I thought you might appreciate some impressions from a far-flung reader and the assurance the THE SUN has become an internationally famous periodical: you have five readers on the island of Mykonos! (and two parrots here are being taught Viktor Frankl’s maxim — it’s the only English they’ll know.)
THE SUN is eagerly awaited here. It trickles in slowly, like morning light under a door, whereas Newsweek arrives depressingly often and with indecent regularity.
The Patricia Sun issue has been dominating my existence of late, consciously and not. With the publication of that particular issue, your magazine became something “active” in my life. Magazines generally divert, entertain, inform, or provide nice little pithy expressions to teach parrots or needlepoint on arty wallhangings. Rarely do they:
1. “Accomplish” health.
2. Enlighten (more than fleetingly).
3. Reach us where we live.
Partly it is that Patricia Sun, even on toilet paper, would be able to heal. But also, it is that THE SUN did an admirable job of presenting, conveying, offering Patricia Sun. My husband is a doctor — a G.P. in a very primitive rural area. I am a painter and, when able, a partner in my husband’s work of healing. The people he cares for (and I paint) are people who believe that if a woman crosses her legs, her unborn child will emerge strangled by the umbilicus. We have a difficult row to hoe. And Issue #50 turned both of us around a couple of times and gave us a kind of kit-for-work-in-our-particular-field. The particular case of physical illness she describes, too, is one which had stumped both of us here. She spoke to us generally, and also with uncanny “particularity.”
I’m touched by your humanly uneven-ness, which encourages me to keep lurching along too.
Blessings on ye.