​Carmen Ghia
Black hardtop
Stick shift 
I learned stick on the fly 
Flew off the road into the forest 
Fucking stick 
Radio blasting whether I’m alone or with a barfly 
Hollywood streets are dark at closing time
Not like New York
Must be real late 
After work I stay to throw back a few with some die hard
The restaurant’s dark 
I’m lit
I scream with the radio ‘What I like About You’ 
Check the real view mirror to see if my make up is running
Fucking mascara 
Always leaves extra black shit around my eyes
Smearing my forefinger under my lid takes care of that
My vision gets sketchy
Might have poked myself 
I’m driving down some street 
Where am I 
The world goes blurry 
Like crossing my eyes to get a laugh
It’s that toy that flashes photos in binoculars with a click 
Click
Parked cars appear closer
Click
Parked cars go away 
Click
White line on my side of the road 
Click
White line vanishes
​Click
Now as far as I hear death treats everyone alike
Death doesn’t care if I’m young or old
Pretty or plain
Girl or boy
I mean we all have a candle lit just for us 
when it burns down 
Click 
I’m driving in the wrong direction down a one way street
Click 
I don’t remember how I found my way home 
Click
Death doesn’t care if I write poems 
​Click
I wake up in a strangers bed
Click
Hand on my ass
Click 
I tell stories I can’t remember 
Click
I walk home without my coat
Click
I throw up on my boyfriends bed 
Click
I fall down and stay
Click
Click
Click 
Death doesn’t care if I’m rich or poor
Religious or heathen
Straight or bi
Head pounding
Tummy hurts
I’m still high
Room spinning
Regrets surface
Deals made
I’m a piece of shit
Death doesn’t take to pleading 
Death doesn’t see my soul
Death doesn’t care at all 
I’ve wanted to die
To be taken from misery
Death isn't very smart
I didn’t die 
Some people are too mean to die
Is that me 
Some are too tricky
Is that me
Others are too stupid
Is that me
Click 

It’s happening again. The rooms have become too small. We hold our breath as we walk by. We spiral down holes where we land mad and resentful and afraid. Human activity can be regenerative, and our productive capacities can be transformed  We can stop this. We can reach for each other, and hold dropped leashes in our hands. We can do this. Together, population, fertility rates, mortality rates. We can stop this, industrial output, food production, resources. We can reach for each other, pollution, social conflict, disease.   

It’s happening again. The rooms are filled with regrets. We hold our breath as we walk by. We spiral down holes of righteousness and wrongs and too late. We know it’s not easy, and poses transition challenges, but a sustainable, and inclusive future, is still possible. We can stop this but it’ll take more than half of us. It’ll take more than hope. It’ll take all of us. Changing, our societal priorities, needs to expand, right now. It’ll take all of us. But we're so very small. It’ll take all of us. Let's be brave. Let's willing to take a risk. Let's be willing to fight. We are one. 

It’s happening again. The rooms are littered with dust and mirrors. We hold our breath as we walk by. We spiral down holes, impotent of responding, to global challenges. 
We’re not looking at each other. We’re looking at our own reflection. We’re making footprints waiting for someone else to clean up. Counting steps. Brushing away hairs. Smiling into our teacups. We think school will help. We think a job will help. We think a spouse will help. We think a new place to live will help.We think a baby will help. We think love love love will help. 

It’s happening again. The rooms are filled with bodies. We hold our breath as we walk by. We spiral down holes that have no exit when we choose not to act. The odds are on a knife’s edge. The development, and deployment, of vaccines, at unprecedented rates, demonstrates that we are capable. Arms spread out. Waiting to be crucified. Expecting it really. Who has the hammer? The nails? The guts? The stone un thrown? Who has the chisel? The wood? The space? Who will cover the body? Burn the cloths? Dig the hole? Who who who will help? 
 
It’s happening again. The rooms are overflowing puddles. We hold our breath as we walk by. We spiral down holes wrapped like a present bouncing around in a box. Scratching at the corners to find a way out. Knowing deep down that the only way is through. Squinting our eyes. Hiding under a cocktail. Lying to our friends. How excessive must the temperatures go? When will the water levels be too high? Where will we throw our garbage? Who’s funeral will it be enough? How much do we want to live? And who do we live for? And do we even understand what that means? 

​So. I know everyone is tired of hearing me talk about vaccines. Hell, I’m tired of it too. But I want to go visit my mother who just got out of the hospital. Hell, I want to visit my granddaughter who’s growing up without knowing me. I was hoping my son would arrive here for a visit this week but the pandemic changed his plans. Made me cry. Hard to take. It’s been too long. I’ve had abortions. Let’s see? It was three, two before my son and one after. Two my choice and one I had no choice at all. I’ve walked women into abortion clinics so they could have abortions too. With right to lifers screaming in our faces. That’s a scary thing to have happen. I mean, I don’t stand for anyone screaming at me, let alone in my face. I mean, I’ve been slapped in my face but never screamed at. I mean, I’ve never screamed in anyone’s face but fuck I’ve wanted to. I’ve carried a gun. With my finger on the trigger, in the pocket of my hoodie, while riding on the subways late at night. I could have killed somebody. I think if some guy came up to me and screamed in my face I would have shot him. Like, the laws they just passed in Texas, will have a shit ton of vigilantes intimidating women and people of color. Screaming in their faces. Still. Again. Always. For fucking ever.  So I say vote. For our right to choose. For more stringent gun laws. For our right to vote. But now. back to the vaccine. As you can see I believe in the right to choose. I believe in gun laws so we don’t vigilante out. But I also believe in getting vaccinated so we can save one and other. To travel. Visit family. See new places, or old favorites. Without getting sick, or getting someone else sick, or dying. How do I circumnavigate these truths that are self evident? How do I nourish friendships that tug on my heart? How do I let go of judgement? Maybe I don’t. Maybe I can’t. Maybe there’s nothing left. I’ll die soon. What? Twenty? Twenty five years? That’s a hell of a lot less time than it is from my birth. I was born just about 62 years ago. I don’t have that long to live. Maybe nobody does. That makes me sad. We should all have at least 62 years to live. I’m done talking about vaccines. About civil duty. Hell. About global duty. Now I’m going to talk about love. Gosh. As soon as I wrote that sentence my whole body relaxed. I think the nag champa I’m burning is bringing out my flower girl. But at the same time it’s too much. I’m too much. Too much for my mom. My husband. My son. My friends. Too much for me. Too much of my choices. Vaccine? My choice. Abortion? My choice. Gun control? My choice. Vote democratic? My choice. That’s it. That’s all I got. That’s all I am. 

I don’t want to do this. I don’t like this exercise. I’m lazy. I
don’t always keep commitments. I just want to give up.
And then I feel guilty because I think I should do this. It’s
good for me. At least it has been in the past. But it’s
different now. Little boxes of faces, unfamiliar and strange
sharing colorful painted vignettes over bits and bytes. I
feel out of place now. Like I missed too much. Like I’m not
good enough anymore. I want to sit on the couch again.
She finishes her piece with a phrase that punches me in
the gut. I’ve been holding my breath. My earlobes are
reaching across the room to capture every metaphor and
feeling. The soft couch holds my weight as heaviness
descends from my heart to my belly. So anyway, Poni is
on the couch next to me and Pam, Jessica and Makamae
are on the couch across from us. The others are on chairs
completing the circle around the low wooden table that
holds mugs of tea, candles, and pretty ornate boxes. It’s
cozy, you know. We’ve done this so many times before.
The breeze is coming through the glass slider behind me
and the Sun has ducked behind the Areca palms lining the
yard. Pi the cat looks down from the top stair with half
closed lids and perky ears. He looks comfy. I’m comfy. In a
soft t-shirt and tights. My feet are tucked under me and I’m
holding a pillow on my lap. I like the couch. That’s why I try
to come early. So I can sit on the couch and be
comfortable while I listen to all the woven words move
through the space, you know what I mean. Get
comfortable people. It’s easier to pay attention when your
body feels good. You don’t want to be distracted by
discomfort. There’s an air of discomfort in the room. The
content she just shared is intense and heavy. Most of the
people have their eyes closed and their heads bowed. The
energetic punch to my gut is resonating around the circle.
After a potent pause, we all take a collective breath as the
air rushes back into the room.
I miss Ivy’s living room, you know what I mean. I miss the
hugs and giggles and camaraderie. I miss the big table
and the Fuck Off pillows. I miss feeling held in her soft,
strong container where I could be myself and keep trying
to show up.

A friend of mine posted that he does not like ice cream! I find that hard to believe! Who doesn’t like ice cream?! What’s wrong with this person, and do I still consider him a friend? I’m not sure…
I was also told that a couple of ladies I know believe in some sort of reptile conspiracy theory! What’s wrong with these people? The one
 thing I won’t eat are bananas, and that’s because of a bad experience I had in the back of my dad’s VW van after eating banana birthday cake while I had the flu! And I’ve never seen a lizard person I didn’t like.
I judge people all the time. I want to be more accepting of things that I can’t relate to but I’m an ox and it’s hard to push me off my path – at least I think I’m an ox or a white cow, depends on which Chinese astrology app I’m reading at the time. And don’t get me started about numerology – I’m a 30/3 if you ask Dan Millman. 30/3s are all about emotional expression and the zero means I’ve got special gifts, but were not always good at what were here to work on so… At least I know I’m a Leo and my moon is in Sagittarius… yea that explains it! Are you fucking kidding me?! Who doesn’t like ice cream!
If there are reptiles impersonating humans and trying to control us by shoving microchips into our brains through Covid test swabs or vaccines, then I want to eat as much ice cream as I can before the lizard people turn us all into soylent green – besides my Venus is in Gemini so I could go either way – plus I’ll probably have a little something on the side just in case.
The laws of science versus the laws of the Gods, now that’s an entertaining battle! Tie her up and see if the witch burns or throw her into the river and see if she floats. If she dies, we’ll know she’s a good god-fearing Christian! And who’s God is better anyway, the Muslims or the Hindus or the Apache’s or the lizard people? Let’s make them eat ice cream and if they start to grow scales, we’ll tie them up and burn them at the stake and then we’ll throw them into the river and if they are still alive after all that, we’ll make them eat bananas in the back of my old man’s VW van.

My old friend Willie Nelson proclaims they only have three rules in his house: #1 – Don’t be an asshole! #2 – Don’t be an asshole, and #3 – Don’t be a fucking asshole! I thought this is the wisest, most profound thing that I have ever heard so I’ve adopted these rules for my own home. I have to admit – it’s not as easy as it sounds. See, I have some serious asshole DNA in my blood. My father is asshole, my mother is an asshole, her mother was an asshole, my brother is an asshole, my sister is an asshole, and of course I am a complete fucking asshole! 
We try not to be. We hide behind masks and live lies, but when the shit hits the fan, a true asshole always give themselves away, in the end. Nevertheless, strive to live by these simple rules: #1 – Don’t be an asshole! #2 – Don’t be an asshole, and #3 – Don’t be a fucking asshole!
Willie once asked me to bring my guitar and join him to perform at a concert he was playing at the MACC, but his regular guitar player that night said, “There’s NO way you’re getting on this stage dude!”. Now I thought this guy was being a cockblocking mother fucking asshole, and when I told Willie later, he just laughed and didn’t give it much thought. I told this story to an acquaintance the other night and she said I was being the asshole and should have understood where this guy was coming from – trying to protect his gig and all. Well, I think she’s an asshole for not understanding where I was coming from!  And yet, I do, I try to live by the three simple rules: #1 – Don’t be an asshole! #2 – Don’t be an asshole, and #3 – Don’t be a fucking asshole!
I don’t know if there is ever an elevation from assholiness. Like a graduation, or a knighthood or something. Most holes retain their distinct mannerisms throughout their life, even if they work at subduing the inevitable revelations through misconstrued interpretations. I’ve been categorizing my own strategies with the hope of elimination but that’s like asking a skunk not to stink. And still, I try to abide, by these rules: #1 – Don’t be an asshole! #2 – Don’t be an asshole, and #3 – Don’t be a fucking asshole!
Wash me down, scrub me up, put me through the ringer, nothing ever changes. I know what’s in me and I know one when I smell one. I don’t think I was born like this, so maybe there’s hope and someday I can eradicate the excrement and learn to see things from the other side. My blood pressure could use the slide, but in the meantime, I’ll keep trying to live by the three simple rules: #1 – Don’t be an asshole! #2 – Don’t be an asshole, and #3 – Don’t be a fucking asshole!

​She is the love of my life!
I know it the moment I see her. I’ve been waiting all my life, and now she’s here! I have no doubt! I had a false alarm a few years before with another girl who could have been her twin. It felt very similar, but we were much too young. This time it’s real. This time, I’m all in! This time, I’m going there no matter what the deal is! 
She is the love of my life!
She looks just the way I want her to. I wouldn’t change a thing! Everything about her is perfect to me. Five foot four, one hundred and sixteen pounds. Thick brown hair, long with golden highlights, the right side tucked behind her ear. Deep set eyes, a faraway green that says, ‘I’ve seen a lot, more than I’m willing to tell”, but she’s still hoping to be surprised! She’s still hoping for a reason to smile.
She is the love of my life!
I’m attracted with the all the magnet forces of the universe, like the gods had planned it, and we agreed before we were born. I love her smell, the sound of her voice, the fullness of her lips. I love how one tooth is just slightly tilted. I love the gentle hint of a few freckles across the bridge of her once broken nose. I love how her breasts hang just so. I love that she doesn’t wear a bra, and her nipples push through her sweater in the cold Mendocino air.
She is the love of my life!
The husband is missing, it’s been about a week. I towed him in last month. Bad steering. The Police won’t help, they know his history. She’s asked around town. His crew knows nothing. The harbor doesn’t tell. They’ve seen him crossing the river from bar to bar. We couldn’t find his dingy. We couldn’t find a thing. 
She is the love of my life!
I drank a lot of whiskey last night. Laying on my back on the outboard gunwale, soaking up the morning sun, nursing my coffee, smoking another cig, not yet getting anything done. Someone hollers “Hey Bowen, they found your floater” …
He’s under the Sportsman’s Dock. Long green sleeves and blue jeans puffed out like a balloon. His face, a rubber mask like on Halloween. There are people watching from the shore. I see her in the crowd. She knows what this means. She knows I’m putting him in the basket. We nod. It’s a sad grey morning.
She is the love of my Life!
I see her in the grocery. She’s doing alright. Her mother says I should check on her - It’s Easter night. We talk until the sun comes up then lay quiet on her coach. I come back after work. Watching her cook, I get out of my chair and turn her towards me, I kiss her soft, then hard, and hold her tight for the first time in our lives.
She is the love of my life! 

I think we all need to just pause for a minute, for a moment, for a breath.

Nothing is normal. The entire world has shifted on its axis, every life turned upside down. Whether unmasked or masked, vaxxed or unvaxxed, sick or well, we’re all affected. And we all need to just pause for a moment, for a minute, for a breath.

We need to look up from our reflective screens to see the bigger picture. Too many myopic views are skewed by Fox News and Facebook and other misinformation. And yes, we have rights— and they should be protected—but right now, we need to pause. And be thankful we can take another breath. We need to take a minute to do the math, to computate the numbers and convert them into lives so the magnitude of the situation comes back into clear focus. We need to take a moment to ponder the fact that almost every single person sick, or dead or dying from Covid has someone who loves them or someone they love.

I think we all need to just pause, and take a minute, take a moment, take a breath.

Take a breath…
                    Take a breath…
                                        Take a breath…

And appreciate the thing that so many are fighting for in this. Very. Moment.

And YES, I’m worried about my kids. Just the first two days of school resulted in two letters home, that two employees tested positive. My kids are positive they don’t want the vaccine and I can’t blame ‘em. My side effects have continued for months. BUT, instead of freaking out about their proximity to others, instead of re-locking them in their rooms and bathing them in sanitizer, instead of forcing an injection over their objections; hands-tied, sleeves-pushed-up, gags-silencing-their muffled-cries, instead of all that I think I need to just pause for a minute. 

PAUSE. 

For a minute, for a moment, for a breath.

It might only take a moment….
To realize our interconnectivity. To realize it isn’t just about us. To realize the responsibility EVERY shoulder carries. This falls on each of us, and it’s a heavy load.

So yeah, I think we all need to just pause. For a minute. For a moment. For a breath.

Summertime…I want the living to be easy; and fun; and sexy.  Summertime…stop with the usual routine and go find adventure in all its forms.  Explore new places on earth and in your own mind.  Expand your relationships.  Risk, risk, risk for tomorrow we go back to our tedious routines; Pay bills, wash dishes, return calls.
Summertime, what are you waiting for? Let loose, sow some crazy quinoa.  Times a wasting…stop fretting, worrying about the future, ruminating about the past.  Go live large. Do something that wakes you up, puts you on your edge.  The time is now, for its summertime.  The days are long and the weather is warm.  Time to show your beautiful body with pride.  Don’t cover up those thighs, tummy, or ass.  However you are be proud. Be bold.  Give people something to talk about, judge, envy and admire.  If you can’t travel explore where you live.  Try something or someone new.  Allow one of your shadow parts a day to come out and play.  Maybe get a tattoo.  Visit a dispenseary.  Star in a play or sing out loud to your friends.  Maybe perform one of your written pieces at Ivy and Carl’s place.
It’s summertime.  Seize the sun rotation.  Ka Sara Sara.  Throw caution to the rainbows.  Don’t you want an exhilarating story to tell to your grandchildren or your hospice workers so they appreciate that your weren’t always this old and slow? So they know whom they are dealing with? So they realize That Once you were a like a hurricane others watched with both excitement and trepidation wondering if you would indeed come their way? Or maybe just to amuse yourself as you lay waiting to transition. Why not have something intoxicating to write about in your memoirs.
It’s summertime, what are you waiting for?  Why are you still here, listening to me? Go outside.  Get to the water, or forest, or city or happy hour.  Later you can nap, but not just yet.  You haven’t earned it yet. I want to hear the adventure first.  Make me breathless, holding on every word.  Knowing that if I weren’t seeing you here now I’d be wondering if you survived.  Make me laugh and cry with the absurdity and heartbreak of it.   Arouse me with your erotic tales, inspiring me to spice up my own intimate life.
It’s summertime; the world is your puppy.  Go play, show it whose boss.  And don’t worry about the shit.  Shit is just part of it.  Clean it up and move on. (but be sure to use colored eco-friendly bags that you dispose of properly!)  To the sunny field. The green meadow.  The Farris wheel. The hot springs. Be sure to kiss.  And get wet.  And do summersaults, why not summersaults?
Well enough talk.  I see you’ve gotten your hat and are politely waiting for me to finish so you can go.  No worries I’m on my way out too.  See you back in a month or three and we can drink wine and compare our delious, juicy, shocking stories.

Grey is my color. 

Grey is neutral. Grey is balance. Grey is the Tao, the middle way, moderation, in everything —including moderation. 

Grey is moisture and protection, like clouds, quenching the land and hiding the glaring sun. 

Grey is glum, like Eeyore. Kul used to call me Eeyore. Grumpy, or sullen. She said I didn’t know the effect of my moods, how I would throw my energy around. I’m sorry for her that she had to deal with that, and thankful she helped me see it.  That’s one side of grey. 

Grey is subtle. Grey is humble. Grey is benign, and indistinct. It doesn’t draw attention to itself, it blends in, it speaks seldom and gently, it matches its energy to its surroundings. 

Grey is the color of geese. 

I had a dream one time. I was sleeping in the back of our van, that Marc and Robb and I bought for our cross-country trek after college. (Now that I think about it, we named the van Eeyore.) We were in Scottdale, Arizona. I dreamt of myself in the back of the van, and became aware that I was dreaming, seeing myself from the outside. I heard geese overhead. I looked up and saw grey geese against a grey sky. As is the feeling in a lucid dream, I could fly, or float, so I drifted up toward the geese, merged in with them, became them, became the grey. 

Another time I was going to a sweat lodge one evening, on the mesa in Bolinas. I took a nap on top of this mound, they called Indian Mound because they found arrowheads there and such. It was some kind of significant place. A flock of geese woke me up from my slumber, flying low right over me. They woke me up just in time to make it to the sweat. When I got there, they said the geese had flown right over them too. On a straight line from the sweat lodge to me, they flew.

One lesson of Geese is the nature of teamwork and leadership. 

Geese fly thousands of miles in their migrations by drafting off each other. As they fly in a V, they create a vortex wave that swirls out and pushes forward each one behind. They take turns in front. When one gets tired, it peels out and finds a place back where it can rest. By sharing the lead, they go long distances together, much further than what any single bird could fly alone. 

At Sloans Lake in Denver, the geese come there during the grey winter. Right next to the lake is St. Anthony’s Hospital, where I was born. Later in her life, my mom moved back there, and to keep her heart healthy she would walk around the lake every morning. When I went to visit, we would walk together. The geese there keep the lake from freezing over completely by swimming in circles, keeping the water moving. So there are these holes in the ice with a few geese constantly swimming in circles. They take turns. One goose will get cold and tired and jump out of the hole, and another one will jump in. By sharing the task, they always have water. ​