I stand, locked, in front of the Van Gogh. I feel dizzy, lightheaded as it draws me into itself. My feet are planted, but I feel my body being pulled into the scene. My eyes break away for a second and I glance around, wondering if anyone else feels what I feel – the energy and joy and anger and consciousness emanating from that painting…I reel backward, tearing my eyes away. Next, the Picasso. Hours later, I leave the museum in an exhausted sweat.

I am convinced that if I was born in a different century, I would have been burned as a witch.

I believe sex heals and herbs protect, and that both should be taken religiously, vigorously and often.

My heart has what is best described as a divining or dowsing rod. My sensitivity to the changes in the vibes of people around me is so strong that it makes me want to run into the streets, screaming, “The sky is falling!”

If a child is becoming ill, I know long before the symptoms begin.

I know what your favorite food is, and it makes me weak with joy to feed it to you; preferably by hand so that I can feel your pleasure transfer from your tongue to my fingertips.

I feel, and feel – always, everything. My skin is a paperwhite lily- the softest drop of rain, human hands or wingtips of a butterfly make me shiver.

Oh yes. I would have been burned. And the flames would have been sweet release.