The writer Lawrence Weschler said in an interview on Bookworm (that my friend Michi told me to listen to- thank you) that, "Just like the liver secretes bile, just like the pancreas secrete insulin, so does the brain secrete stories." So each time I write a blog post, each time we hear a friend share about an experience, each time we read a poem, go to an Anusara yoga class and hear the teacher set the theme, we are in the land of storytelling. And hopefully we are rapt in attention, living in wonderment, connecting to something greater.

I looked up one of my favorite poems yesterday, Stanley Kunitz's "Halley's Comet." In it he describes how it was when he saw the comet. I so identify with the narrator, the little boy, yearning for his Father to be beside him as he watches the sky. I've been in a sweetly introspective mood lately. Birthdays and Holidays will do that. I've been very aware of the beauty outside and missing my family. I have also been reveling in the life that I have created. My work is my passion. I  have a full schedule and take also my beloved writing classes. I have amazing friends that have become family and dear students who come to class every week and surprise continuously with their hearts. Just this Wednesday at Black Dog one of my students Corey walked in to class with 16 coconut waters for everyone in the room, because he wanted to honor his one year anniversary for doing yoga! How amazing is that? There is so much beauty that happens every day, every week, too much to share. And we are all like the little boy in Kunitz poem, seeing the wonderment of life happening right before us, wishing our Father, our Mother was there beside us.

Halley's Comet

by Stanley Kunitz

Miss Murphy in first grade

wrote its name in chalk

across the board and told us

it was roaring down the stormtracks

of the Milky Way at frightful speed

and if it wandered off its course

and smashed into the earth

there'd be no school tomorrow.

A red-bearded preacher from the hills

with a wild look in his eyes

stood in the public square

at the playground's edge

proclaiming he was sent by God

to save every one of us,

even the little children.

"Repent, ye sinners!" he shouted,

waving his hand-lettered sign.

At supper I felt sad to think

that it was probably 

the last meal I'd share

with my mother and my sisters;

but I felt excited to

and scarcely touched my plate.

So mother scolded me

and sent me early to my room.

The whole family's asleep

except for me. They never heard me steal

into the stairwell hall and climb

the ladder to the fresh night air.

Look for me, Father, on the roof

of the red brick building

at the foot of Green Street-

that's where we live, you know, on the top floor.

I'm the boy in the white flannel gown

sprawled on this coarse gravel bed

searching the starry sky,

waiting for the world to end.