Juliet

I remember when I was nine years old, reading a poem my sister wrote. Up to that point, I believed writers belonged to some elite group and all lived together (in the same way the postman lived at the Post Office), and they wrote all the books that ever were written. When I found out ordinary, everyday people were allowed to write, I began with my first poem that very day, and have not since stopped. That same sister taught me how to play my first guitar chords, and also showed me the beauty of creating all forms of art. I must say it is because of her that my eyes were opened and I saw potential in my small, insignificant hands, my invisible life.

She died of cancer January 2007. She was too beautiful for this world. As Edgar Cayce once said, "...the question of whether consciousness survives death is backwards. The significant question for the soul is how much of its creativity and divine essence survives its birth into a body."