One of my best and most passionate friends recently sent a message to me, "I'm really going to be Rajneeshee."

On my recommendation, he watched the fabulous new Duplass sisters documentary on Netflix, Wild Wild Country, telling the mystified story of India's infamous Bhagwan Shree Rajneesh (later known as "Osho") when he came to the United States in the early 1980s, and purchased 65,000 hectares to create a "deliberate community" called Rajneeshpuram. What happens when 2,000 hippies and sect leaders descend to a sleepy retired community in Oregon's temperament more strange than fiction: sex stories, controversy, conspiracy, and power.

"I have," I replied.

"Of course you are a sannyasin," he replied.

To date, I have happily suppressed all my memories of my three weeks as "sannyasin" - Sanskrit for "devotees" - in the Osho ashram in Australia. But then my roommate started watching the Wild Wild Country, and as I walked in the room, a group of people jumped up and down on the screen naked, gasping for breath.

"Hey, I did it!" I exclaimed.

Ashram is a spiritual hermitage, usually in a remote, remote, pure place that reminds of Eden, where hippies (apparently "seekers" are politically correct terms) as I myself do yoga, meditate and connect with our inner Zen by trading around four working hours a day - such "meditation in action" is renamed in 'Ram - like gardening, washing clothes, cooking and cleaning around the grounds for rooms and food.

There is something very tantalizing about life that is simple - if that is as simple as that. On the contrary, all spiritual work is merely an illusion in the service of insane megalomaniacs. The lost souls and broken spirits end up in these places; people ran away from adult responsibilities, ran away from their shadows or ran away from the greed, cynicism and emptiness of society in the grip of late-stage capitalism. I witnessed (and to a lesser extent, experienced) psychologically divided people, stripped of all defense mechanisms and reconstituted in Master's image. What is more godly than that?

"Classic Bridget," my friend said.

It was "Classic Bridget" for the reason I ended up in an ashram four days after I arrived in Australia without knowing the soul, of course, because of a boy. I will accompany the Sydney trust fund children on a coast to coast trip to Byron Bay, where he meets some of his best friends for a whole week of guys. He assured me I would love it there (I do) and that inn would not be a problem. But it was Christmas and there was not really a single room in town. Your objections, this is pre-Airbnb, and the Sydney Trust Fund Boy basically shrugs off and says that myself.

The only option I found - ashram - is on the WWOOFing website. WWOOF Combines Global Opportunities on Organic Farming, and this can be a good way to trade around working hours for accommodation (and you) if you can travel the world on a limited budget. It's creative as "the ideal atmosphere to relax and connect with yourself." Leaving the beach to go to work in Bush did not sound ideal to me, but I was desperate.

I have never been to the ashram even though there is a yogi and all the other shit. So I do not know what I want to be picked up by ginger that is almost too carefree with whites. He was driving like a bat from hell. People are hiding and love, and I am afraid to mix us from Byron Bay's beautiful beach to the forest. Everyone in the car has wide, clear eyes that make me gobs and smiles like the one whose brain has been inserted. It occurred to me that I did not know where I was going, that I might never see civilization again and that I might have accidentally joined the sex sect because I had no place to live.

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Not until I arrived that night, I realized it was the Osho ashram.

Oh shit, I thought. I do not know much about Osho, but I know enough to realize that I do not know what I just experienced. Before I go to buy my two-year globetrot, I will stay at the Osho "meditation resort" in Pune, India. One of the things that I think is mandatory HIV testing before you stay.

"Why is that?" I asked my yoga mentor at L.A.

"Because everyone is fucking," he explained.

Osho is controversial for many reasons, but his most controversial concept is the sex and spiritual idea that goes hand in hand. He fights the traditional ashram rigid system (and in fact, even today the Osho ashram in Pune does not consider himself an ashram) and the idea that you must leave the material world to be spiritual. The man has 120 Rolls Royces.

If you have seen the documentary, our ashrams are the full version of what was in the 1970s - though on the first night, it became clear that sex was clearly encouraged. There are usually several types of "Master" or "Master" or whatever he likes to not be called; he runs the place and guides the exercise, work and spiritual progress of our humble young grasshoppers.

My teacher took me aside the first night and asked if I had any questions.

"Yes, is this a sex cult?" I ask.

Master grinned. "I like you, you're straight, but you're too smart for your own good."

He is charming in a scary way that makes you simultaneously want his approval and his hard love. No one should have sex, but you are free to have as much sex with as many people as you like, people with this shame about sex think it's a cult, but we are just individuals who are in love. "

The first night was relatively benign. We listened to some of Osho's recordings and danced. Okay, I might be able to handle this until the Sydney Trust Fund Boy can come pick me up, I think. I do not have much choice. We walked five hours from civilization over Bush's wild forest. Only two people who own the internet are Master and his secretary. There is no service, and if we get caught on our digital devices, they will take them away. We were "free to go," but I came to know that it was not that easy.

Basically I was only allowed to email my dad that I was okay and that I was at a "retreat" in Australia and would be out-touch for a while. "Be careful and do not join the cult," he replied.

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Bush took some adjustments. The weather changes on a dime, but when it's hot, it's hot humid, sticky, sexy. We are in the rainforest, so there is no shortage of creatures. It's not for the weakhearted. Geckos, lizards, and salamanders crawl along your path all day long. Bats and rats screech at the rafters all night long. Porcupine ran for shelter in the labyrinth. The Huntsman spider is enormous and everything looks deadly, though most of them are completely harmless.

There are snakes everywhere, though their appearance is scarce - everything from snakes to deadly chocolate snakes. Big, Jack jumper ants - their intense bite sting 10 times stronger than a bee sting I've ever experienced - keeps you "at the moment" while you are gardening. I was bound to find leeches somewhere in my body every day from trudging through the forest, especially with all the heavy rains. Cockroaches are at least 2,000 years old - that's how big and full of personality they are. Large colorful toads love to inhabit one of the bathrooms at night.

Kookaburras laughed hysterically and crazily throughout the day. A peacock wanders around the property, spilling the lumps. The Bird Cat sounds like a crying baby somewhere deep in the woods. And I will never forget the wallaby - little kangaroo, always jumping and jumping around the field like adorable velociraptors.

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When not monsoon, the sunset is spectacular. But when it rains, it pours fucking. So hard you think it will come through your zinc roof. The frogs loved the rain and swarmed feverishly as the earth became soaking wet one by one. Like clockwork, no matter what the weather, as the sun sets under the horizon, the crickets start their hypnotic buzzing. Right on their heels comes a frog symphony, frogs and insects and other birds, the sunset serenade is perfect timing they are opposed to all the musical descriptions. I live for the sound, the engine that roars in the forest itself. I still hear it in my dreams.

It has the potential then to be a heaven, which is very deadly, but heaven remains. Except the fact that Bush is also inhabited by humans. Human chaotic, complex, diverse, irrational. Whenever you take a group of people from all over the world and ask them to live side by side, problems will inevitably arise, especially in very small systems that drive polyamory. Coupleship engagement causes big problems because regardless of how awareness raises everyone likes to imagine themselves, women and men are still vulnerable to jealousy, suspicion, and love. So, it's an almost constant drama. So much so that it feels like a reality show sometimes: The Real World: The Australian Ashram. People will be shunned only to return a week later and beg to be allowed to re-enter.

There is a revolving door of tourists, nomads, seekers, hippies, lost souls and surfers of sofas. Some come for what they think will be three days and stay six months. Others go and come back after realizing that "out there" causes too much anxiety after spending enough time there. Some arrive, and after two days and one kooky "Mystic Rose" meditation where the leader says without a bit of irony or comedy, "And then after 15 minutes of bullshit, you'll yell at your nearest person," was on the first ride back to city.

Even after my first night, I felt that you could not stay too long in a place like that. It damages your brain or breaks it. Something about respect that everyone treats Master. I do not trust anyone who allows themselves to be placed on a pedestal, but it seems that most of the ashram residents have entrusted everything to Master. He told them how to think and they were obedient, treating his words as scripture.

All ashrams have their own culture and theology. A number of indoctrination appear with any culture, especially a closed system in the middle of nowhere like 'Ram. Much of Master's rhetoric is focused on our identity, releasing any idea of ​​ourselves, which we hold to the most desperate. He concentrated his attention very intensely, though, there was something terrible about it. In particular, he asked, "What's left when everything's gone? When is there no interruption? When is there no place to run? Nothing confirms your existence, disturbs your ego, favor your Instagram? Who are you when you can no longer hide from loneliness, fear, pain and insecurity? What happens when you let yourself go first? "

I'll let you know what happened: you're crazy.

I spent my first full day on the ‘Ram getting to know the residents and the routine. I have a love/hate relationship with hippies. In some ways, I deeply embody their free-wheelin’ ideals and nonconformist principles (this is completely by accident). In other ways, the mouthy, sarcastic, East Coast cynic in me flies in the face of all they believe in — not to mention that their hippiecrite rhetoric and magical thinking usually drive me nuts. I’m not a conspiracy theorist — just deeply suspicious. I’m not a foodie — just grateful for every meal. I’m not aimless — just open. My deeply ingrained skepticism might very well be the reason I’m still not on the ashram to this day because for all its weirdness, life on the ‘Ram was blissfully, elegantly, effortlessly simple.

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Over the past four years, I have taken steps to simplify my way of life and think I live in L.A.But the reality is - it is impossible to lead an uncomplicated life in modern civilization. All our conveniences have robbed us of our ability to maintain existence in harmony with the natural order.

Everything about Ram's lifestyle, however, instinctively feels right to me, as if life from the ground is encoded in my DNA. Nothing is wasted. The grass we cropped into mulch for the garden. The grass I pulled from the garden was thrown at the base of a banana tree. After six months, the dirt is composted to MANUR for fruit trees. Water is precious. It rained short, and they boarded the boat, saving every drop.

Believe it or not (because I can not), I really find myself grateful to be a compostable toilet instead of watering hundreds of gallons of precious water. I relate to my love of farming - a love that I never knew even I have.

Ashram is specifically designed to remove all the things we use to escape from the inevitable encounter with Our Self. We make pills. We eliminate our pain. We bury ourselves at work, television, porn, Facebook or millions of other distractions easily at our fingertips. We went on a weekend retreat and expect the effects of these two days to fight many years after years of social conditioning. At least for me, that's why the ashram stiff schedule is easy to follow. It's designed to minimize distractions and work with your body's optimal biorhythms (admittedly, that's what they say to me, but it seems to be true).

5:30 am: Dynamic Meditation. Osho develops a very physical type of meditation, as opposed to the traditional mode of meditation in which you practice silence. It is optional (as does clothing); I chose to partake of morbid curiosity.

7 am: Breakfast. Porridge or oats. Toast bread. Banana. The people in charge of the kitchen light a fire at 6 am to boil water for coffee, tea, and porridge. It was a massive attempt to burn a wooden grill. We have boatloads from banana trees and mango trees, so there's always some kind of fruit.

8 am: Work begins. It changes the weather every day and what is most urgent. After a hot and sunny week, we are now faced with continuous monsoon rains. Because the ashram sits on 100 acres of some of the most beautiful Bush in Australia, there is constant cleaning, weeding, chopping, sweeping ... the maintenance of paradise is absolutely endless. Plus, we are told (again and again) that exhausting grueling work is an integral part of our spiritual training, and ultimately, good for us.

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12:30 noon. Vegan. Always good. All local grains, beans and vegetables, most of them straight out of the garden. There are designated chefs for ashram, and it is a full time job. Once breakfast is over, they deal with preparing lunch. Like all intentional communities, there is an obsessive amount of talking about food and water.

2 pm to 6 pm: Leisure time. In a few days, the ashram offers various activities that we can choose to participate - for example yoga, sauna, or Kundalini meditation. Nothing in the afternoon is mandatory. I try to take time for myself, but Master does not like us to spend too much time alone. It shocked me, seeing how we were supposed to go inside, but it seemed like he thought too much alone time was bad for the ego. I began to understand that because time alone gives people a chance to reflect on how CRAY CRAY THE EXPERIENCE IS.

6 pm: Sangha. Meditation afternoon. Always different. Walking meditation, sunset meditation, campfire, Osho discourse, dancing, music or just sitting and breathing good ol. Master leads meditation tonight, and I never know what will happen. I have seen people kicking ashrams. I have seen him encourage people to go fuck.

8:30 pm. Light snacks. Rest of lunch. You do not eat much at the ashram.

9 p.m.: Everyone back to bed. I usually sleep at 10:30, which to me has never happened before.

I immediately jumped to it all: Great dance, meditation, work and lifestyle ("hippie shit" because all the shallow Sydney men like to call it).

Upon waking up, I decided to give Dynamic Meditation. This exercise consists of 10 minutes of active breathing, followed by 10 minutes of exit fear, followed by a 10 minute jumping up and down saying "hoo" when you land. When you hear someone shout "STOP" you freeze, exactly where you are for 15 minutes. Then he danced in free form for 15 minutes after that. You are given a blindfold and a cushion - a blindfold so you are not bothered by your neighbors experience (though the scream is pretty hard to ignore) and a pillow to punch in the show you feel an overwhelming desire to hit something. The whole process takes about an hour, and it's exhausting emotionally and physically - and this is how you start your day.

During this strange phase, I started to cry. The crying turned into tears. Sobs turned angry. I do not know where I'm screaming, "Put me down! Put me down! "And relive the experience I had experienced while being anesthetized and raped at 18 o'clock. Your mind, this is 15 years later. I have done rehab and hundreds of hours of therapy at this point. But what I have not yet processed is a distressed emotion, things I can not say because I was drugged, but felt in my body. I spent five minutes shouting, "YOU MOTHERFUCKER !!!!" while I pressed a pillow. For 15 minutes of meditation, I swear I will never do this stupid exercise again. But by the time the dance ended, I felt lighter and somehow better.

After a cold cold shower and breakfast porridge, it was time to work, but Master called me to her office. He explained that I would not have to work as hard as the people who live at home if I pay more per day. (I already paid $ 30.) He wanted to know a lot about my finances. Do I have a return ticket? How long will I stay? Do I want my cute little hut instead of sharing a room with a stranger? (I did it, but look, that's extra.) How much money have I saved for traveling? Does my family have money?

I have not been in the ashram very long, but I am alive enough to know the grifter when I see it. I explained I was broke, very happy to work and leave it there.

It can be said, his work is very tiring. It was a lot of hard physical work like cutting wood, making a path through the woods, gardening, and endless sweeping. Sometimes I feel like I'm in a montage from Kill Bill, practicing for an epic battle. Particularly when I hauled the wheelbarrow up the hill for the fifth time in the heat of the heat, Master patiently waited for me upstairs, tapping her foot; or when I'm rolling up endless pieces of lumps from two ball-sized fields and collecting them on a tarp that is dragged behind me so that it can be used in the garden.

However, it did not take long for the euphoria, the healing properties setting to start having an effect on me. His personality weakened. The heart is strengthened. The soul soared. After just one day, I started thinking maybe I could stay here forever. Then I went to my first sangha.

One of the core groups of residents continues to lead us in Mystic Rose meditation. Another Osho meditation, there are many variations on how you do it, and that night, we switch from jibberish to laughing to anger every two minutes for 20 minutes. It makes me feel crazy to experience extreme emotions so quickly. After meditation, we must crawl, crawl, or try to fully embody the animal. People grunted and "scavenged" each other's faces. I crawled on my hands and knees but watched the spectacle, feeling silly.

There were some English beginners who had just arrived that day. It is ridiculous to see them crawling and struggling to connect with their inner beast spirit or actually letting themselves go. They went that night, but it was not because of the meditation that the animal or spirit enticed - it was because of what happened next.

The Master came in to give a talk. We all gathered, and he began to preach his usual message here vs. out there. He mentioned, "Many places like this get a reputation for worship. But I can assure you, it's not a cult. It's just a collection of individuals who are tired of the superficial priorities 'out there', and they decide that the spiritual path is the most important to them. The spiritual path is the only way, and if you do not feel like it, maybe you should go. "

Then, out of nowhere, he chose a German woman who had been there for a while. I do not know what a backstory or ashram drama caused his anger, but suddenly, Master shouted. "You're a PSYCHO! You are INSANE. "It is shocking to see someone being so publicly humiliated in a place that is supposed to be" spiritual. "The Teacher told him to pack his bag. The rest are instructed to participate in an ecstatic dance party. The pasties Brits, however, had seen enough and went inside the car he sent the German woman away.

The terror lasted around the third day. I actually hit the wall. The Hercules effort needed to get out of L.A. and to Australia suddenly catch up with me. In fact, 20 years running from me, my pain and hurt hit me like a bunch of bananas. I can see the ocean, but it feels like a dream. All I want to do is jump into the salt water and recover.

Resolved to leave, I went to Master and expressed my desire to get out of there. The Master, however, told me to sit down and tell me to pull the rune. He then translates the meaning of Rune from Italian (like opera, Italian somehow makes the words more significant). Not surprisingly, I drew a Rune that symbolizes the STOP: "My Heart in Winter is frozen, and I have to let it melt into a flowing Fountain." The one I have not served me anymore. I had to let go and let myself be new again.

All of that, though, rings true. That is the reason I make this one-way ticket pilgrim direction in the first place. The Master promised that I could go to the beach the next day after work. It was just enough hope to keep me going.

As if beckoning, that night, a boy appeared. We'll call him "Wolf." He came through Melbourne. Broody. Thin. Very dedicated to his music and exploring the sides of his body as a spiritual being with human experience. This is my third time in 'ram. As if, he was a very normal man. An artist. Reason. He was resting before returning to the Union for a PhD in Psychology. He wants to get away from city life and process broken hearts. In many ways, we have the same spirit, and he became my oasis in the sea of ​​madmen. He gave me hope that maybe this place is what is advertised - just a retreat with some unique characters. Someone "normal" has come to the ashram and gone changed but not broken. I follow in his footsteps.

We spent the day working together, and we sat together that night in the Sangha - an act that seemed to make Master sad, who came out of the way to worship me.

Teacher: Out there, you are nothing. You are worthless. No one will hire you. You have no respect. Is not this the problem?

Me: Well ... um ... yes, I guess.

I am ashamed that he will say such things in front of my new person. I'm even more annoyed because he's right.

Teacher: You can not listen to other people's words because they call you a bastard. You bastard, right?

Me: Actually, you are the first person to ever call me a bastard. To my face.

At this point, the new Ashies shifted uncomfortably on their pillows, shaken. I, though, laughed hysterically because I was nervous, uncomfortable and embarrassed. On the other hand, there is something amazingly liberating to realize that you are worthless.

Teacher: Tell me. Say, "I'm a bastard."

Me: I am a bastard.

Teacher: Stronger.

Me: I am a SCUMBAG.

Teacher: You do not mean it. You laugh. What's so funny about being a bastard?

Me: (scream) I SCUMBAG !!!

Teacher: Tonight, you let go of your old personality. Already finished. So I gave you a new name. I am inspired by your rune. Are you ready for that? His full name is "Prem" which in Sanskrit means love and "Sarita" meaning river. So you are now the River of Love.

The ultimate goal of a spiritual retreat is to get you in touch with your heart, your soul, your inner truth, your conditioning, your shame, your belief system. To do this, you are removed from everything you think you know. Your family, your country, your name, and your identity become irrelevant once you cross the threshold. To really understand this principle, you are usually given a new name, "your spiritual name." It sounds adorable, but it's really the beginning of losing yourself forever.

At this point, I started to cry, and Wolf took my hand.

The idea of ​​going to the beach was the only thing that kept me sane at this point. So, I planned my exit strategy throughout the next morning when we cleaned the cabin in another part of the property. Muggy and sweating, and my meditation has nothing to do with the moment and all that has to do with how saltwater will feel on my skin.

But when we finished the work, Master announced, "There will not be a van to the beach today."

I was devastated. "But you promise !!!"

"Life does not make promises!" She yelled back.

"Please, please," I replied, sobbing.

"No, you really want it.See how attached you are.You are disgusting."

I am now weeping hysterically, the people who are crying breathlessly where you can not breathe. Master, though, really does not change, in fact, she seems to enjoy the pain she caused me. I really want it; at the time, and even to this day, I'm not sure I really wanted anything and was very disappointed when I did not get it.

But from what I observed in the short time I was there, this seemed to be Master's method: cruelty. He is rude. He destroys you, takes your defense mechanisms, keeps you physically and emotionally out. This is the opposite of what you teach in therapy. You can not disarm someone from their delusions without support, because the coping skills are the glue that holds the fragile person's soul together. Without them, you begin to unravel. Molehills being a mountain. I felt my mind begin to break away from whatever sense of reality I woke up, and it was not in a good way.

More than saltwater, I realized that I really wanted civilization, a feeling of being confined to the world. The ashram bubble is an intensive anti-civilization camp. Day by day living in harmony with the ground is good for the soul, but slowly, it erodes your ability to live "out there."

"I'm leaving," I told Wolf, returning to my room, where I curled up in the fetal position in my room. "I hate him."

Then, like clockwork, there was a knock on the door. It was Master's secretary. "The van goes to the farmers' market and the waterfall if anyone wants to come," he promised.

Wolves convince me not to be stubborn and join him. At that time, I gave up - for all of that.

We headed to Mullumbimby Farmer's Market. Wolf and I danced until we laughed hysterically. We explored the waterfalls and undressed in our cool dive. The waterfall was amazing. I feel well baptized and born again after such intense emotional cleansing.

That night, on the way home, I placed my head on Wolf's shoulder and looked down at the moon. I feel at peace and quiet, despite the fact that crazy ginger is behind the wheel. What would I think of when he hit the brakes. Koala is crossing the road. Apparently rare and valuable koala sightings in Australia. "We are very lucky," the crazy ginger explained.

"The Koala was so lucky it did not die," I whispered to Wolf.

"So are we," he replied before pressing my thigh.

After that night, I fell into the life of the ashram, sweating profusely with Wolf, and a dramatic muddle fight in which we both wept in the rain. I am exchanging dynamic meditation for sleeping and hugging. The next 10 days are routine blur, madness and happiness. I was playing a small ashram wife and made sure our cottage was clean while Wolf sat on the edge of the bed and sang. His voice is another world and haunting. I never wanted that moment to end. The river of love flowed, and I decided to go with him.

In the meantime, I ignored the non-stop drama among other people who swapped pairs on the banks of the river. I avoided bruising at Master's secretary and the fact that she looked increasingly listless and dead eyes as the days passed. He shouts for her all day: "Amari comes to me !!!" She shouted behind her, I could hear her. We can all hear it. But we all turned the other cheek again. What we can do?

I also gave in to the constant guilting for more money and donated a bit more for the place to stay. My family is starting to worry I will never leave. I laughed it off, but actually, I was on the other side of the visible glass. I never wanted to leave.

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The Teacher (dumb) let me go to town to drop the Wolf at the bus station. I have not been around people, shops or cars in nearly two weeks, and it feels weird, like I was visiting a foreign planet. Wolves made me promise not to stay in the ashram forever and visit him in Melbourne. I was crying and crying and I could not cry anymore.

We sell only one bottle of wine. The offer is too good to be rejected. I took the bottle and sat in the garden and drank it all while waiting for my crazy ginger to finish the task. He found me drunk in the park and joined me.

"I have to get out of here," I babbled.

Back to 'ram, I'm hammered. It is a sangha, and we do some kind of meditation. I do not remember which one I cried and went on and made a scene and Master realized I was drunk.

"Do you have any more?" He asked.

"Yes," I said, embarrassed.

"Your punishment is that you have to bring him here so we can all share it," he said.

Then, after I did, he called me, even though I was the one leading the conversation.

Me: How are you?

Teacher: What do you think I am? I am great because I have no anxiety.

Me: I'm sure you never cry too.

Teacher: That's not true. I cried last night.

Me: You do not! Why are you crying?

Teacher: I am crying for you.

Me: That makes sense. I'm a bit of a lost cause. But I will keep your tears for the starving children.

Teacher: I am crying for you because the outside world still tempts you.

He's right. It is true. I'd love to see opera at the Sydney Opera House. Australia Day is coming, and I want to do a lot of drugs and parties. It was an NFL match. The Australian Open is underway in Melbourne. And after 14 days of porridge and vegetables, I really crave steaks and lots of liquor. New Zealand is three hours away. Southeast Asia and India are pointing my soul.

I sent an SMS to the Sydney Trust Fund Baby, "WTF, WHERE YOU? GET ME OUT HERE."

Two days later, I saw the Range Rover and never looked back.

Until now.

I've eaten the Wild Wild Country series twice, hoping to complete some of Rajneeshpuram's mixed feelings in his heyday seem to be living with the same conflicted feelings I left behind. Are we just hedonists following our happiness? Or is there something evil hiding behind it all?

Hell is really paved with good intentions - but that always haunts me is how badly I am neglected to selfishly experience the good.

Philip Toelkes, who was Bhagwan's lawyer until 1983, summarized it well in the documents when he commented, "There is darkness within us ..."

After that, he laughs. Otherwise, he should think of alternatives.