Issue 63 | The Sun Magazine

January 1981

Readers Write

Amazing Coincidences

A registration line, a nuclear power plant, a prayer candle

By Our Readers
Quotations

Sunbeams

We meet ourselves time and again in a thousand disguises on the path of life.

Carl Jung

The Sun Interview

An Interview With Patricia Sun

The transition of awareness is knowing we must pay attention to our feelings, our fears, our bodies, our thoughts, our unconscious minds which may turn up bizarre imagery. We have to get accustomed to the way that intelligence of the intuitive self teaches, as a gestalt, and not take it all so literally

By Elizabeth Rose Campbell
Essays, Memoirs, and True Stories

Powerless No More

On Meeting Patricia Sun

Patricia’s work in the world quickly moved from academia to a home no longer hidden: a personal partnership with anyone who cared to work with her, piece by piece, on the expansion of private politics to a global realm and the exposure of the lie that we are powerless.

By Elizabeth Rose Campbell
Essays, Memoirs, and True Stories

Prelude To A Pilgrimage

My fear perceived my gradual return to rationality and slipped back within me, weaker now but still awesome, a headless beast howling against the rising of the sun. I feel it sometimes in the morning when I wake into the disorientation of a depression. I flee into the rhythm of exercise. The flesh has power over the mind, as both are connected elements of a unity. And gradually my consciousness re-creates itself as a familiar fabric.

By David Marshak
Essays, Memoirs, and True Stories

Insisting On Love

Oh you modest-living professional little bastards, giving in to all that mortgaged decency, all those inner rules of silence, as if the spirit of youth was an aberration to be got over and not the event itself, the event of your life, the adventure you ended up betraying for a house in Twit Acres and 2.3 kids you won’t ever understand.

By John Rosenthal
Essays, Memoirs, and True Stories

Poet Of The Ordinary

Book Review

Yet the mansion of fiction has many rooms, and enough of even its greatest writers do not fit our preconceived molds. Goodman was not that streetcorner babbler, wrapped up in remembered and invented anecdote, but a thinker, an observer, a contemplator.

By David Guy