Category: From Experience

Legend Tripping

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I know of two definitions for legend tripping, one used by folklorists and another used by Jeff Belanger. The first is a practice done by adolescents in a culture whereby they venture to dangerous or allegedly haunted places to test their courage as a rite of passage. The second is the act of chasing stories, or going to some key location in an urban legend to see for yourself and maybe have an experience.

I’ve just done both. Monday Jan. 17 was my first venture out onto the lake, which currently has around five to six inches of ice on it. You can see by how deep the bubbles are.

Bubbles and cracks in the ice

And at first, it was kind of terrifying. I realized during my early, misguided ventures that if the ice broke under me, no one knew I was there and I suspected I would never be found.

If it happened once…
Beautiful, but potentially deadly.

This isn’t entirely unfounded either. I grew up hearing stories about boats capsizing and people dying in the lake whose bodies were never recovered. (I also heard the lake was about a mile deep. This is an exaggeration. The lake is roughly 600 feet deep. It is, though, twelve miles long and a mile wide.)

Possible human remains at the bottom of the lake.

I heard there was an airplane to be seen at the far end of the lake (from the older dude whose party I ended up following around for peace of mind. He also showed me the bubble trick). The trouble with getting to the other end of the lake any way other than across the lake itself is, the road looks like this.

It’s exactly as much of a pain in the ass as it looks like.

My other plan was to try and walk across the lake to where it could be found, and then come back. However the sheer length of the lake made this impractical. It would require me to commit four hours, at least, one way, presuming I don’t hit a thin patch and fall into the lake and become the next body at the bottom.

Round 2

On the afternoon of Jan. 19, I did my (attempt at) daily divination with a new playing card deck I received over the yuletide season. Sometimes I struggle to understand what the deck is saying to me, but today I pulled the Seven of Diamonds, and I thought about my plan to go to the lake at night, see what it was like under the stars and the moonlight (I don’t have any hope of being able to find any airplanes under the water, even though these are perfect conditions for something like that as an amateur).

I drove up to the lake after sunset, and parked in front of the beach, and as soon as I got out of my car I could hear the wind howling, a kind of high-pitched sound through the trees and the tall bushes. Where my car was parked, the wind was, at best, a nice breeze. But, when I got onto the beach, I had crossed some kind of threshold and was mixed up in whatever the wind was doing all of a sudden. Not a good sign. I pressed on, looking for the path that would take me past the above pretty but unstable ice and onto the clear stuff, and I paused at the fork, staring at the trees, listening to the wind.

The Seven of Diamonds appears to be a card about choices. On one side, you have ruin and despair, and on the other, some offer or exchange or, depending on the system, wishful thinking, or a chance to start again. Or a reevaluation of something. I saw it as dual-natured, and it could easily be read as “do you want to take the risk?” I ultimately decided that I would not take the risk. I know the lore about the wind and the spirits, I would not be surprised a lake as old and as deep and as full of bodies and wreckage as ours turns out to be hella haunted. And I knew on a mundane level that being on ice in windy conditions was probably not a good idea. And so I left.

And I noticed something as I was driving back: Lots of houses and buildings up that road had their exterior lights on that evening. I could see the lights of the lodge from the beach. There was even one house that still had some Christmas lights up.

The more I think about it the more I think I just dodged a bullet.

I feel the spirits in this Chili’s tonight (or, Fuses DO just blow)

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At around 7:30 PM last night (11/2) power was lost to about one half of my workplace. Lights, coolers, freezers, hot chocolate machine, gas pumps, etc. without power. Until around 8:30 or 8:45 I thought we’d be able to have the registers running enough to do important closing paperwork. And then that turned out not to be the case. My bosses and I also discovered in the course of the night that a neighboring building was also without power, a slight concern to one resident who was on oxygen (but thankfully not on her deathbed because of it). That resident also says she heard a pop noise from the transformer. I was allowed to leave early, but as we were leaving gentlemen from the power company (whom my boss called three times) arrived to try and fix the issue. I heard talk of a blown fuse.

When it first started I was immediately overcome by the chill across my skin that tells me that spirits are present and the Otherworld is close. It is the feeling that lends itself to encounters like this. (Note: the rabbit is innocuous, but I felt the need to document it for a reason.) The feeling persisted for almost three hours, long after I got home and decided to lock the doors and not emerge until the sun came up (a decision I am still holding to in the morning). I was sitting in the darkened store with a candle, staring at the streetlights and thinking there was once a time when it would have been completely dark. No light of any kind but the fire. And we came pretty close to what that would have looked like. Waiting out the darkness with a sense of creeping shadow and cold, for it was also a little bit chilly.

Now, to be clear, I’m sure a fuse did blow. And fuses do blow. This is a thing that fuses do when they are worn out, overloaded, or both. This is a reality of modern living.

It is also folklorically attested that certain spirits react poorly to substances like iron (and most probably steel, which is mostly iron anyways). The fact that humans use steel in pretty much everything of import from cars to transformers to buildings has caused some to erroneously believe the Fae, who are intolerant to the material to varying degrees (except probably smithing Fae), are nature spirits or prefer natural habitats. And of course, it is also attested that there are beings that simply set out to cause problems, and may exploit their weakness to steel and iron toward this end. Or they may see a situation like a fuse going out and taking out power to two buildings as an opportunity to make themselves known, or cause other mischief.

I can’t say, but I felt the spirits in that Chili’s last night.

A good summary of my evening.

When Divination Hands It To You

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Every month this year, I have striven to do a tarot reading at the start of it, to peer ahead about three months and see what’s what, and what I might need to plan for or worry about. I did skip one on accident, but otherwise I have managed to keep consistent. The format of the reading is adapted from a divination I did at the start of the year, which was about what each month would hold. The cards representing each month were set aside, and three more cards pulled from a shuffled deck to elaborate and highlight things I might need to focus on.

Usually I keep these notes to myself, but this month’s reading (covering October, November, and December, rounding out the end of the year and reminding me that next month I will only be reading two months ahead) was unusually intense, energetically speaking. Cards elaborating on both October and November highlighted something I have been reading about increasingly in the past few years. The phenomenon is termed variously by Pagans as “The Otherworld Bleeding Through” or “Tower Time”, and is a combination of the general dramatic collapse of the American Empire and everything it “stands for” (those nebulous American/Traditional/Christian/Family Values), and an increase in the presence of Otherworldly beings of all stripes in the lives of us mere mortals.

Last year I was especially aware of the shift between a “solid” seeming “physical” world and a more “porous” one. I was not the only one; someone in a Discord server I am in also said they felt the world has become more “porous”. It began, for me, with a dog.

A couple of nights ago I had a rough nightmare involving a spirit I could not observe directly (the attempts shook fear into my soul the way only an immersive nightmare can) invading my home and needing to be forced out over a threshold of salt. I have details in my dream journal, but everything about the creature from its size to its nature to its obsession with the milk and eggs my dream self possessed (evidently), screamed, as I woke, “fairy”. I’m concerned it’s one of those rare warning dreams I sometimes receive; the last of those I had involved a figure in Egyptian cosmology that must routinely be fought against. It turned out that someone was going around in the community at that time asking about how to worship that specific entity, seemingly not understanding the fierce resistance they were met with on all sides.

Then, today, I did a reading (so that I do not forget for this month), and I found eight out of twelve cards screaming at me about spirits. October in particular stood out for having one card from each suit present. It became, to me, this grand something or other involving the Four Jacks to which Penczak introduced me. But one of the cards present also reminded me of the time I meditated on it, and found its environment forbidding, dangerous, even. I see it as a reminder that the spirit world is dangerous, that the fae are dangerous, and, as per the dream, I have no business getting in over my head with them.

November also showed something interesting: in one half, suggesting a short rest, but only that, from some problem I am facing in order to gain perspective. In the other half, I was reminded of a series of posts on this blog, about Gwyn ap Nudd (depicted in the Sacred Circle arcana card “The Underworld”, which is #14). He balances the world, and since humans have stepped out of line, he will balance it again. More details on the blog I linked. Nature is reasserting itself, spirits and Otherworldly beings are reasserting themselves, and there’s very little we can do about it. But, y’know, a good break to gain perspective never hurt anyone.

So I have been energetically drained by the experience, with the chief takeaway that the traditionally haunted time of year is about to be extra haunted. Mind the old rules, lock your doors.

Ancestors

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It’s very difficult being a pagan and an abuse victim, especially when ancestor veneration/worship comes up in the books you’re reading. The assumption is always the same: that you’re working from a decent enough background and just changed religions from your parents or other extended family. (One person I know of doesn’t make this assumption, but that isn’t enough.)

I just finished reading a passage in a book that discussed ancestors, including “difficult” ones, where the author concluded that because her father stayed in contact with his obviously abusive biological father, then she has no right to cut him out of her practice. Her justifications amounted to the aforementioned “my dad kept talking to him until he died”, as well as “he had his good moments/qualities as well” and “no ancestor is perfect.”

I have heard every single fucking one of these as an abuse victim, about my still-living parents.

“You can’t cut them off! They’re family!”

I will talk to or not talk to whomever I see fit. I don’t have to put up with gaslighting, emotional manipulation, the threat of violence, or actual violence because of blood ties. Besides, the author expressly stated that death did not change personality, so why would she trust this ancestor of hers given all she knows?

Besides all that, even if someone does choose to stand by their jackass family members, that’s more a sign of Stockholm Syndrome than anything else. You may see a dedicated family member but I see someone who is so abused and so blinded they can’t find the way out.

“They have their good qualities too!”/”You just have to look past the bad stuff.”

No. No I fucking don’t. All the times my father took me fishing do not erase his neglect and drunkenness. In fact, his neglect and drunkenness almost completely erase all the fishing trips to me, because the first thing I think of when I think of my father is “oh, the man who doesn’t really love me”. People who say this have no true understanding of abuse and trauma.

“Nobody’s perfect.”/”You just expect your parents to be perfect!”

I don’t fucking care about perfection. I care about making an effort. As YouTuber Aliakai said, “Respect is not an inward feeling but an outward expression.” If you aren’t making the outward expression, I have no obligation to feel anything toward you.

Perfection may or may not be possible, but if you aren’t striving to be a good parent, you cannot be angry with your family members for deciding you aren’t worth their time and effort. And if you think people owe their jackass family members something because “family!” and “blood ties!” and “Blood is thicker than water!”* you are a horrible person.

*The true phrase is “The blood of the covenant is thicker than the water of the womb”, and means the exact opposite of the way it’s been used in modern times.

Jack Frost

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Now, last post, I mentioned witnessing a black lab running about town (I suspect; I saw another black lab this morning, being walked by someone, but I am also unsure whether that is here, there, or anywhere). It maybe spirits, omens, or other such things, and I can’t be sure. All I really know is I get vibes off encounters like this.

I also get vibes off of reading the encounters others have with the numinous. Most of the time, I think I can tell whether someone is telling the truth about a god or spirit, or making it up (in the former camp we have, off the top of my head, Mankey’s encounter with Santa Claus with which he opens his Little Book of Yule, and in the latter we have the infamous “Smarmy’s Set Interview”, which can be found here).

This is all a bunch of set up to talk about Jack Frost.

This year, I have been feeling the pull of the spirit world, especially around fall and winter. I’ve been seeking it out and it has been answering. Ancestors, nature spirits, and so on are putting in appearances while I dive deeper into the lore of the season. (I’ve also been watching Rise of the Guardians on repeat for the past week, and that movie is a cinematic masterpiece, but really the former led to the discovery of the latter.)

So I took the leap. I sat down today and instead of reaching for a quiet Goddess (and She has been quiet lately, but She isn’t the only one and it isn’t as though I’ve been abandoned), I reached for Jack Frost.

In preparation for the big moment I had done some research, trying to find out the average pagan experience of the figure. I stumbled onto the account Christopher Penczak offers in The Temple of Shamanic Witchcraft: Shadows, Spirits, and the Healing Journey. His theory of the God is that there are eight iterations, four Horned and four Jacks or Johns (so to speak). One of those four Jacks is Jack Frost (the other three being Green, Barleycorn, and O’Lantern). I’d read the excerpt, in which Penczak describes how he never quite liked winter, and when he tried to reach out to Mr. Frost, Jack had been hostile and short with him, and asked that, to make up for it (besides thanking the guy for keeping him safe each winter), Penczak was to offer a drop of his own blood.

I could not get a read off of this account, on whether it was true or not.

And so I decided this morning, when I visited the painter, I would ask. And I did.

To me, Jack Frost was excitable, animated, bouncing around everywhere as if he was finally happy to have someone to talk to him just for its own sake. He took to me well enough, recognizing me as someone who likes the peace winter brings to the world and feels the pull within me to sleep later and go to bed earlier (to, essentially, hibernate). But, he said the blood thing was true. He suggested it was one of those things that goes for people who don’t like winter, who try to resist its energy.

Now, this is just my first visit, my first impression of him. I like him, but he’s already shown signs of the complexities he embodies, being the personification of and/or bringer of winter weather. The thing about winter is that it’s harsh to the unprepared, and quite frankly, those who cannot, for whatever reason, afford to prepare. This is the importance of giving, and of being able to survive yourself. It requires forethought, and selflessness. It is, in short, complicated.

He is complicated.

Starting the Decade – Initial Thoughts

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I’ve been spending the last hours of 2019 and the first hours of 2020 reading, and thinking. I’ve once again returned my attention to the resurgence of the Otherworld, which I started reading about earlier last year and possibly once more before that, but I can’t remember. I’ve been reading about the Fair Folk and the call of the Gods, and thinking about how obligated I’ve felt over the past holiday season to be festive. I want to try to parse this all out.

Obligation

I sensed it for Halloween, feeling obligated to get those lights up and choose a costume and do the other Halloween things. By then I wanted to get to Christmas already, and then I did, eventually. And by then I had worn myself out of Christmas hype. Fighting Command hooks did me no favors there. People kept asking me if I was going to spend Thanksgiving or Christmas with my family and I would have to explain that no, I was cooking for myself. I made too much food, and I had to throw out most of Thanksgiving dinner. Christmas dinner has lasted longer only because part of it is currently being frozen for later. I burned out.

And now I’m sitting at the start of 2020, reading and thinking, and wondering if perhaps I had sensed something else brewing in the coming winter that required, well, a different response than cooking my feelings. I don’t know what that was supposed to be, but as the harshest bits are yet to come, I think I can still figure it out. The Christmas lights, however, are staying on for as long as possible.

The Otherworld Bleeding Through?

I don’t class myself as the most observant person, but across religious lines people I know have sensed a kind of shift in the world. There was a point when climate change was no longer reversible. There was a moment I knew who my gods were (for them both, I want to say around 2012 or 2013). People believed the world would end in 2012 and while there was no apocalypse as we had come to expect thanks to Hollywood, those who can sense have detected, sometimes as early as 2013 but sometimes well into the middle of the decade, a change in the Otherworld. There are theories: some say Gwyn ap Nudd has decided to restore balance by protecting the Forests and the Fae from humanity, the current standing threat to the planet. Some say the gods, in particular the warlike ones, are recruiting. While I would argue Ra is not “warlike” the way bloodthirstier gods are “warlike”, I can tell He would never shy away from conflict, and is much more likely to keep a level head during. Andred is soaked in blood and the Mistress of the Field, which certainly settles that. If they are on their own side or the side of humanity or the side of only some humans or completely against humans entirely, I cannot tell.

Interestingly, however, these gods being fully present in my life has led to some dramatic changes, especially in the past two years. Changes that require me to be on my own and figure myself out. Changes which separate me from poison so I can recover–only a fresh fighter can effectively go into the field. I’ve begun to see myself, and in the process question everything I’ve done up to this point. Maybe I will get to where I want to be, but at this point, looking back, I think I will get to where I need to be, and where I am needed.

The Fair Folk

Periodically I find myself reading articles on these creatures, and how one should always be cautious with them. One writer thinks we will see more of them in the coming decade and beyond, and maybe this is true. Many say spiritualism and interest in magic (even if it is superficial) are on the rise in the general public. The Binding of Trump was for quite a while its own attractor of media attention, and the attention of “spiritual warriors” on the other side of the aisle. Recently, I’ve internally speculated whether some of these workings have sown the seeds for Trump’s impeachment hearings.

I’ve felt for years that but for a few exceptions, most spirits should be approached with caution and honored from a safe distance. That may become impossible, and it may be necessary to renew my extant relationships with some of the spirits I’ve come to know. I am still careful, and I think I will always be so, because I doubt I can be protected from them, even by the Gods. I would never think to ask for such a thing, as it is; my safety with regard to the Fair Folk is my responsibility.

People acting recklessly with the Fae have been compared to people trying to take selfies with elk. Where I’m from, elk, moose, and deer are everywhere, as are wolves, bears, and coyotes. You can find bison in a few hours, as well. Personally I’ve heard of people get gored by bison for their recklessness. One group tried to take in a bison calf in the back of their van because “it looked cold”, and the calf was shunned by its herd. As I know better than to get reckless with wildlife, I know better to get reckless with spirits I’m unfamiliar with. This, of course, is not to compare the Fae and wild animals, as the Fae are sapient through and through, but they have unknown powers and being reckless about that is the same as being reckless with bison or elk, or moose.

Priesthood

This is another thing I periodically find myself reading about. As I am cautious with the Fae, I am also cautious with oaths and vows. I was held to obscene standards as a child, that I either sensed or outright knew never applied to my parents. I was told to be good and behave myself and my own father failed at that so spectacularly he had to serve thirty days in the county jail. I failed to understand how I had to never do anything “bad” but I could be continually picked on by everyone I knew in my age group. Mommie Dearest moved the goalposts of my behavior so often that I could begin to see where she contradicted herself.

It has taken me a long time to accept that the Gods who adopted me are not the same as my physical parents. For one thing, They are patient, and that’s a pretty rare commodity in a modern American society. The one constant is that They are older than all of this and value different things as a result.

But the other matter is, there is a difference between my relationship with Ra and my relationship with Andred. She has specifically asked me to chronicle my experiences with Her and what I learn, and to write down in this blog what I think that means as it pertains to Her pretty much exclusively. I’ve stated elsewhere that Ra periodically gets mentions, however, as I’m His just as much as I’m Hers, but this is about what it means to be Andred’s, to follow Her. I have work to do, in that regard.

I don’t know if this makes me Andred’s priest(ess), but if so I’m the first I know about in roughly 1500 years. Probably 2000. The thought of it is as intimidating as the thought of further interactions with the Fae. It gives a sense of “you need to prepare right away”. I have no idea if these are things I need to prepare for or not, I can’t pick apart exactly what it all means yet. Maybe, by instinct, I have figured out the key to my own survival, but then I would have to reverse engineer it to fully understand.

Conclusion

I’m approaching 2020 once again thinking about the future. An ill advised tactic if you do too much of it, sure, but a part of me knows that I cannot remain in a tenuous present forever. Though I’ve given up on the news and would argue my mental health has benefitted, not even I could ultimately escape the word that Trump’s impeachment was being decided by the House a couple months ago. That still won’t stop climate change, the relentless push of extremism and reactionary extremism, the politicization of everything I could encounter, and once again the growing sense that nothing I could do would be good enough.

So, I surrendered on politics, and I’m not even sure if I will vote this time around. I know it’s my civic duty, but I also feel that my voice doesn’t matter to the wider human-created systems that led to this mess and show no signs of getting us out. I happen to know for a fact that when it comes to certain political sects, my voice doesn’t matter at all regardless of whether I say the right things or not. So I don’t think they deserve my support regardless of if I were involved or not.

I’m not looking forward to this election year, and I’m certainly not looking forward to any of the chicanery surrounding it. Of all the otherworldly events allegedly happening around this, as well, I do not even dread them compared to how much I dread the shrill cries of how racist I am based on my skin tone and refusal to tow a party line. I’ll take a glowing green bird over any of that any day of the week, honestly. Maybe in that case I would begin to sense a glimmer of meaning in my life.

Rabbit Rabbit Revisited

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It is five months later, and a lot has changed since then: I own the car, my mother is off the apartment lease, and we still don’t speak. I can’t believe that it was snowy in May, and I further can’t believe that I’m back in the Christmas spirit before Summer is officially out. My father has my phone number, but I was forced to block my mother after she got a hold of it. He continues to insist that I “talk to her” about “whatever it is”, because surely it must be “in the past”. Historically she’s been terrible at listening to me, so talking will probably not work and I have little interest in it, regardless. I learned from him some of the facts of the three years or so in which the lawsuit, Mom’s cancer, and Dad’s arrest were so tangled up that I could not pick them apart.

However: I also learned that he sees himself as a hopeless victim and still has a “woe is me” mindset, but there is no chance in hell that his wife is any sort of crazy wicked beast, at all. None.

I still consider those principles true (even though I have yet to find any proper evidence still, but perhaps that will be a later “Rabbit Rabbit” post). Perhaps I will add to the list, things like: “The only purpose in fighting a war is to end it” (which is more “soldier” than “warrior”, but I have never held any delusions about glory in battle and bloodshed). It is a slowly growing list that I might make a page on, distilling each down to a fairly simple explanation, hopefully.

And, as “Rabbit Rabbit” is curse breaking, I may endeavor to make more of these posts, on the first of every month, discussing aspects of the journey, contemplating life, maybe expounding on these principles. Time will tell.

Intentions

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This morning I told Andred of my intention to cut off all my hair into something that I’m much more comfortable with. It’s starting to knot every morning, and it’s generally a hassle to deal with anyway, and it’s time for a change. Plus, as I no longer speak with my mother I don’t feel obliged to take her opinions of my hair into account. (And I want to look like, and be perceived as, a lesbian. In part it’s a self-defense measure against weird old men.)

I received another idea for a blog post, on the two tarot cards I use to represent Her. I’ll work on that one today, too. But this is about having a goal in mind and making it happen. Sometimes it takes just a few steps, but sometimes goals span a lifetime of work toward them. Happiness is one of the latter, and I’m getting there, too.

On Telling Her Stories: Identity

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I once asked Andred for a story of Hers that I might tell the world through this blog or by some other means. The message I received was to the effect that I was already telling such a tale–about a warrior and a sense of lost human identity while trying to adopt an identity within another culture. It’s not a new story, though the people and the settings have changed, but these days a lot of people talk a LOT about identity. Are you gay, straight, transgender, cisgender….and sometimes, are you those things enough? Who are you? Who are your people? Your ancestors? These talks come up a lot in pagan circles, in left wing circles, in right wing circles, all kinds of places.

Identity

I talked a while back about my biological ancestry, as shown by 23andMe results, and what it might mean for my identity and relationships with my gods. I talked there about my mother’s lies about my identity, specifically that I was part-Native American. But there’s more to the sense of identity than biological ancestry or tales of such.

For example, I see myself as Kemetic, as perhaps Celtic, but not in the traditional sense. I understand myself as bisexual (so far), leaning toward liking girls. I have been styled as depressed, but I never identified with or adopted the label. I have only ever used it to describe to others what such and such therapist thinks of me. I do, however, consider myself a survivor and a fighter.

And, my identity has changed. In college I stopped identifying as straight, and that was enlightening. I never tried to bind myself with any labels that referred to illnesses, and almost fell into labels foisted on me by my mother about my weight. That didn’t last very long as soon as I got a full body mirror and shed much of my modesty. I stopped identifying with my parents; I changed my phone number and blocked most of the necessary Facebook profiles (depending on when a new one will crop up). This was one of the most freeing things I’ve ever done (besides the physical altercation that led to this falling out, during which I felt I left too much up for debate).

My character is human, biologically. She used to identify as such, but ceased that once she passed through an alien culture’s initiation/coming-of-age rites. She came out less than unscathed, and wears the resulting scars as a mark that she earned her place in their culture. However, her disconnect from her human identity is still apparent, in the back of her mind. She has been affected by this change of identity, in a way that will probably never be fully understood. She has been affected surely by the experiences that shaped it. All people are.

One cannot adopt and accept a new identity without some form of change and whatever impact that might come with.

The fight is secondary, really. The war, the conflict, all that is in the background.

But there’s more to it than that, even.

You can’t escape getting assigned an identity by the people who surround you. I could not escape labels of “gifted”, or “depressed”, “anger issues”, “autism spectrum” (this came up only once and my revulsion to it was enough to silence discussion on the matter), and so on. I can’t get away from the baggage that comes with “bisexual” (or the umbrella term “gay” or “queer”), “abuse victim”, or, what I’m sure is coming: “Estranged Daughter.”

I can define myself and identify how I choose, but I am also identified by others, I couldn’t escape being identified, against my will, as depressed, spoiled, entitled, a brat, and a host of other things. I am not those things, but I cannot avoid people seeing me that way, no matter what I do. My mother, for example, will tell the whole world how evil I’m being by not speaking to her. First she will desperately try to contact me, and if I cave we’ve “made up”, but for now we are “fighting”, and if it keeps up she will eventually tell more people than my therapist that I am “insane” and “irrational”. After all, isn’t she such a good mother? (No. She is not. I have receipts.)

And, that has to be accounted for.