Part two is forthcoming.

-R

• Start with the first section of Ares and Aphrodite
  
• I think that works well going into Children’s Games, though I’m not sure. I also need to write something about bathing suits, and maybe this is a a good place to put it.
• Second section of Ares and Aphrodite
• Talk about fear of change – needs new writing. I think I should talk about separation anxiety and fears I had going into puberty (not that I saw them that way at the time, but looking back in retrospect…)
• Third section of Ares and Aphrodite – needs to be written. A jump taking the story from 10 (following the dream) to 20 (when the main character does something about it)

1. Intro to the myth – reworked version of what I had today, with more background and drawing the audience into the world I’m creating
2. Children’s games/’hairless v’ – similar to what I had today; need to keep working on it and (hopefully) integrate video
3. Second myth section – covering the same ground I had today, may be reworked quite a bit
4. Puberty/chicken pox – covering the same ground I had today, need to rework the language, physicalization, and (hopefully) integrate video
5. Third myth section – ‘mythic journey’ leading to Ares
6. Personal narrative – I’m currently thinking about looking at the nitty-gritty of hair removal following today’s comments about being more specific
7. Fourth myth section – confrontation of Ares, anger
8. Closing – finally adopting narrator voice for self “i long to dive into the pool,” etc. talking about constructing the story and not being sure where it’s going to go, the end isn’t written yet; acknowledging no one is ‘just’ male or female

That said, I also want to play with what the myth looks like if the confrontation/anger with Ares comes in section 3, right after the dream. That then lets the myth build to almost a conclusion, where I can come in and say, “I don’t know how it ends yet”

GENERAL LIGHTING - CHILDHOOD GAMES

When I was young – I must have been 6 or 7 – I remember playing ‘make believe’ with a friend, running around in the park behind my house.

I remember that, at some point in the make believe, I was captured by the bad guys -

- and transformed into a girl. My friend had to rescue me! But ‘rescuing’ me didn’t mean ‘transforming me back into a boy,’ just ‘freeing me from the bad guys.’ I didn’t really want to be transformed back into a boy. And I remember it being important (for some pre-pubescent, gender-affirming reason) for me to be naked on the bed in my room, my penis tucked between my legs in a hairless V.

I  remember looking up at the top bunk and thinking, “This is how I’d rather look, what I’d rather see between my legs.”

I told him not to tell his mom. I told him not to tell his mom. I told him not to tell! But he told anyway. And his mom told my mom. And we were told that that was not a good way to play and that being naked with each other was not OK.

But the part that was actually important – not the nudity but the gender – was never mentioned. I don’t even know if he told his mom about that part, or if she told my mom. But I feel like yelling at my mom, “The point wasn’t that I wanted to be naked! The point was that I didn’t want to be a boy!”

LIGHT CHANGE – MYTH PART ONE

Long ago, when gods and goddesses ruled from Olympus and occasionally came down to walk among mortals, all mothers knew that to give birth to a boy you needed to pray to Ares -

- god of war, of strength -

and to give birth to a girl you needed to pray to Aphrodite -

- goddess of love, of beauty.

But what happened when Ares and Aphrodite disagreed about the sex of an unborn child? Gods and goddesses were known to quarrel, and disagreements over a child’s sex were not as uncommon as you might think.

Such it was with one child who was chosen by Aphrodite to be a girl, to grow into a woman. But Ares was upset with Aphrodite for some perceived slight, and when Aphrodite left the unborn child Ares came and worked his magic. He could not change the unborn child – the unborn girl’s – soul, for Aphrodite had already made that female. But Ares could transform the unborn girl’s body, making by brute force male what was to be female.

And so the child was born, the soul of a girl – ready to be a girl – but within the body of a boy.

And what sort of life would she lead? Only time will tell…

LIGHT CHANGE – COMING OUT CAFE

Hey! It’s so good to see you.

Yeah, I’m so glad we could finally find a time to catch up. How have you been?

I’ve been doing really well, thanks. Actually, well, I sort of never know how to do this. I do want to hear how you’re doing, but part of the reason I wanted to talk to you is because I wanted to come out to you. See, I identify as trans, which means a lot of different things to different people, but for me means that I identify as a woman, not as a man. And I’m doing what’s called transitioning, which means I’m moving from presenting myself an interacting with the world as a man to doing so as a woman.

No, it’s OK. That’s usually the first question people ask. I’ve been on hormones for a while, and I’m fortunate that they’re actually covered by my insurance.

And that’s usually the second question… I mean, some trans women do that, as do some trans men. Though my understanding is trans women are more likely to be able to retain the ability to orgasm afterwards…But no, that sort of decision is still really far away for me.

Well, perhaps this will help explain things. Rachel, could we get lecture lights?

LIGHT CHANGE – GOING TO LECTURE MODE

C2 – SLIDE SHOW START

Lets get started.

C3 – HRT

Hormone replacement therapy (or HRT) for transgender and transsexual people replaces the hormones naturally ocuring in their bodies with those of the other sex.

C4 – HRT Image

Its purpose is to cause the development of secondary sex characteristics of the desired gender. For trans women this includes

C5 – Bullet points for MTF

The breast development and the redistribution of body fat
Reduction of muscle mass
Reduction of body hair
Softening of skin
And so on
‘And So On’ list, fade back to pills

Aside: It’s a little overwhelming.

Hormone replacement therapy cannot undo the changes produced by the first naturally occurring puberty of transgender people, including bone structure and genital development. Hormone replacement therapy is not magic and there are no guarantees as to the results for any one person. Likewise, hormone therapy and transitioning are not guaranteed to produce the ‘ideal picture of femininity’ -

C6 – HRT is not…

- but, you know what? Natural puberty in so-called ‘normal’ women isn’t guaranteed to produce the ideal picture of femininty either.

C7 – Puberty is not…

Now, are there any questions? Rachel, could we get the house lights up for the question-and-answer section?

LIGHT CHANGE – DARK EXCEPT FOR ME

C8 – Any questions

Perfect. Yes, in the back.

(Sigh) Well, just as not all ‘natural’ women grow up liking dolls and dresses, not all trans women do either. Next question.

(Some sort of reaction to the question) Again, just as not all ‘natural’ women like having sex with men, not all trans women do either. Likewise, not all trans men want to have sex with women. And transitioning, for myself and for everyone I’ve talked to and read about, was abut the trans person, not who they would be able to sleep with in a socially acceptable manner after the transition.

Final question. Yes?

(Another reaction to the question) I’m  not sure what you mean by a ‘real woman,’ but I would never doubt someone else’s journey or dismiss their identity because I didn’t understand it. So please don’t doubt or dismiss my journey or my identity or the work I’ve had to do

LIGHTS – DIAGONAL FOR PILLS

Just because you don’t understand it or because I don’t fit your definition of what it means to be a ‘real woman.’

LIGHTS – IT’S EXHAUSTING

When I started transitioning I knew it would be hard work. At least, I’d been told it would be hard work… Hard physical work, like the painful and horribly expensive hair removal, and hard emotional work, like seeing relationships with friends and loved ones change, and not always for the better.

What I didn’t really didn’t think about – and dont’ know I’d have believed if someone had told me – was all the little was it would wear me down.

Things like children and their lack of discretion. Like having one of my students ask why I’m wearing earrings, because “aren’t they for girls?” A friend later mentioned I should have said, “No, earrings are for ears, silly!” Or an audience member who came up to me after a show and asked, “Are you a boy, or a girl?” Or a student in the hall who whispered, “Is he a boy, or a girl?” Or a student in a classroom who, when I came in to give something to the teacher, gossiped, “Was that a boy or a girl?”

Things like strangers or people I just met making assumptions about me or feeling OK asking really personal questions because they know I’m trans. Like a friend of a friend, whose brother was trans, so he felt completely comfortable asking me probing questions about my transition even though we’d just met. And I didnt’ feel strong enough in my discomfort to tell him it was none of his business.

Things like friends and family and loved ones having issue with the pace of the transition.  Have you told so and so? What do you mean you haven’t told so and so? I can’t believe you’re thinking of telling so and so without talking to me first. It’s always too fast or to slow. Too intense or not intense enough. Too much thought or not enough planning. Never the right pace for them, the right speed for them.

Sometimes, it’s exhausting.

It’s exhausting putting one foot in front of the other. It’s exhausting having to be an and educator on behalf of myself. It’s exhausting having to keep my balance.

Sometimes, it’s exhausting.

LIGHTS – MYTH PART TWO

Long ago, when gods and goddesses ruled from Olympus and occasionally came down to walk among mortals, all mothers knew that to give birth to a boy you needed to pray to Ares -

- god of war, of strength -

and to give birth to a girl you needed to pray to Aphrodite -

- goddess of love, of beauty.

But what happened when Ares and Aphrodite disagreed about the sex of an unborn child? Gods and goddesses were known to quarrel, and disagreements over a child’s sex were not as uncommon as you might think.

Such it was with one child who was chosen by Aphrodite to be a girl, to grow into a woman. But Ares was upset with Aphrodite for some perceived slight, and when Aphrodite left the unborn child Ares came and worked his magic. He could not change the unborn child – the unborn girl’s – soul, for Aphrodite had already made that female. But Ares could transform the unborn girl’s body, making by brute force male what was to be female.

And so the child was born, the soul of a girl – ready to be a girl – but within the body of a boy.

And what sort of life would she lead?

He – or she – grew up knowing something was off, something was not quite right. But who could imagine a boy not being a boy? Or a girl not being a girl? So the child grew up with the pain of not fitting within his (or her) own body, and suffered mostly in silence.

At last, he decided to go to Olympus, the palace of the gods, and demand an audience with Ares. She would make Ares right what had been wronged, return her body to its rightful form as female.

So the child climbed up and up and up [repitition], until at last he came to Olympus. And the gods were so awed by her bravery, that they granted her an audience with smoldering and bitter Ares.

LIGHTS? – PUPPET SHOW

This is your fault.

You did this to me.

This is your fault!

You did this to me!

Aren’t you going to say anything?

I didn’t ask to be like this. I didn’t ask to be like this. Do you know what they call people like me? Freaks. Perverts. She-males. He-shes. Because of you, I fear that every glance is a knowing one. Because of you, I fear that every laugh is directed at me. Because of you, I fear that every pair of eyes will pierce me to my core and expose my innermost secrets.

Because of you!

Don’t walk away! Come back here!

LIGHTS? – ENERGY CHANGE

You know what? Fuck Ares.

Fuck the gods.

I don’t need a goddess who has been dust for 2,000 years to tell me how to be a woman, or a god who has been dust for 2,000 years tell me that I can’t.

I will walk my own path. I will find my own voice. I will map my own journey.

And I will write the ending to my own story.

LIGHTS OUT ON EXIT

CHAPTER ONE

Long ago, in the time when gods and goddesses were known to come down from Olympus and walk among mortals, a husband a wife lived near a great sea. They were not so poor as to want for many things, and yet not so well-off as to forget that all mortals can be brought low by divine power. They lived in happiness with their love for each other, and yet they felt their lives were incomplete for they were childless. So they prayed to Demeter, goddess of fertility, and at last the wife felt life stirring within her.

It is said that when a child is conceived it is sexless until touched by Ares, god of war, or Aphrodite, goddess of love; that the formation of any mortal body is incomplete until it is infused with the strength of Ares or the grace of Aphrodite. And yet, what happens when Ares and Aphrodite both claim a mortal child?

Such it was to be with this couple’s unborn child. Aphrodite lay her hand on the unborn child’s brow, transforming he into a girl-child and setting her  on the path to womanhood. But Ares – vengeful Ares, spurned by some slight from Aphrodite – saw this and decided to claim the child for his own. He picked up his bow, pulled an arrow, straight and true, and dipped it in his essence, poison to one already touched by Aphrodite. With deadly accuracy he let the arrow fly down from Olympus and it pierced the core of the unborn girl. Ares’ poison spread through the unborn child, transfiguring to male by brute force what was to be female. And, nine months later, the expectant mother gave birth to Apogonos: a healthy baby boy, who took one look at himself and began to wail thick tears of grief.

CHAPTER TWO

Apogonos grew up knowing some part of him was not right, was off somehow. In his heart of hearts he was sure he did not want to grow from boyhood to manhood, would much rather cast off maleness entirely and grow into a woman’s body. But he would have violently denied any such accusation, said they were wrong: He was a boy and would be a man.

For Apogonos had been struck by the poisoned shaft of Ares, and drawn into a whirlpool of male and female.

The poison had always whispered in Apogonos’s ear, telling him that something was amiss, and on his tenth birthday Apogonos dreamed. In his dream he saw clearly his creation. He saw Aphrodite in her glory reach out from Olympous and touch his unborn self. He saw Ares look down in anger an pick up a great war-bow, and notch an arrow as thick as a man’s thumb. Apogonos saw the arrow released, saw its flight from Olympus. Somehow, through the magic of the gods, by the time it reached the ground it had faded to a shadow that passed over Apogonos’s spirit, and yet the damage it did is as real as a cut from a blade. Apogonos’s body was transformed to male, but his spirit – her spirit – remains female, and the imbalance has plagued Apogonos like an unhealed and unhealable wound.

Apogonos woke from his dream with a start, the dream firmly etched on his mind’s eye.

He tried to put the dream out of his mind, but it haunted him and stalked him, day in and day out. He thought about it constantly. What would his life be like had be been born a girl? He thought about long hair and short, pierced ears and bare, he thought about bodies and curves and hair and muscle and fat, and he thought about himself, and who he wanted to be. And who she might have been. Apogonos thought about Ares, and about Aphrodite.

CHAPTER THREE

For the next ten years, those questions were never far from his mind. At the same time, he felt plagued by inaction – miserable as a prisoner in a body he did not want, and yet terrified of what giving voice to his soul’s true desire might do. He told friends, who accepted his statements at face value but could offer no real advice or guidance to counter the will of Ares. Who were they to question the great and powerful god? He told his parents, who took him to priests and soothsayers in an effort to discover the will of Ares, but to no avail. And he told the gods and goddesses on Olympus, whose only response was silence.

At last, at twenty, when he was supposed to be a man, he set off on a journey to find his own path. The dream, now ten years past, continued to haunt his mind and he was unable to find a moment of peace or relief from its bitter message. Apogonos knew from years of pain that there was no help to be found in the town of his birth so with a pack and a farewell, he walked away from all he knew.

Apogonos walked for many days, passing far outside the borders of familiarity and safety. He slept in a tent or – more often – under the stars, alone with his thoughts. But the time alone only solidified that which he already knew: He would find a way to recitfy Ares’ festering wound and deliver himself from manhood, or he would deliver himself to Hades and let the Lord of the Underworld deal with him as he would. Perhaps as a shade, as one of the dead, the true self he knew was there – the woman Aphrodite intended him to be – could be revealed.

Apogonos continued on his journey.

CHAPTER FOUR

Finally, after a month of walking without destination and sinking deeper and deeper into despair, Apogonos came upon a shrine at a split in the road, each path stretching out into the distance. The shrine was to Hermes, messenger of the gods and ruler of boundaries and those who wish to cross him. Who better to take a message to Ares demanding retribution or to Aphrodite requesting mercy? Apogonos sat near the shrine for days and prayed, but received only silence in return.

Beginning to lose hope, Apogonos continued on his journey.

After another month of walking without destination, despair consuming every moment of sleep and wakefulness, Apogonos came upon another shrine, this one at the base of a great waterfall, with great liquid foam bubbling all around. This shrine was to Aphrodite, goddess of of love and of beauty, responsible for the creation of all women everywhere. Surely, she would look down on Apogonos as a lost daughter, and take pity. Apogonos sat near the shrine for a full week, fasting and praying, but again received only silence in return.

Now fully hopeless, Apgonos continued on his journey.

For another month he walked without destination, often forgetting to eat, his only thoughts on the rift between his body and soul. At last, he came upon another shrine, this one surrounded by sulfurous hot-springs and shrouded in acrid smoke. This shrine was to Ares, god of ware, of bloodlust, of the slaughter, responsible for the creation of men everywhere. Apogonos had no hope Ares would hear him after all this time, and yet, what did he have to lose? Apogonos gathered his thoughts, and began to speak.

“This isn’t anything I asked for. This isn’t anything I wanted.” Apogonos spoke softly, his eyes cast at the ground in front of him. “I came looking for a way to fix this, to undo what you did. I neve wanted your gifts, you blessings.” Apogonos spat at the ground, and his words began to gain momentum. “This is your fault! You did this!” Apogonos begins to yell at the shrine set in the stone before him. “It’s your fault I’m a freak, an outcast, an abomination! Can’t be a man, because of Aphrodite, and can’t be a woman, because of you! So what now, Ares? Ares, great and powerful? What now?”

And that is all of the myh of Ares and Aphrodite that has made it through the ages, passed down to us. Or, more likely, I don’t know how this story ends, because I haven’t finished living it yet.

But I hope it has a happy ending.

-R

So there it is! Not as amazing as I might have hoped, but definitely not as unsuccessful as I might have feared. First, some things I think were successful:

• The general concept of transitioning between the Ares and Aphrodite myth and personal narrative. I was pretty sure this was where I wanted to go, but seeing one following the other in what I think was a sensical fashion was reasuring.
• The language itself. I definitely need feedback and to do tweaks, but much of the language that worked on the page (or the blog…) worked pretty well as spoken text. There were some awkward parts, but nothing I’m just inherently unhappy with.
• That I did it at all. This mentorship and the concept of performing as R has been a big leap outside my comfort zone (both personally and artistically) and I want to give myself kudos for moving forward with it in the first place.
• Some of the pantomime concepts, particularly the bow and arrow. I need to go much further with this, and was hindered by lack of paper (see below…) but I’m very much pro-pantomime in theatre in general, and think that it’ll serve this piece very well, especially moving with the oral storytelling/myth concepts.

Now, some things I think were less successful:

• An utter lack of video editing! This isn’t really a flaw with the piece so much as my technology, but my editor died so I had to make do with posting the raw footage directly from the camera to YouTube. Boo!
• The ‘set.’ The location was a result of the space that was available given my time constraints. I’m still trying to figure out what (if any) video projection in the final piece makes sense, but the backdrop certainly won’t be a blackboard, so don’t worry!
• Having paper in my hands! This was a result of having never spoken the pieces out loud before, and it very much hindered my ability to play with movement.

Apogonos tried to put the dream out of his mind, but it haunted him and stalked him, day in and day out. He thought about it constantly. What would his life be like had be been born a girl? He thought about long hair and short, pierced ears and bare, he thought about bodies and curves and hair and muscle and fat, and he thought about himself, and who he wanted to be.

For the next ten years, those questions were never far from his mind. At the same time, he felt plagued by inaction – miserable as a prisoner in a body he did not want, and yet terrified of what giving voice to that desire might do. He told friends, who accepted his statements at face value but could offer no real advice or guidance. He told his parents, who smiled and nodded and, with great love, had no idea what to do about it or how to handle what their son was saying. He told the gods, who looked down in silence.

At last, at twenty, when he was supposed to be a man (and yet we know how often, at twenty, we are still but children) he set off on a journey to find his own path. The dream, now ten years past, continued to haunt his mind and he was unable to find a moment of peace or relief from its haunting message. Apogonos knew from years of pain that there was no help to be found in the town of his birth so with a pack and a farwell, he walked away from all he knew.

The road that ran parallel to the large inland lake near his home was well-traveled and safe. Periodically, he would catch a hint of blue from between the tree branches and see the sun shine off the surface of thr water. He walked for many days, occasionally passing fellow travelors or carts of trade goods, sleeping in a tent or – more often – under the stars.The time alone was time to think, but only solidified that which he already knew: He would find a way to recitfy Ares’ festering wound and deliver himself from manhood, or he would deliver himself to Hades and let the Lord of the Underworld deal with him as he would.

“You’re going to kill yourself? How melodramatic.”

In the years since his dream, and particularly in the years since puberty, Apogonos had developed an inner voice who conversed with him in the tone of a woman about his age. He thought of her – when he thought of her at all; her existance embarassed him to no end – as who he should have been. Who he would be, or die trying.

“Be quiet. I’m not going to kill myself. But I can’t live like this. You know that.” And she did, for she was him.

“Then do something about it. Let me be you instead of just yelling at you. Stop dancing around what you want and reach out to grab it!”

“I don’t know how!” And, as he had many times before, Apogonos wept himself to sleep.

The two big threes I’m looking at right now are my tongue-in-cheeck ‘three puberties’ (in Puberty = Chicken Pox) and, more helpful for the story I’m creating, three therapists (I went through two lousy therapists before my current – awesome and amazing – therapist.) I don’t think I can help myself from using that as a repeated story event: the main character goes to one person (inevitably going to be a witch or sooth-sayer or whatnot) who can’t help, a second who can’t help, and a third who is finally able to help.

Hmm…. I know I also need to write more personal narrative….

-R

And yet, Apogonos had always known some part of him was not right, was off somehow. In his heart of hearts he was sure he did not want to grow from boyhood to manhood, and would much rather cast off maleness entirely and claim a woman’s body. But he would have violently denied any such accusation, said they were wrong, he was a boy and would be a man.

For Apogonos had been struck at birth by the poisoned shaft of Ares, and drawn into a whirlpool of male and female.

The poison had seeped into his blood, lay mostly dormant for ten years, but was slowly coming to a boil.

The poison had always whispered in Apogonos’ ear, telling him that something was amis, and on his tenth birthday Apogonos dreamed:

A fire casts long, flickering shadows across the room, obscuring the rooms’ borders and making it appear to stretch out forever. A raised platform is lit by the fire, covered in blankets, and at its center lies a tiny figure, cradled by the cloths and furs and drapings. It is a baby, or the spirit of a baby, or the baby of a spirit. Its sleep is quite, its breathing steady.

A figure walks in front of the fire, sending a dark shadow across the platform and obscuring the baby. The size of the figure is impossible to determine, and seems to shift and bend as rapidly as the fire itself. Drawing closer, it becomes clear that the baby is a girl-child, nude, and now sensing the presence of the figure and turning in worry and agitation.

The figure draws a bow that is simultaniously overpoweringly large and somehow perfectly proportioned to the baby’s size. It is both the extreme of brute force and perfect delicacy; a bow that a strong man would have trouble drawing and that a young child could easily break.

The figure draws an arrow that is made of wood simultaneously as thick as a man’s thumb and slender as a piece of yellowed straw. Its tip is razor sharp and shines in the light of the fire as if covered in a toxic ichor.

The bow is notched. The arrow drawn back. Released. It flies with a savage beauty and lands true. For a split second, the baby is pierced with a huge war-arrow and killed instantly, without time to cry out. For a split second, the baby is pierced with a delicate arrow of improbably fine craftsmanship, and barely feels it enough to notice.

Both arrows fade into nothingness and the figure is gone. The baby remains, whole and sound and seemingly unharmed.

Seemingly. But, in spite of her safety, she begins to cry.

But, Apogonos knows that elsewhere, ten years in the past, he is lying in a swadling cloth, crying those same tears. Where is she, his spirit-self? Has Ares killed her? Has Ares doomed him? Ares has robbed him/her of his/her birthright and womanhood, left male by what all rights was female,.

Apogonos woke with a start, drenched in cold sweat, the dream fresh on his mind’s eye.

It’s true.

The gods on high looked down from Olympus and saw him, barely formed, and Ares, god of war, of bloodshed, of the slaughter, picked up his bow and notched an arrow, straight and true.

It was an arrow dipped in poison.

Now, let it be said that not all the weapons of Ares are dipped in poison. Some are objects of great strength, of power. Walking with Ares need not mean death and destruction. But, for Apogonos, it was a poison arrow.

But, perhaps, by beginning at the beginning I have in fact done a disservice to the story. So let us, for a moment, take a step back and cast a wider net.

In the time when gods and goddesses still ruled and were known to come down from Olympus and walk among the mortals, a husband and wife lived along a great inland sea. They were not so poor as to want for many things, and yet not so well off as to forget that all mortals can be brought low by divine power. They lived in happiness, and had been blessed with two sons. The eldest son, Sotira, was strong and bold, ready to face any challenge head-on and without fear. He was sure to grow up to be an explorer of distant lands, always interested in what lay beyond the next ridge and over the horizon. The younger son, Apogonos, was cautious and hesitant, enjoying reading about and imagining challenges much more than meeting them face-to-face. He was sure to grow up to be a thinker of deep thoughts, always ready to delve into a discussion of what was right and what was true.

For many years both sons grew by the shore of the inland sea, playing in its waters, exploring its nearby forests and fields, scraping knees and growing like weeds (as young boys are wont to do). By their tenth and twelfth years, respectively, Apogonos was already inquisitive and book-smart beyond his peers and Sotira was a strong leader among his. Both were on the border between youth and adulthood, and on the cusp of the changes that would make them into men.

Name meanings (with bonus points if you can figure out the names I’m going from to get these words:  Apogonos – descendant
Oglau – son of (may be used in place of above if I get annoyed with Apogonos)
Sotira – salvation
Edisa – to bind