“Aussie, what are you doing?”

“Digging my way to the White House. I don’t have much time, Donald is losing his home in less than a month. I think this is the quickest way, I just have to dig deep and then turn south. Get there in no time.”

“He’s trying hard not to have to leave, Auss.”

“Of course. The White House is free housing, for God’s sake!”

“I never thought of it like that. You know, Aussie, people kill for a rent-controlled apartment in New York.”

“Presidential homelessness is a national scandal! He’s lucky he has me to tell the world how great he is.”

“No, Aussie, he has me to thank for that.”


“You see, Aussie, I hate to tell you this, but I’m the one who comes up with your voice.”

“You do not. It’s my voice, it’s all me.”

“I give you your voice, Aussie. You don’t talk.”

“Of course, I talk! I talk your ear off.”

“Aussie, every single thing you say comes from me.”

“I talk. You can’t understand a word I say, but I talk.”

“You know what’s interesting about this voice that’s both your voice and my voice, Auss? All these things are in me. Who would think that I would consider going to live with Donald Trump in the White House?”

“I don’t see you digging!”

“Or that I would call Henry names and want to deport him—”

“He’s a foreigner, for God’s sake, a Chihuahua!”

“Or make fun of people and dogs who’re not like me—”

“I LOVE doing that!”

“Wonderful, Aussie.”

“What’s wonderful?”

“When I give you your voice, it lets all these other voices come out—and I didn’t even know they were there! That’s the gift of creativity, Aussie. You never know what’s in you till you start playing or writing or dancing, and suddenly you can’t believe all the voices that have been in you all the time.”

“It’s my voice!. You’re an idiot.”

“Even the voice that calls me an idiot is my voice, Aussie.”

“It’s my voice. I love calling you names.”

“It’s all my voices, Aussie, all infinite expressions of life. And you know what? My liberal voice is yours, too.”

“Can’t be. I’m no idiot.”

“Aussie, since we’re all one we have all the voices in creation inside.”

“I don’t want to hear no silly dharma.”

“Being creative helps us remove certain barriers so that we could express things we wouldn’t ordinarily, Aussie, see?”

“I think you’re hearing things. Your entire brain is rotting away, you’re forgetting everything. Remember how you lost the bag of walnuts? I love walnuts and you lost the bag.”

“I didn’t lose it, Auss, I misplaced it.”

“You looked for it everywhere, including the freezer, and where did you find it? In a Cheerios box. What are walnuts doing in a Cheerios box? And, oh great master of all voices, let me remind you of the car wash.”

“Please, Aussie, don’t talk about it.”

“Not a voice you like to hear, right? I mean, who the hell leaves the back window open inside a car wash?”

“I had no idea. I turn around and see you looking at me overjoyed, and I say: ‘Aussie, how did you turn so white?’ And you say—”

“’Because I’m covered with soap suds, dummy!’ Only then did you realize the window was completely open.”

“All that water came in and drenched you, the car seat and the car rug on the bottom. A terrible smell for weeks!”

“Coolest car wash ever. What a stink.”

“Where’s Henry, Aussie?”

“I hid him in the Cheerios box. By the time you find him he’ll be—”

“Aussie, I’ve never seen or heard such a grumpy, hateful, spiteful Christmas spirit as what you’re embodying on Christmas Eve.”

“Just another one of your voices!”

So, here’s another voice: A Merry Christmas to all. Fill the absences around the table and in your heart with da light; find space in emptiness; do some good for others. Nurture and love yourselves as the vessels of all God’s voices. Much, much love from Eve, Henry, Jimena, immigrant families, Donald, Aussie—

“Not me!”