A Hymn For Alban Hefin [Summer Solstice]: Revisited

20180530 A HYMN FOR ALBAN HEFIN REVISITEDThe Summer Solstice, known to the Druids of old in the Welsh language as ‘Alban Hefin’ (which means ‘the light of the shore’) is a few weeks away.

The words, based on ancient words, below, can be read as poetry or liturgy at the time of the solstice, or indeed, at any time. They can also be used as a song, which works well to the tune of ‘She moved through the fair’, a wonderful, otherworldly Gaelic, Celtic tune of old.

So, happy Alban Hefin to you and yours, and here is ‘A Hymn For Alban Hefin’ (albeit written by me last year and now repeated for this season).

Great Light above.
All hail the sun
from whom all life proceeds,
Oh Glorious One.
Unending, unbroken
you traverse the sky.
Turning night to day.
With joy we cry.

Unresting, unheeding
in beauty you shine.
Full of health and vigour
poured out like new wine.
For all humankind
your riches bestow
from heaven above
to the Earth below.

All life you create
in the circle of love.
And we celebrate
your end-less gifts.
Laud and honour
for-ever be,
to you Bless-ed One,
For-ever Three.

Great Light above.
All hail the sun
from whom all life proceeds,
Oh Glorious One.
Unending, unbroken
you traverse the sky.
Turning night to day.
With joy we cry.

Tune: ‘She moved through the fair’. For an instrumental version of that song, to familiarise yourself with the tune and to ‘fit’ the words above, do click on the following link. The first fifty-five seconds of the recording gives an outline tune to verse one and subsequent verses. [Tune link].

Words inspired by: Light’s Abode, Celestial Salem, attributed to Thomas á Kempis

 

 

Tadhg’s Thoughts: Night Is Now Far Spent [Or, ‘What A ‘Gritty’ Year That Was’]

20171224 NIGHT IS FAR SPENTI wanted to write my thoughts out, to put them down on paper, and promised myself that I wouldn’t undertake endless revisions. So, here’s my ‘end of year’ heart-sharing with you.

Oh, it’s nearly that time. Christmas Day approaches. I admit to being a big kid at heart – my inner child is always dominant, and more so at this time of the year. I love the fairy lights, the brightly lit shop windows, the Christmas trees with tinsel on it, the candles, the carols in the shopping mall.

And yet, issues requiring mature responses have raised heads. At least for me. And, especially this year.

Is it possible to allow ones inner child dominance: to be childlike and yet not be childish? I think so. I hope so.

‘…become like little children…’ Matthew 18:3b, The Book

It is a ‘thin place’ time of the year. For those in the northern hemisphere it is the darkest time of the year – and yet there, in the middle of the darkness, when the night is at its longest, there is an inbuilt hope of the days (now) getting longer. In the middle of winter, the trees are sleeping, and deep roots are dreaming of spring. Change.

When, in our lives things seem darkest, and it is never easy going through emotional and jarring events, there is hope that the light shines brightest in the darkest of settings. One bearevement, a ‘body-blow’ sustained this year by me, and on ongoing ‘judder’ regarding property  – which will be resolved in January – makes the going tough. This isn’t a rant, but an admission that I’m human. And if you’ve had an ‘up and down’ year then you’re human, too. And being human is good.

Oh, but how easily we can be ‘pulled out’ of that liminal, dream-like, spiritual state by jarring events, or sometimes by others…if we allow. But it is the latter that concerns me most, today.

‘The dance between darkness and light will always remain— the stars and the moon will always need the darkness to be seen, the darkness will just not be worth having without the moon and the stars.’ C JoyBell C

However we interpret or understand the Nativity story – it is a story that, when the Earth was at its darkest point, Light appeared. When forces of anger were arrayed, a child was born. And when ‘unlove’ seemed dominant, Love loved. Love can do no more, nor needs to do more, because Love always wins.

It is childlike to accept that Love wins? It is childish to believe that we are immune from hurt? It is a mature response, I believe, to know that Love wins, but that we may, unfortunately, be hurt sometime, somehow, but you, as a spiritual person know that you are not alone, and things change? I think so. I believe so.

‘All shall be well, and all shall be well, and all manner of thing shall be well’. The Lady Julian

And so, at this time of the year, when its darkest on the face of the Earth (physically, maybe emotionally for some, politically for others, for me, for you etc), I will light a candle for peace, for hope, for Love, for you. And would suggest, that if you feel so led, to do the same.

It is a small ritual – and I love ritual for in it we place ourselves in the gaze of the Source of All – to align ourselves with the Light, with Love, with the Source of All, to allow that Power to soak through our very being, and to acknowledge that we are not alone. It as, after all, at this time of the year a time when we remember that the Power-Behind-The-Universe was ‘poured’ into human flesh. We are not alone. You are not alone. And, there is a Light that shines in the darkness.

And, I’m reminded of that Light by every brightly decorated shop window I pass, every Christmas tree with fairy lights on it and every candle I see, and I think of hope. of change, of Love.

And if, like me, you’ve had a tough year, my candle-lighting ritual will also be a prayer for you, to lift you up. You are included. You are not alone.

Into the void
His word went forth.
What was not. Is!
Light and life accompanied His utterances
and in response, nature danced in the song of creation.
He formed the man of clay, and the woman who is the mother of all life.
And they, too, danced in the light of the morning.
Night has now come, and is far spent,
and the man and woman crane their necks and gaze upwards.
And their words go forth into the vacuum, that is space.
‘Is anyone out there? ‘.
Out of the void another sound is heard.
This time, a baby’s cry echoes in some dim and dusty street of old.
And in the darkness of the world, words of hope are once more heard.
‘My children. Did you think I would leave you as orphans to stray in the night?
I am with you, evermore! ‘.

Blessings, Light and love be to you and yours this Christmas-time, Tadhg

 

[PS: In acknowledging that it was an ‘up and down’ year it would be remiss of me not to acknowledge that I have learned a lot – experience is a good teacher – that I have experienced the love of friends (Christian, Druid, Pagan and others), and made some new and wonderful friends – ‘make new friends, but keep the ‘old’ ones, one is silver, the other is gold’ (says a child’s song), and it’s true. I was also deeply moved by my Iona pilgrimage, and am very appreciative of those, you, who read these articles and comment.  I am, and I hope you can look back at 2017 and say that, despite some tough times, we have been journeyed onward and been blessed, too. Love wins.]

 

 

 

Poem: The Winter’s Light [Winter Solstice]

20171128 THE WINTERS LIGHT POEM

Winter solstice is coming nearer.

I do so love this time of the year. Dark evenings arriving earlier, the temperature dropping, and plans are made. That which we could take for granted now has to be planned. Heating system okay? Enough fuel? Enough salt for the paths, or enough food in the larder? Is my neighbour prepared? What about local wildlife? The season of winter is upon us. And, I love it.

So, one evening (or more) draw up close to the fire or a table lamp, or your favourite corner of your favourite room, making sure the tv is off and distractions are unlikely, and relax.  Contemplate on the turning of the circle as we move to midwinter, and the year just gone. Sometimes I find it’s best just to ‘rest’ at those times, in an attitude of gratitude to the Source for nature etc, and keep thoughts to the minimum. When lovers meet, their company is enough – words are unimportant.

The following poem may assist you in your contemplation of the season, and doubly so if you imbibe your favourite drink – for me, I’ve ‘re-discovered’ Horlicks malt drink, and I’ll be sipping that. Or, you might like to use the poem as part of your liturgy, as an individual, or for your family or (faith)group.

Winter solstice approaches.

The day is over, and night comes early.
Orion is higher in the sky now,
and imaginations are unshackled.
Above us the gods of yesteryear move across the heavens.

The trees are sleeping.
Deep roots are dreaming.

The silvery December moon rises
and the face that smiled upon the Birth,
of yesteryear, also smiles on us.
Above us Rhiannon advances.

The trees are sleeping.
Deep roots are dreaming.

Wise ones seek the Truth,
and beings of light, lit their Way.
Angels? Fae? The Watchers? Elementals, The Others?
And, about us unnamed, invisible Companions guide us still.

The trees are sleeping.
Deep roots are dreaming.

We dance together in the dark,
as the Circle turns, and yet
we dance joyfully and with purpose.
We celebrate the season, that is.
And, around us, in the darkness
we ‘see’ the Friend at work.

The trees are sleeping.
Deep roots are dreaming.

And yet in the darkness,
there shines a Light.
And, in remembrance, we light this festive candle
to the Sun of Righteousness.
And, we declare to all, near and far;
peace and hope, light and love
be to you and yours.
Now, and forever more.

The trees are sleeping.
Deep roots are dreaming.

Winter solstice approaches.

Blessings of The Source of All be to you and yours at this time,
Tadhg

Alone With The Alone At The Machair: Poem

20171026 ALONE WITH THE ALONE AT THE MACHAIR POEM

This is one  of several poems inspired by my pilgrimage to those wonderfully ‘thin places’ of the Isle Of Iona (also known as the Isle Of Druids) and the Isle Of Skye – rugged and awesome islands off the west coast of Scotland.

This poem is based on thoughts, feelings and an encounter at the Machair. The Machair is a Scottish/Gaelic word for ‘fertile beach’, and is pronounced ‘makkah’. It is a delightful, part sand-part grassy coastal area on the Isle of Iona with a unique eco-system, and is a windswept and wild,  liminal place, a place of myth and magic, indeed. Things happen here. Visit, and you will not be unchanged.

The weather changes and the blue sea turns white.
Dark clouds speed from the horizon
to where I am standing, and the wind blows a gale.
The light dims.
The tide recedes as a mighty storm approaches.
And I wait.

There was a time when the Voice was heard
speaking words of peace, and love, and hope.
Now the age of neon shines
and a cacophony of sound fills the air.
And I wait.

For a moment I hear murmurs in the wind.
Could it be the sound of martyrs and monks of yesteryear?
Could it be angel-sound, or the gleeful chattering of the fae?
Perhaps it’s the  words of Druids of a bygone age?
And then it’s gone.
And I wait.

The waves crash against mighty rocks
and yet the rocks are unmoved, unchanged.
Gulls  squawk in the distance, but have moved inland.
The wind blows a mournful sigh.
A howling that increases and decreases in volume and pitch.
And I wait.

At the Machair
I am alone with the Alone. I listen.
Could it be that the Voice still speaks
words of peace, and love, and hope?
Love personified, prevails. Surely?
Doesn’t Wisdom cry out to all who listen to her?
I listen but shrill sounds fill my mind.
And I wait.

In a time of plastic
I yearn for that age of myth and magic.
And when all that matters, that is substantial and real
seems, oh so far away,
something calls to me to stop and look.
And in waiting,
I notice that,
ah yes, the tide is turning’.

 

‘Thin Places’ In The City: Poem

20170929 THIN PLACES IN THE CITY POEM

Atop a high mountain or in the dark valley below,
in the corner of your room,
or in the hustle and bustle of the busy city centre,
may you find a ‘thin place’.

It is a place, or time, or event so unique, so full of wonder, so sublime.
A place where Heaven and earth collide,
and the diaphanous veil of separation is unusually thin.
A time where you can almost feel angelic wings beat against your cheeks,
and see the Divine smile shining through.
An event where your heartbeat quickens,
and you experience the mystery of the Other in the ‘mundane’.

A ‘thin place’ is a threshold, a limen, a holy bridge,
a door to the Throne Room, slightly opened.
It is a moment in time and space,
in which we can dwell, and dance, and move, if aware.

A ‘thin place’ is an encouragement, a sacred invitation to draw near,
to approach barefoot, in humility, in reverence and awe.
It is both seen and unseen.
Invisible we see you!

May you, in the wilderness of the countryside, or the city,
find a ‘thin place’ today, and be blessed.

 

A Prayer At Llyn Gwynant: Poem: Revisited

20170926 A PRAYER AT LLYN GWYNANT REVISTED REVISED

When the bitter winds blow,
and the rain pours onto the soul of your life.
When you stumble and fall,
and when tears well up inside, but find no release.
When friends and family are afar,
and those night-hours of abject loneliness seem altogether too close.
When bones ache,
and the future uncertain seems.
Then, may the Divine’s pure radiance pierce your darkest times,
and a spectrum of light fill your heart of hearts,
and show you, as a beacon, the narrow, sure way.

When thoughts race, and won’t be still,
and lightning rages in your mind, disturbing you.
When things seem to go awry, or indeed, when things seem to go right
but there’s an air of disquiet in your inner being.
Then, may He come to you. (He comes in the storm.)

May the Father bless you with His Divine quietness and solitude. Total stillness.
May the Son shine into the totality of your unique self. Perfect brilliance.
May the Spirit, the Divine breath, whisper into your ear that you are a much loved child of God, the apple of His eye. Unconditional grace.

And may you, wherever you find yourself, experience the ‘thin place’ of God’s inestimable presence.

Become The Duet [Revisited]: Poem: Celtic Connectedness

20170912 BECOME THE DUET REVISITEDBeing in london for a while longer, I miss the wilderness of Capel Curig, north Wales. Capel Curig has such a wild-peace about it, and London by contrast is hectic. And, right now, though I miss the solitude, London is where I am. However, it is an amazing city.

The drawback is that it can be overwheleming, and ‘up close and personal’. It can be full of disctractions which pull you in competing directions, and yet for myself, one who loves the countryside and the lights of London, an ‘amphibian’, London is a wonderful, inspiring city.

But, oh the distractions. It’s easy to forget to ask those big questions, easy to forget to pause and ponder, easy to forget why each one of us is here. In London, a crowded city of eight million souls all of that is so, so easy. I am surmising it may be the same where you are (sometimes)?.

We can get so busy ‘doing’, instead of ‘being’.

We can get distracted.

We forget.

Status?

Here’s a poem I write some time ago, revisited.

Poem: Become The Duet

If we were to travel from the wild, ruggedness of Capel Curig,
near the foothills of Yr Wyddfa,
that place of green, of open-space, of dragons, myth and power;
Myrddin’s lair.

If we were to travel to the busy-ness of Old London,
that place of the ancient river of the Celts,
of crowded streets, of neon lights, Druid-energy and oh-so many people,
the Voice can be heard.

If we were to pause,
wherever we are, just for one moment,
to revel in life that is happening around us, to us, in us, through us,
we would hear the Voice.

Distractions come,
and a distancing from all that is natural seems to happen.
But, only seemingly, so.
The Voice that spoke creation into being,
thunders in the wilderness, whispers in built-up places,
but speaks, still.
The Voice can be heard, if….
…if we have ears to hear.

If we would but listen to the music of our life,
our body would sway in time to the primal beat of times of old.
If we would but gaze at beauty around us,
our mind would laugh crazily with delight at the colours seen.
If we would but ponder, and feel deep within our soul
the love-song of the Friend,
then we would know the reason why we are here.

Become the duet.

 

Nights Of Fog And Clouds: Liminal-Numinous Encounters

20170905 NIGHT OF FOG AND CLOUDS LIMINAL NUMINOUS ENCOUNTERSYes, I’m still in London. And last night was one of those nights where I woke up, at about 3am, and just couldn’t get back to sleep. They don’t happen that often – but I always think such interruptions might prove fruitful.

Usually in such circumstances I would have gone for a country walk, if in Wales, but I’m in London. And, so I relocated myself to the study, and there I sat, and pondered. And waited for an encounter with sleep. It didn’t arrive.

After about an hour – it could have been longer, or shorter, as time seemed irrelevant, and I had nothing really to measure it by – I half drifted off to sleep. It was as if a fog appeared. The study, still visible was rather opaque, obscured by this fog, but not totally – though it wasn’t the kind of fog that I’ve encountered in or near Capel Curig that moved in repsonse to air currents, and there no was smell to it, and no temperature change.

Room fog!

But, something felt different. I could hear myself breathing gently, hear the gentle ticking of the clock on the desk, but there was no other sound, and it seemed as though I should just remain as I was. Content. Content to let whatever was about to unfold, to unfold.

And, then, seemingly seconds later, I wanted to analyse this feeling, and my eyes became wide open, the fog disappeared and I was wide awake and alert again. I had no memory of what really happened, and I can’t tell you if ‘fog time’ lasted a few seconds or minutes or longer. But, something had happened. And, this got me thinking.

In physical locations or in the spiritscape of the mind, fog or clouds are an indicator that something special is about to happen. A(n) herald.

‘ Clouds and thick darkness surround Him…’. Psalm 97:2a, The Book

Time is skewed as we move into that sacred time-space, the liminal, and we may have no memory of what took place, just a pleasent ‘feeling’ that something significant had taken place as we look back and remember. Liminal encounters are usually experienced in the ‘now’ and ‘unpacked’ later as a memory of what happened. Has that happened to you?

Fog or clouds are an indicator that something special is about to happen or has happened.

On that night I saw a brilliant yellow-green light some 200 feet away from me, through the dense forest. I walked toward it. The air was colder than ever, the fog masked the exact location of the light until I got to within about fifty feet of it. At about forty feet from it – and the light source seemed about eight foot wide – it went out! Was it the Canwyll Corff, the corpse candle myth. Who knows?

Clackitt’s Wood, The Last Word (see here). Tadhg.

The Source of All, the Universe, elementals, That Which Is Bigger Than Ourselves seems to use clouds, fog and the cover of darkness to draw near – whether this is a physical reality, or a just-as-real ‘inner’ visitation in our minds, mind’s eye or vision-eye. It’s as if unbridled power and energy and holiness must be ‘masked’ to ‘come closer’ to us, for our sake.

There is a story told that, in the 6th century, the poet Senchán Torpéist gathered the poets of Ireland together to see if any of them knew the story of the Táin Bó Cúailnge. None of them could give details that gave the whole story. They all only knew parts of it. And this grieved Senchán.

And so Senchán Torpéist sent three of the younger men to seek out a very old man who it was believed could tell them the complete story. They travelled far and eventually came to the grave of an ancient poet called Fergus MacRoich. Two of the young men travelled onward toward the next village for shelter for the night; one of the men stayed, and honoured the memory of Fergus MacRoich with a poem. And then slept by the great poet’s tomb.

Suddenly a mist enveloped the younger man. Now unseen by his two companions, this young man found himself in the presence of Fergus MacRoich. From that awesome encounter, which lasted three days and three nights, he learned many things from Fergus MacRoich. And many of the older stories – some of which were formerly partly lost, others lost completely – were now known to that younger man because of that liminal experience.

From that ancient story we can take heart that: those old stories, knowledge and the wisdom of the ancients, though seemingly lost to us, can be encountered and re-kindled; that there are ways of putting ourselves ‘in the way’ of numinous and liminal happenings using prayer, fasting, ritual, liturgy, meditation and even poetry etc.

Never minimise the effect of prayer, fasting, ritual, liturgy, meditation and even poetry etc. Never play down your status, and the power-from-beyond at your disposal. Never be so caught up in daily living that we miss those liminal events, those ‘Divine nudges’.

‘Thin places’ (see here) may be events and occurrences that cannot be scheduled, but maybe there are ‘thin place’-like experiences that we can encounter in certain ways. Encountering them by the use of music, poetry, liturgy, meditation, the Caim – perhaps because that’s so because we’re making ourselves ‘open’ to the experiences, and the experiences are happening more than we had hitherto had known about. In essence, such experiences happen much more often, but we were/are unaware of them. Until now.

As I sat there, in the study pondering these things I wondered how many times we have almost put ourselves ‘in the way’ of these numinous and liminal events and got distracted and unknowingly ‘pulled away’? How many times the Caim, as a ‘tool’ of ritual and intention might be of (more) use to us – and this started me thinking even more about the Caim (see here).

It was about 4am when I ‘crawled’ back to bed and waited for an encounter with sleep. It was an interesting night, albeit not an uneventful one, though. As I drifted off to sleep my last thought was, and one that I would dearly like to share with you now, is: Look out for fog and clouds in your life. Fog or clouds are an indicator that something special is about to happen to you.

‘The greatest stories are those that resonate our beginnings and intuit our endings, our mysterious origins and our numinous destinies, and dissolve them both into one.’ Ben Okri quotes

 

‘Ah, Moon And Star’: Full Moon Poem [Found Poetry]

20170807 AH MOON AND STAR FULL MOON POEMAs you know, I like to write poetry, and in the past have done so for the time of the full moon. As well as previous moon poems, and the last few days writing here about celebrating today’s full moon, here’s a poem for this particular full moon.

Ah, moon and star
you are so very far,
and yet, the moon came into the forge
in her bustle of flowering nard. *
Then fairy fire enkindles it
like a gossamer by a taper lit.

Art thou pale from weariness
of climbing heaven and gazing upon the earth?
As I gaze upon thee in the sky
a single tear of joy does moisten mine eye.

Once upon a time I heard
that the flying moon was, infact, a Phoenix bird,
but the moon has a face like the clock in the hall
and she shines on thieves on the garden wall.

When, round and full, her silvery face
swims into sight, it lights all space.
It is so sad and so beautiful, and yet
so tremulously like a dream.

Direct my footsteps through the woodland shade,
the lovers guardian, and the Muse’s aid.
Blow the trumpet at the new moon,
at the full moon, and on our feast day.
For a million light-years away
we three will meet again,
deep in the milky way.

There’s a lunar surface rarely seen.
There’s a face on it!
Maybe God’s? Who knows?

You are the moon, dear one, and I the sea.
Pour down your unstinted nimbus energy, sacred moon, on me.

This poem falls within the ‘Found poetry’ genre. That is, it ‘is a type of poetry created by taking words, phrases, and sometimes whole passages from other sources and reframing them as poetry (a literary equivalent of a collage), and by minor making changes in spacing and lines, or by adding or deleting text, thus imparting new meaning.’ It’s also an interesting way to be introduced to numerous different poets and their style. The poem, above, comes from many sources. See below:

Lines 1, 2 Emily Dickinson; Lines 3, 4 Federico Garcia Lorca; Lines 5,6 Robert William Service; Lines 7,8 Robert Louis Stevenson, Lines 9, 10  William Topaz McGonagali; Lines 13, 14 Sappho; Lines 17, 18 Dylan Thomas; Lines 19, 20 Ella Wheeler Wilcox; Lines 21, 22 Psalm 81v3 (The Book); Line 23 John Tiong Chunghoo; Lines 24, 25 Li Po; Lines 26, 27, 28 Kelly Vinal; Line 29 Lady Mary Wortley Montagu; Line 30 Walt Whitman.

*Nard (plant) or spikenard, or an aromatic oil derived from that plant.

Hymn For The Full Moon: ‘Rising Moon, So High…’ [Hymn, Poem, Liturgy]

20170801 HYMN FOR THE FULL MOONIn just over a week there will be a full moon. I know that to ancient and latter-day Celtic-Christians, Druidic-Christians, Druids and others the full moon was and is significant. Some, today, may focus more on the new moon, but for me, it is the full moon (and without judging others) that is important for ritual and celebration, or for just taking time to pause and gaze up at it in awe.

To ancient Christians the full moon was significant, it being the indicator, even today, of when Easter should take place. Indeed, there are several Psalms which heap praise on the moon and the One behind it, as do current-day Celtic Christians, Druids and others. We, each may have different ‘theologies’ but each one of us gazes at the same moon, the Earth’s faithful ‘companion’ in wonderment at its splendour.

On several occasions in the recent past I’ve used old Gaelic tunes to new words to celebrate the major seasons, and today I’ve used an old English ballad that goes back at least 350 years – Scarborough Fair, see link below – to the following words penned by myself. If you wish to use the tune for a full moon ritual for your group or for yourself, please check the tune’s link. Or, perhaps, without the tune you might like to consider reading it as liturgy or poetry.

Rising moon, so high in the sky.
Your silv’ry light is seen far and wide.
You circle the earth for all to see-ee.
Your fulsome face does smile at me.

Mighty full moon, oh stay for a while.
Shining so warmly, your wisdom descends
to friends, to lovers, you are the ice-breaker.
Reflecting the light of the Moon-maker.

Your beauty touches my heart and my soul.
Oh, thou great moon so close and so bright.
In you I become but a child
bathed in your light, your light so mild.

Praise to you, our dear Sister Moon.
In heav’n you shine so precious and fair.
We celebrate this time of full moon.
Praising the Source, the Three in One.

The tune is: Scarborough Fair (click here for the tune). When you click on that link there is a short musical preamble, and then the tune starts at 12 seconds into video and ends at 47 seconds, and that tune can then be repeated four times for the four verses above.

Notes:
v1 was inspired and based on words of the first part of Dvorak’s ‘Song to the moon’ from the opera, Rusalka.
v2 was inspired and based loosely on words of Rumi’s ‘Behind the beauty of the moon….’
v3 was inspired by  William Henry Davies’ poem entitled ‘The Moon’
v4 was inspired by a few lines from St Francis’ ‘The Canticle of the Sun’, also known as Laudes Creaturarum, and Psalm 81:3 (The Book,), and ends with the ‘Trinitarian/Three-realm formula.
Photograph, above, copyrighted and used by kind permission of Pennie Ley (click here). Bless you.