Nothing is disposable. The energy we put out into the world is the energy we get back. After all, it’s the circle of life.
Re-parenting has been a theme that has been coming up again and again over the last few weeks. When I very first started out on what we might call the coaching journey; which is an entirely different thing to the healing journey I thought I might advertise myself as a Self-Parenting Coach. Only now do I realise, one how ironic that is in terms of my own personal journey since then, and two how ahead of the game I was. Even now The Life Doula as a concept seems so way out there that only one of my clients so far has actually got it. (Hey ho) without me having to explain it. Re-birthing yes that too is a thing. Re-birthing as you can well imagine goes hand in hand with Re-Parenting or Self-Parenting as I have termed it.
So here we are talking about terms. What I really want you to know, is that although I might think up terms regularly, I do try to think about the terms that I use at great length. Especially what they might mean to people or make them feel. So, for example, the term Re-Parenting, though very valid, automatically brings up the for me a bubbling kind of resentment and shame. Filled in with exclamation points!!!! Like “For fuck sake, like being parented wasn’t horrific enough as it was without having to take on the actual role of my parents as well in order to gain insight into how truly fucked up they were.” After all, assaulting a four-year-old wasn’t bad enough as it was without having to relive through both parties. Yup, it’s full-on inside my head. Then I get to Self-Parenting and it lets me give out this resigned sigh of “Well I suppose somebody’s got to do it” as I look round the room for an imaginary adult that might be willing to take on the task. After all, wasn’t that what you were always looking for another adult that might help and then, of course, didn’t….. Yup, it’s a bit fucked up no two ways about it. The abandonment buttons are very real in this process. As well as that it also leaves a certain element of blame on the parents part, like they should have done better, known better behaved better. When in fact they are fucked up, still fucked up and very committed to the process of avoiding that reality. Oh well and to leave yourself with the role of re-parenting or self-parenting leaves bigger questions about the need for the do-over or the very real neglect and abandonment, that may never be answered or might indeed leave us more traumatised. It’s not our job to re-parent ourselves it never was and it’s a mild form of victim-blaming to suggest that we should have to take on that role for ourselves. So both terms linger within me with a mild toxicity. That seems to be corrosive over time.
So after all that and all that feeling and how I felt and how I thought other people in the same situation as me might feel I came up with the idea of Self-Nurturance, and I love it. Self-Nurturance seems light and fluffy and cuddly. It’s all the things you might want and need from a responsible adult. It’s all the things that you might want and need for your responsible adult, that makes me love it even more. It’s not as lofty unavailable as Self-Love nor does it seem as socially weighty and thus drudgingly boring as Self-Care it’s somewhere snuggly in-between. More than this it also signifies that its role is poised to create growth. That if we nurture ourselves we can have whole vibrant lives. That we are getting fully prepared for new adventures. Where lemon water is exciting and yoga can feel nourishing. Where we step away from what we are supposed to do, into what we want to do and that those things though separate in our head are exactly the same thing. It’s just no one ever told us. Do you know why? Because no one ever told them.
Exponential personal growth has been a massive feature in my life over the last 2 years. Over the last few weeks I have been witnessing my programming change. That for the last few years I am becoming increasingly savvy at figuring out what is my stuff and what is other people stuff. Creating clear boundaries and operating from a space of compassion without enabling. Which is can be very easy with clients. Yet increasingly difficult within the personal relationships and friendships that I’ve been growing within over the last few years. All of a sudden I’ve been finding glitches in the system and I have felt for the last few days that I have been merging old and new files of myself within relationships. Who I am and who I was, who I can be and how everyone benefits. That the programmes of the past no longer serve me in my future.
It many ways it might appear that I am becoming what would classically be described as more selfish. That word alone makes me begin to understand how quickly and how early we are trained out of fulfilling our own needs. That somehow me buying myself flowers could be a whole host of things from uppity to attention-seeking or even doing it to make someone else feel bad. Not today, not in this home but you can feel where this is coming from, can’t you? That if nobody loves you enough to buy your flowers then why should you buy yourself flowers? Creating a cycle of depreciating personal value in your life.
What is more, other words than selfish are creeping into my insight of the shadow. I witnessed more and more how poorly the words manipulative and complaining are being banded around in response to emotion. If woman or children cry for example it is often classed and manipulative, in order for them to get her way. Or even when someone says how they feel “I don’t feel you are listening to me” “Stop complaining”. These words as defence weapons largely by people that have no connection with there own emotional landscape. It’s kind of like watching someone who’s been jagged by a thorn lashing out a thorn tree without removing the thorn. Painful very very painful to watch. As we see so many online videos of how to negotiate emotions with children it becomes clearer to me that who is doing this for the adults out there running the world and in need of so much more support than a paid therapist or councillor. Even who is looking after me? As I look round more and more I begin to understand it has to be me. That I have to learn to nurture myself deeply, on levels I have of yet to fully understand. That I need to get to my three-year-old self before anybody else can and ask her questions. A simple question like why are you standing outside a locked door waiting for someone who clearly hasn’t and isn’t showing up for you? My heart breaks for her and then all of a sudden I adult myself, who are you waiting for and why? How long have you been waiting? Then all of a sudden I realise I’ve been waiting for me and it’s my job to show up and care for myself in ways I never was. Love myself in ways only I know-how and trust the adult in my life, me.
Confusion is not normally something that I have a problem with. Yet today some new informatio is playing havoc with my usual compartmentalisation process. Your probably wondering what it is? It’s something I like to call “Red Herring Syndrom” where you were certain somebody was something other than what it actually was and your trying to figure out exactly how it is you got taken in by an incredibly complex charade. Has this ever happened to you?
What does that mean? It means usually when I have got things to do, places to be or even things to process, everything has an alotted time and place. Like Self-Care is for Sundays, Dinner is between 6pm and 8pm, Lunch is 12pm – 1pm. 8pm – 10 pm is Personal Growth time, learning new things, that kind of stuff. Socialising is for Saturdays. Tuesday Mornings are when I make myself available to people for free Mondays are for doing back office admin. Friday’s are for backing up my computer. Any time after 5pm is for friends and family. Any time before 9am is for me and my personal stuff. That’s all pretty simple, right? I’m sure most of operate or basic daily and weekly schedules in this way. Right?
Then somedays we just can’t get things off our mind. Even if we journal about it. Even if we meditate on it. Even if we set an intention and schedule it. Unexpected things creep into our minds and hearts and disturb the equilibrium. The daily program and even when we are super organised we can\t really understand why. These are the things I describe as perturbing and we are going full adult if we are able to cast them off to one side to maintain focus. Sometimes that isn’t always possible.
It’s all part of being human of course, that we can automate everything. That the universe is sending us new information. Many of us might identify the arrival of new thought or situations as part of the ascension process. To find a new way of thinking or integrating ideas. That not everything is as it appears or even is as it should be. That there is a rupture in the force. Something beyond our understanding that even the most organising and well-meaning of people can’t automatically find the solution it takes time. Although inconvenient this is processing at it’s best. Where we simply have to put our hand up and say “I need some more time to think about that”. As we get older (for me at least) new challenges seem to present themselves less and less. We’ve seen so much of all this stuff before and then suddenly we are flummoxed.
The great thing about confusion is that it almost definitely means that we are going to learn something. It means that the quandry we are facing is a new one that we haven’t faced a situation before. It’s a new lesson being presented. It’s time for us to up-level. Which is very exciting. We never have it all figured out and there is always something new to learn.
So that me today, searching for the solution and being mildly excited about where that solution might take me in my future decision-making processes.
This week I am at a loss of what to write about from manifesting, relationship breakthroughs, to overextending yourself, how to deal with addiction trauma and where do boundaries begin and end without actually having to go out there and get a PhD on all of it. I’ve also been thinking about mindfulness versus mindlessness surrender, the gremlins that run round out head and how to sit in an endless groundhog day that makes life both expansive, minimalist and navigable. It’s all very confusing. It’s a lot of information running round my head as well as not telling you all the deeply personal stuff while still being in and creating supportive relationships and communities. It’s fucking crazy shit load of stuff to get through. On the upside, it is all worth it.
This morning I even spent some time listening to Brene Brown and Russell Brand talk about a whole host of things from politics to choice theory and it was very refreshing. To fairly real humans having a sincere and valuable exchange. From about personal perspective on compassion to parenting and the terrible twos. There is so much to learn and the topic on everyone’s lips seems to be about polarisation, particularly in politics and the relationship between genocide and dehumanisation. There it all is swimming ground my head meanwhile last night a read two articles one about trauma in monkeys and the other about the relationship between coercion and domestic abuse and how they are almost exactly the same thing and the felt scary. That people don’t always know that.
We are in an era of information overload and I wonder where I am in this myself. Since Instagram, my social media consumption seem to have exploded. Is it healthy? I don’t know. Would I prefer anything else? Probably. My winter screen time seems to increase exponentially? Maybe its time to bring back the book. What a commitment that is, or even writing.
My own consciousness is continually flitting around. To care about Brexit or Trump or wider global political situations. Then, of course, there is very little I can do about it. Trump is a mad man, Brexit seems to be tied up in long outdated colonialist ideas. I am at the centre of global politics right here where I am in a small suburb in Cape Town. The only thing that I can do is focus on me. Make sure that the planet has one less lose cannon rolling about causing carnage where ever it goes. I can be kind, polite considerate. I can make time in my life for the people that need me and find a way for those small actions to ripple out into the wider world. The people in my life, my neighbours my community, of course, I will make mistakes, even have glaring failures and that ok. Right now I’m doing my best and that is good enough.
It’s another morning in beautiful Cape Town and I’m once again getting my priorities straight. Do I write the blog first, go for coffee or muse a bit more o what my thought process is for the day? The kettle has just boiled and I’ve managed to slurp some water before what has become my daily caffeine intake. It’s winter here and yet it’s hard to believe that from my Scottish self’s projection. Sunshine pours in the window and the chairs that I painted with gloss yesterday are drying on the balcony. In fact, they are still dry no misty morning dew dripping off of them. It’s been a productive weekend and I’m glad to have the extra public holiday of Youth Day to get even more of my personal inventory done. I feel like I want to push a bit more on the business side of things and then I remember that no one is expecting me to be working, and no one is going to be inconvenienced by not receiving an email or an invoice today. Then I think how nice it will be to have the chairs finished and complete the small dreams that make up a life. That getting too small things done opens up the space for new adventures, even if they’re just in my mind.
The coffee is here and it occurs to me suddenly it must be a public holiday as I have already received a flurry of messages from friends. Which is not normal for a Monday. One to tell me that they are having an especially fun time walking along the Seapoint promenade with the dog they are looking after. The other to remind me that there is a holistic fayre going on in my hood (That I probably should have booked stall at). Some just to say howzit, it seems to be a reminder, that all the spare days that we have are an extra opportunity to connect with the ones that we love.
Personally, I feel still and it reminds me that these days I’m far more into the idea of JOMO than FOMO and what an incredible inner journey I’ve been on. That the peace and stillness of my own home are a sanctuary to me. That writing alone in my bedroom is as much as I need to feel satisfied with life and a day alone is a luxury that few get to delve into the way I often do. Sometimes I wonder if I should be out there doing more and then I remember that each place is powerful if we really take time to breathe in the air and witness the magic that surrounds us. There used to be times in my life when I would wonder what it might be like to live in an apartment in Paris, or taking a commute across London, or sitting on the beach in Rio and even hiking some trail in New Zealand? Then no matter where you are there you are. Witnessing your own magic. Your own unique imprint on the world. In this moment, this space, this time and you know how utterly perfect it all is.
Capacity is something that I often think about when I think about what I call the human robot disorder where our self worth is tied up with productivity. That we are only valued as a person based on what we do or provide, rather than who we are or our very being. All life is valuable. I myself am guilty too of believing that I could have done more. That there is always more to do and that I’m never really fulfiling my potential or getting the most out of life. It’s difficult for many of us not to fall in this trap or constantly be living in the future, hoping that one day we might get it all done. That the to-do list will be void or even the list of things we are trying to achieve will actually stop.
In the last few months, I’ve initiated what I have called Self-Care Sundays, where I literally prioritise personal care. I mean the real nuts and bots here. Cutting my toenails, washing my hair, exfoliating, the washing, getting ready for the week. Strangely even though it wasn’t called Self-Care Sundays I grew up in a family where Sundays were home days. Where we put on Sunday afternoon television and my mother used to spend the afternoon ironing for the whole family (remember those days). Ironing has never been part of my Self-Care routine I’m an iron on kind of girl, only making the exception for big days out. Before the implimentation of a Sunday dedicated to me, everything was on an adhoc basis. Everything got done when it got done or more importantly when I noticed it needed doing. Much of the necessities were never really a slog, more like an inconvenience, that got in the way of a larger kind of life.
As I have gradually implemented this Sunday routine it’s becoming clearer to me how important making space for yourself can be. Prioritising the simple things and making them happen can bring the greatest sense of peace to your life. I know it’s the simple things right? It may sound crazy that I’m putting this here, as it boils down to basic common sense. Then on the other hand for me, it’s becoming more and more of a life saver, and here is why. I’m always pushing. Whether it’s to be a better friend, partner or professional. I wouldn’t say I’m a people pleaser but I’m always willing to go that extra mile to help someone out or more importantly cram more in. The challenge is that up until now I haven’t fully taken on board the extent of that. That it isn’t so much about extracting my significance from other people. It’s more that I have underestimated the contributions of having small things in place in my own life contribute to my sense of peace and well being. That actually the small things are incredibly important in order to have the greatest amount of capacity. So the things that I’m often sacrificing for personal gains are actually the things I should always be investing in for myself.
Even this weekend I was acting in service of myself in order to finish a project that I wanted and needed to get done. It meant taking a drive on Sunday and then spending some time connecting with a friend who I hadn’t seen in a while. I was very pleased to have got something finally finished and to connect with a friend after several months. I got home and collapsed into bed, after all, I was a reflective person and a lot had happened in both our lives and I then needed time to process and integrate. The washing was done (I didn’t put it away). The living room was a looking like a bomb from my creative project the weekend before that still hadn’t settled and it only now this morning I was wondering what happened? Capacity happened. That when we really start putting ourselves at the centre of our lives we begin to see how important a deep commitment to self-care is in order to have full capacity. That it really is about compartmentalising life to make sure that you actually have your own back. So you are never the one paying the price even if it is with regards to pushing yourself further. Now it gets even better, each week I’m looking forward to that Sunday feeling.