Weighing In……..

by cristina on May 29, 2012

Is it coincidence that we tend to weigh more in the latter part of the day than in the morning?  Some nights I tend to feel ‘heavy’ as in dense and burdened like a tree full of fruit.  I weigh myself and see I’ve gained 3 or 4 pounds.  That’s a lot of overripe fruit. How could I have gained that much in the last ten hours or so?  Sure, I eat through the day, sometimes more than I’d like but not 4 pounds worth.  Could it be that all of the ‘weighted’ emotional events that occurred throughout the day have weighed me down?  “I give” sometimes from all the exerted pressures and that allows the heavy, low vibrations to emanate, making my body denser.

Typically we’re light on our feet after a good night’s rest.  We are fresh as the dew.  Our physical bodies haven’t been awake long enough to think about the past or future let alone what we are about to do in the next thirty minutes (still the future).  We wake in the ‘present’ and experience our ‘LIGHT’ energy which is always present and can be realized when we become conscious of it.

At the crack of our dawn our burdens haven’t yet materialized wholly enough to crowd our minds and fill our bodies with the toxic emotions which in turn weigh us down by nightfall.

If we were to keep an ‘AIR’ about us, imagine the goodness that would be felt in cleansing and rinsing.  Let the density of your emotions rise and fall from you in grace.  Then go and roll (like the grain and the wave) and be not affected by the events of your day.  Come out with sword in hand and swathe our energy around every low vibration until it has been dissipated.

This morning I woke about 7.  The moon was setting and dawn was ready to break.  The last shade of tinted light had not yet unveiled to reveal the morning light.  The atmosphere is surreal.  A warm moist breeze rustles a few leaves and the doves begin cooing and bobbing their heads.

As my body started coming more into the physical and I started ‘thinking’, peace left in a hurry.  Right about when I began to argue with my analytical self as to the best time to leave for the beach.  Do I leave now, thirty minutes from now or wait an hour?  The time I leave would affect my return, of course, but I, also, must consider the tide and the heat of the sun.  I then began pacing and scolding myself for wasting precious time and continuing to analyze everything.

When I came to my senses I threw down the weight of the argument and left.  I wanted to write about the effects of sludge in our systems and how they can make us physically ill and perhaps even weigh more.  Feeling quite light on my feet this morning reminded me of that.  Instead, I started a debate and the more the topic of when I should leave was discussed the more frustration I created.  After an hour I was already starting to feel a whole lot heavier.

Even during my beach excursion I couldn’t keep my thoughts still.  I walked hard and fierce and released all of the nervous tension I now had to expend which gave the illusion that I was still ‘light on my feet’.  Quoting Thoreau in Walking:  “I am not where my body is, -I am out of my senses.  What business have I in the woods (or beach), if I am thinking of something out of the woods?  I suspect myself, and cannot help a shudder, when I find myself so implicated even in what are called good works”.

One more way of weighing yourself down is by beating yourself up.  Self-sabotage is one of the extreme heavyweights.  It is an extension of the ego which wants to keep you safe and glued to the world you’ve become accustomed to.

The ego proclaims, “this is right and true and we must defend the old ways; don’t throw those bags out yet, they are full of useful information and past experiences that will guide you in the right direction”…. and so on.

How considerate of the ego (insert sarcasm here) to do this for us regardless of the higher risks involved when self-sabotage, fear and doubt are present.

Ego reiterates, “If we have to bring up more fear and doubt to keep you analyzing and thinking on whether to change things up or not, so be it – and then we’ll let you beat yourself up for conjuring those impossible dreams, there’s stability here in this old carved-out wagon trail”.

Talk about self-sabotage.  Stability can only be found on your own path.

Do not fear, for we are not lost to that energy.  Stop breathing life into it and feel with your heart.  “Breathe into the light”.  “The breath is the connector.”   (I have heard energy workers use these phrases).  They are good to remember at all times.

Regardless of the shame, the heart never fails and loves wholly and unconditionally, especially when we suffer and feel poor.  It knows if we follow, we will become light on our feet and our troubles will weigh no more than a feather.  Gift the heart.  Listen and follow the inspiration it presents to you.  Feel lighter for paving your own way through this earth.  Let your heart hold you spellbound.  Choose that magic instead.

Returning from the beach, the energy still flowed coarsely through me and so I did the obvious.  I plunged into the garden to ‘ground’ myself.

There was a bumblebee, the first one I’d seen since I’d been in my father’s garden in August.  He was thoroughly enjoying the flowers and he appeared plump, like a brute, compared to the skinny wasps and the physically fit honeybees flitting about.

As he pollinated, not a single stem quivered.  Now that is light.  His body curled under him when he drank.  He hovered and dipped without causing any waves.  He knew his path and he was on it, light as a feather.  He left no tracks behind because he carried no baggage.

We walk around and as sure and as fast as sometimes our problems get solved there are new ones culminating in our great minds.  Other times we just resist and suppress and save our aggravations for a rainy day.  And sometimes we let them go in desperation hoping they won’t come back to haunt us.

Have we become addicted to ‘having problems and issues’ in our lives?  Can we just not be still and observe happenings and events as experiences, whether good or bad, and not give them any meaning?  The streets and our homes are littered with negatively-charged trash.  We have to step over it and go around it daily.  It is amazing that we are ever able to make a path for ourselves at all.

I can close my eyes and see the streets scattered with this negative energy.  There are multitudes of layers and places where it is so deep you can drown in it.

The key is the light, the other side of the coin, the positive end.  The more light you discharge in the form of thought and action, even thought alone, is so powerful and can cut like glass through an alley full of muck and tears.

I walk through my small meadow and my thoughts stir up thousands of whiteflies, leafhoppers and sharpshooters. The effect is the airy layer above the ground vibrating in harmony.  They don’t run into each other and they know exactly where they are going and for what purpose.  They know of one path and are delighted to follow it.

We, too, can circulate and vibrate as light as air above our earth as if we were a bee or a butterfly.  Know where you are going and let your intuition and inspiration get you there.

Many times after meditating or receiving a blessing of grace I feel so very, very tall especially if I was outdoors.  I would feel 5 inches taller than normal!  Sometimes I’d even find myself looking down to see if I had changed my shoes. It’s an extraordinary point of power to feel not only lighter but taller within that light.

Shed a few pounds of remorse and fear and weigh in and see if you don’t feel any lighter.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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It is a day in February and fifteen minutes shy of noon.  The honey bees dodge each other amongst the thistles. They land on each flower ‘testing’ it for a second or two before moving to the next.  Once the nectar is found their flapping wings stop and they drink.  They bend the fragile flower to their will but never break it from the stem.

The liquid is extracted.  At the moment of takeoff the buzzing ignites.

One just chased another from the flower or did he just bump into him?  The thistle honey is a delight and the bees dance all the way back to their hives alerting the others.

The oak leaves fall with each slight breeze.  The green male catkins bide their time while the female flowers produce their seed.

And like the honeybee buzzing around landing on opportunity, missing some but always moving and like the oak leaves falling but not concerned in whose arms they will be caught….

I, too, buzz around looking for the opportunity to land safely and securely where the nectar lies.  Unlike the oak leaf, I sometimes fall unconsciously into the wrong hands.  If I would remain awake, I would not be ‘held’ where my heart or my intuition would not have me go.

The bee has perfected its knowing and the leaf lays still assured of its future.

When I fall by the wayside I, also, should lie still.  I then can awake to my knowing, my unstoppable force.

Feeling weak and afraid I prayed for courage, mostly courage.  A quotation came to mind from a Monroe Institute recording spoken from our Source.

“LIVE IN ME AND I WILL EXPRESS YOU”

And then a baby inchworm tickled my leg and I positioned a leaf under him next to my skin.  He extended his body out to investigate and slid onto the oak leaf.

I placed him on the large coral rock and watched him explore and wander, so small, so brave and curious.

My heart swelled.

And the honeybees strummed the thistle still.  Every few moments, the sun warmed my face through the tree as the clouds passed swiftly across the sky.

The wind rained leaves down on my head and all around my circle of light…

I turned and watched the great white heron parade through the meadow of trees and field as if he were a king ruling this land.

As the circles carry us round and round we only need to say stop to be aground.

A cloud mist is rolling above filtering the remaining sunlight and dimming the blue sky.

The salt is fresh in the air and the breeze turns cooler.

Thunder rumbles in the distance.  The bright green spring leaves of the tall tree standing beyond the pond are vivid against the stormy grey sky.

The rain falls and the salty aroma of the air is pushed down to the ground and replaced with the pungent earthy smell of dirt.

 

 

 

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Grandfather: Change and the False Crawl

by cristina on May 27, 2012

Depend on change.  Change is an option that is always available.

Is it possible to take action and have the attitude that no matter what obstacles you encounter you will push forward?  Can we remain completely unemotional and unattached to any criticism or failure?

The ego discourages change in its attempt to keep you safe.  The ego’s instinctual job is to survive, like an animal in the wild.  When it does not receive payment or reward we suffer.  Ego questions our dreams and fights to smother our sparks of light.  Ego snickers in the corner when we fear making a decision for change.

Just the thought alone of having the ability to change and to welcome it is powerful.  Stop thinking that others and events can control and change you.  That is laughable because we are always in control and our spirit, our hearts, cannot be changed by others.

What about changes we deem necessary but not so welcome?  Why do we let them happen? Why do we not fight harder to remain the same unchanged individual?  I believe our greater self knows that the change is merely a step in our evolution.  The ego may makes us react like a victim but our greater self encourages us enough to proceed anyway knowing it is part of a larger plan.

At times the ego believes itself to be victorious, especially when a change that we desire does not occur right away.

But the greater self does not tremble, for it knows that there is a time for all change, an opportune time, the right best time:

I went to the island for a walk once and the ranger on the beach pointed to the turtle tracks leading out to the water.  They had found no eggs and the turtle returned to the sea.  This is known as a ‘false crawl’.  The turtle typically comes ashore to lay her eggs but for many possible reasons her instinct empowered her not to at this time, thus, the false crawl.

How many times do we believe we have the answer or are close to realizing a goal and then suddenly we hesitate, even stop and turn back, maybe even start all over again?   Our greater awareness realizes the time is not yet.

When faced with difficult choices visualize the outcome of each decision, experiencing it fully.  Those decisions you think would make you feel terrified or humiliated, do over and over and over again.  Do them until eventually the end result is no longer scary or embarrassing or whatever else you were feeling when you originally experienced (visualized) the event.

When the time is right, even overdue, not making the decision or change can oftentimes be detrimental.  Anxiety can build to the point of obsession when we resist:

“So I went to see grandfather and I stood in front of him.  His tall broad limbs protected me.  I looked out to the meadow.  I saw my stone circle in the distance and it all seemed so surreal.  So much like a fairy tale and I was the lost child running amongst all this nature intelligence trying to make some adult decision.  A child would not be concerned at what others thought.

It hurt me not to make this decision and the more I thought about it (let the feeling come up) the more fearful I became.  I was vibrating scared and losing control fast.  I grasped a hold of grandfather’s trunk and in the next sacred moment a veil lifted and fear dissipated.  I found my breath.  I looked back out at that same landscape but from a different vibration.  I was grounded.  I had made my decision. “

Do we fear making a decision or change because in the past we took similar action and ended up embarrassed, regretful and feeling unworthy?

I wonder if it is more than a bad memory surfacing.  Could it be an imagined possible event actually taking place in our future?

We must remember that someone being critical or putting us down for any action we deem necessary to evolve is only one of many thousands of possibilities.  So do their thoughts matter at all?

Miracles happen every day within us and around us; there is only a wisp of a partition between our world and that of nature and we are able to penetrate it at any time and drink from her source.

Ring back the magic, bring back the fairytale and bring back truth.

I thirst for this sustenance that is part wildness and part domesticated, the wild found outside and the tame found within.

Dance with the honeybees in the sow thistle.

 

 

 

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Invisible Energetical Light

by cristina on May 15, 2012

Nature is a philosophical truth.  Its intelligence does not hinder you from seeking the truth but encourages and assists.   It is prudent to realize that everything is intertwined and even the miniscule services the whole.

There exists a grand palace carved in the invisible air around us.  The sweet vibrations weave their energy through us, enveloping us like a mist.  In the natural environment it is evermore present and what I call the ‘energetical light’.

The vast tiny world in nature is no secret.  Upon awakening to this seemingly parallel universe treasures abound.  The secrets obscured only by what we deem invisible.  Energy exasperates from nature’s miniscule flowery adornments.  Their energy sends the most peace through our hearts.  The soul rejoices.

We feel rooted, whole again in those moments until our self departs forcing the separation that is the falsehood.

Our demise will be the non-recognition or ignorance of our interconnectedness with all vibrating spirits (energy).

The baby anole lizard jumps from leaf to leaf as if he were stepping down a staircase.  He hides amongst the young spotted spurge crop.

I refuse to pluck his shelter out from under him, since, what are, a few harmless ‘weeds’?

Underneath the canopy of confederate jasmine a pair of brown anoles wrap their legs together.  They appear motionless until their apparent rhythm humbles me and I step away.

When Earth reveals itself to you, it is because of your acceptance.  It is your openness that fuels the alignment.

This is not earned.  It is an inherent gift.  When the ego steals us away for its own time and pleasure the separateness returns along with the suffering.

Watch and you will hear.  Hear and you will see.

The garden flowers will never compare to the extraordinaire of the miniature beauties.   They are hidden in the ‘weeds’ we destroy in our effort to maintain our egos.

The Dutchman breeches hanging from a rock face remind me of a tiny gnome’s pantaloons hanging on his clothesline.

Queen Anne’s Lace flourishes in the meadow or roadside ditch.  Amidst the woven lace, a tiny purplish floret is revealed at her center.

At the river’s edge, the blooms of the white water willow blush pink when the light is golden.

In one square foot of my yard there are countless magenta orchids protruding forth from the ground  ivy.  Interspersed among the orchids are the chickweed’s dazzling white stars.

Watch Nature and let her watch you.  Sense and feel the vibratory goodness pour in.

Embrace the preserved wildness that has remained throughout the ages.  Connect with Nature’s harmony.  Rejoice in her resonance.

You will feel tumultuous when you protect that which ego was willing to put to death for no purpose other than to serve itself:  because that is all it ever knew to do in the other parallel where our original beliefs were obtained.

The mud dauber leaves his home, zooming through the door of the garden room to seemingly greet the butterfly fluttering at the entrance.  They both disappear into the sunlight and I join them.

In search of new treasures I identified several but the phyllanthus urinaria, (chanca piedra) a member of the spurge family was what brought me to my knees.  The   flowers are on the underside of the miniature palm fanlike leaves but they are only to resemble flowers.  The sepals have separated into six parts giving the illusion of lime translucent petals with a yellow center.  A petal-less flower more amazing than most with petals.  This native of the old world tropics stole my heart when she led me to her secret underworld.  I don’t question how I knew to look beneath her to find my smile.

When the journey becomes riddled with sadness, look into some pocket of wildness to raise your vibration.  The spirit will soar and lift you up and out of the muck of your wallowing pity into a brighter consciousness.

Seek to be and be bewildered.  Ground your greater self.  Like the remaining aster that is yet to be buried by the first snowfall, know that you, also, have an identical will to carry on, in glory, until the end.

You are already surrounded in the beauty that you feel escapes you.  Bathe in it.  See the wonders with the whole of your sight.  Do not just look through what is directly in front of you.  Look, feel and marvel at your connection with the earth.

We absorb her strength and energy continually and would not live with her destruction.  It is one thing to observe her beauty and be compassionate about the dwindling forests but yet another to know that the very breath of life we take from her is priceless.

Nature is our sole provider nursing the parts that sustain us physically.

Nature is our soul provider nursing the parts that sustain us spiritually.

Spirit loves and embraces wildness because spirit is free.  Spirit connects and attaches to the wildness.  It gathers energy to provide us more light with which to ‘see’.

The ego thrives in darkness waiting to attack the light.  The ego surfaces and steals our dreams at every chance before drowning again under the loving light.  It is possible for the ego to live on for days and longer in an attempt to keep us safe from our greater self.  This is becoming rampant as we lose sight of our glorious earth.

The wisest men and women that ever lived knew the magic potion of life.  They looked to the energy rising and circulating up and around them.  The sweet elixir nourished their life force.

I have felt like the tiny forgotten bloom.  They are discreet, even invisible and tend to hide.  In this way they are protected from the masses.  Only a few stumble upon them.  The few with hearts open enough to pocket their gifts and bring them forward for the rest to see.  It is encouraging to strive to seek the almost invisible beauty ignored.  I am humbled in accepting that responsibility.

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Candelabras amidst the Pyramids

by cristina on May 6, 2012

I begin writing about the delicate sow thistles, and (coincidentally) one of their seeds flutters over and lands on my hand.

This tiny meadow grows both the yellow sows and the purple-red tassels.  One of the candelabras boasts seventeen candles.  The tip of each bud resembles a burning flame.

I have been watching four ants. At first glance, they appear to be making beds in the holes of the sandstone rock in my circle.  A closer look reveals them removing stems.  Maybe they are replacing the old bedding since they are now turning leaves over and gathering tiny twigs.  They carry these over a pile of dried oak flowers before climbing back down the rock face (likened to a large cliff face for us) and into their nests.   I could not see where they placed their twigs inside, but they returned with empty hands.

Is this a new home wedged between the rock and ground like big-headed ants tend to build?  Is this a restoration?  When will it be completed, who will live there, and for how long?  They also haul plant stalks back to their site.  They work so diligently and move their legs so fast that they appear to be hovering in midair around the rock face.  The illusion grants them wings for their duty.

At first, there were only two ants, and then, from behind me, another two scurried forward to help.  Were they called?  How did they know to come?  A few moments later, all work temporarily ceases.

Looking further out, thistle seeds, tumbling like falling snowflakes, are trapped by a web that quivers in the breeze.

I am drawn back to the ants and attempt to decipher the species claiming ownership of this new residence.

The fire ants, never deterred, tend not to live under rocks, but they and the pyramids, which leave a crater in their mounds, are all partial to honeydew.  Not the melon but the sugary-rich secretion the aphids produce when eating their sappy meals.

The ants love the honeydew they leave behind, and nothing gets wasted.

I am slightly comforted knowing that when I am bitten by the fiery devils, the pyramid ants, living close by the fire ant mounds, enjoy eating them and washing them down with their dewy drinks.

You never see them fight and kill the fire ants, but if you look at their nests, you will find ‘bone piles.’

The carpenters nest and create ‘galleries’ throughout the yard debris and are the modest of the tribes.

Another characteristic of the big-head ants is that pyramid ants do not stray far. They travel as far as a hundred yards for food, but in comparison to the fire ant, which doubles that distance, the pyramid ant has barely left home.

Another event is taking place to the east of the construction zone.  Two aphids are hanging upside down from a thin blade of grass using only their hind legs.  They hold a single laurel berry between their bodies and are devouring it.  It appears too big for them to handle.  Their stylets sunk deep into the core; they suck out the remains of their meal of one berry between the two of them – literally.

The sun has disappeared, and the wood sorrels have turned in, but it remains a decadent cloudy morning.

The ants, although appearing to be meandering, continue to be, without asking, unhindered by any obstacle.

The squirrel appears fluid as he pounces across the waving sea of grass.  He has spied on me.  Before climbing the orange tree, he stops and looks at me again with conviction.  He grunts, sticks his neck out, and runs to the top before jumping over to the live oak branch.

Like the unseen, invisible intelligence, a visible miniature, not minuscule, universe teems with magical intricacies.  We do not readily see them until we purposely burrow into this tiny realm.

Admiring the candelabras of the purple sow thistle again, I notice an inchworm attached to one of the blooms.  He is adorned with a snake-like pattern.

The remaining orange fragrance mixes with the wild lantana, creating a masterpiece of aroma.

The anoles stretch their necks around the rocks and peer at me wisely.

The aphids, now having dropped their ball, remain on the flower, sated.

I have never been more thoroughly entertained in any given hour.

The gray heron has just announced her arrival and landed in the water oak sprawling out over the pond.

The orange spider on my notepad is running in circles on foreign ground.  Before getting up, I save him from the ball of my pen.

I walk back along the old path. The oak flowers have melded with the fallen leaves, creating a sienna-colored carpet for my walk home.

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I hover on the earth’s resonance, leaving myself behind in the garden.

Looking down I see a pale yellow soft mouth with rare rounded wings. She swirls around the baby blue plumbago, which is sticky now but fuller than ever.

The grasshoppers tread softly on the earth, one atop the other.
(The story goes that she sings him a soft, quiet song as he poses. He approaches and climbs on her. They copulate for as long as it is destined. She may exercise her free will and carry him around for a while. If she chooses not to, he will casually fall from her back.)
Today, she carries him and supports his entire weight for their walk. In a turtle’s fashion, they creep up and over the rock perimeter of my garden and disappear.

I laugh at how the painted and animated scenery lulled me graciously to sleep this afternoon…

The vibrations are far from the stubborn perceptions that seek to blind me. How easily we ingest the muck of speculations and half-truths and miss the sublime messages standing upright.

The cobwebs are spun and woven, capturing thoughts and beliefs. Some can be likened to the erratic web of the black widow. We feel trapped and falsely emboldened by the luxurious dragline silk, and our ego can resonate well with that. Other webs bring us full circle, spun like the concentric web of the spiny orb weaver.

Brushing the cobwebs aside, I flee back through the realm and inside to prepare supper.

Afterward, the pre-dusk light streams in the window, drawing me out again. These colors fade in and out so fast at this time of day that if you blink, you miss them.

The golden light shimmers and flames the treetops. Soon, the yellow tone pales and diminishes quickly under a thick wall of cumulus clouds.

The wind begins stirring in the east. Scattered droplets of rain fall on my cheek as I bend to stroke my loyal feline companion. We turn back toward the door, but the light is changing again. I whirl around and look up. Behold, the heavens deliver a rainbow and rest it upon the thick gray cloud wall.

I walk to the open ground for a better view and stumble when I see the full rainbow. By His grace, He strengthens my faith with these spectacular, endearing moments.

A bright white wispy cloud directly centered at the height of the rainbow reminds me of the sun behind me on the horizon. The rainbow’s colors are not blended across bands, as some are. The blue and red light refractions are the truest spectral colors I’ve ever seen.

The west takes on a golden light baked by the eastern sky before it. An artist couldn’t have painted a more glorious sky. I twirl around, sighing, “Oh my,” oh my. The colors all fade to gray within minutes.

The encore arrives. A brush full of deep lavender paints the sky to my west, drowning out the remains of the light of the day. Dusk quickly follows, laying out a blanket for all the earth to rest upon.

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In The Dirt

by cristina on May 6, 2012

I arrived home after exhausting another misplaced day. While my mind, in the background, roamed for answers and balance, in the forefront, I focused on my mission. Unload my baggage, ahem. Feed the cat. Get to the back door and go outside quickly. Intending the screen door to slam behind me, I stepped out onto the earth, my solace. Portraying a cat, I circled the yard, trying to settle myself into one location. In the middle of the yard to the west of the garden, I knelt and prayed more recklessly than carefully.

I placed my hands down on the cool grass. Bringing them back up to my sides and turning my head up, I silently shouted, “What have I missed? Please tell me again. And keep my attention long enough so I don’t forget this time.”

I lowered my hands back down on the grass in front of me. My fingers dug in and broke through the woven roots of chickweed, pennywort, and ground ivy. I raked deeper to get to the dirt beneath. I wondered about my garden tools. Are they peering out from their small window in the shed with that raised eyebrow look?

I was driven to reach the energy. Nothing felt more natural than to keep digging. My hands became softer as I became calmer. I scooped a handful of dirt, coaxing the aroma up to capture a hint of its taste. It was an ancient fragrant blend of Myakka sand and salt air.

Rubbing the silky dirt between my hands, I was lost in the moment. Catching myself, I laughed and thought, “Are the answers, the truths I seek, hidden in the earth, in this sandy lot?” I picked up more sand and studied it as I let it cascade down my fingertips. It was fragile and crumbly, like gray-brown sugar.

The soothing energy of the earth grounded and calmed me. I accepted the inspiration offered as nature’s intelligence graced my spirit.

Kneeling and communing with God is normal. Digging in the dirt at my feet with my bare hands at dusk? What would the neighbors think? I grinned at the treasure I discovered and buried the shame.

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