Issue 211 | The Sun Magazine

July 1993

Readers Write

Hands

A thwarted artist, a contra dancer, a palm reader

By Our Readers
Quotations

Sunbeams

I long to accomplish a great and noble task, but it is my chief duty to accomplish small tasks as if they were great and noble.

Helen Keller

The Sun Interview

What The Universe Remembers

An Interview With Rupert Sheldrake

My theory is concerned with self-organizing natural systems and the cause of form. The cause of all these forms, I believe, is organizing fields, form-shaping fields, which I call morphic fields, from the Greek word for form. I’m saying that the forms of societies, ideas, crystals, and molecules all depend on the way previous ones have been organized. There’s a kind of built-in memory in the morphic fields of each thing.

By Various Authors
Essays, Memoirs, and True Stories

Crip Zen

I’ve never met you, but from having read your crisp condemnation of me, I know you well. You are one of the legions who tell us what we should feel, instead of listening to what we do feel. We have met you thousands of times before, and you drive us up the wall.

By Lorenzo Wilson Milam
Essays, Memoirs, and True Stories

On The Bus

 He brushes the pastry crumbs off his shirt, speeds up as we approach a blind curve, and passes the car in front of us. He jokes about the frightened gringo behind him whose knuckles are whiter than his face.

By Sy Safransky
Fiction

The Room Where Sex Began

Bobby and I were tired. His family was visiting for a week, and we’d been up late every night since they arrived. I realize now Bobby’s parents hated him. I don’t know why.

By Mary T. Sepulveda
Fiction

This Summer

My husband has told me that this summer he will retire. Right now he is in the library holding X-rays up to the light and dictating. I do not know how his secretary understands the things he mumbles.

By John Gregory Brown
Fiction

Progress

The first time we had Joe over, one spring evening some years ago, he lay on his gurney with his face positioned toward us.

By Gillian Kendall
Fiction

Sister Of Kane

Allie stepped onto the slanted porch, and the wind swept into her shirt. The chill broke her out in goose bumps, but it felt better than the heat inside the frame house. Kane sat on the steps at her feet.

By Vinita Hampton Wright