Issue 74 | The Sun Magazine

January 1982

Readers Write

Hitchhiking And Other Tales Of The Road

The shade of a lightpole, the glittering goose, Marc Chagal

By Our Readers
Quotations

Sunbeams

We ourselves feel that what we are doing is just a drop in the ocean. But if that drop was not in the ocean, I think the ocean would be less because of that missing drop. I do not agree with the big way of doing things. To us what matters is the individual. To get to love the person we must come in close contact with him. If we wait till we get the numbers, then we will be lost in the numbers. And we will never be able to show that love and respect for the person. I believe in person to person; every person is Christ for me, and since there is only one Jesus, that person is the one person in the world at that moment.

Mother Teresa

By Our Readers
The Sun Interview

“All Praises Due To Allah”

An Interview With Brother Yusuf Salim

The music is just a vehicle. I can look around and see better musicians all around me who aren’t getting all the publicity that I’m getting. That makes me realize that it’s not the music. The music just puts me on the stage in a position to reach out. My real profession is human relations. I just happen to play a little piano.

By Howard Jay Rubin
Essays, Memoirs, and True Stories

Prepare To Die

It’s an ongoing process of opening to life. The more you open to life, the less death becomes the enemy. When you start using death as a means of focusing on life, then everything becomes just as it is, just this moment, an extraordinary opportunity to be really alive.

By Stephen Levine
Essays, Memoirs, and True Stories

Call Them By Their Names With Passion

“Name and form” the rishis call it. “Function and form,” biologists reply. Parallels accumulate. Coincidence perhaps, but I am forced to wonder. How much power is in a word, and can I make it mine?

By Patricia Bralley
Essays, Memoirs, and True Stories

The Terminal Restaurant

The Terminal Restaurant never looked real. Built like a small outdoor building indoors, and with its neon sign over the front door spelling its name in red, it made the place look like a movie set.

By S.J. Kaiserman
Fiction

Stories

Along the banks of the river Sharaim hang silver bells that dance in the wind. The bells have always been there, and man has always heard their gentle melodies while travelling upon that river. No man knows who fashioned the bells and arranged them along the banks, for the bells existed before man’s curiosity came to be.

By Thomas Wiloch
Fiction

Entering The House Of The ’Lord

For the first time I wonder if I have gone too far, overlooking too many potential danger signs in this landlord/tenant relationship, and maybe I should ask for my money back, take the lease form from the wife’s hands where it is lying and tear it into pieces, but then I decide that I am as worthy of two walls of windows and a murphy bed on swiss avenue as anyone else.

By Pat Ellis Taylor