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I am not a person, but a pinpoint of consciousness who is perceiving the world from the surface of a spring — clear, cold water bubbling up through a rocky crevice.
By Elizabeth Rose CampbellFebruary 1978A horse falling from the night sky, a tree spirit, a little girl in a blue dress
By Our ReadersFebruary 1978Most of what we call reality falls into a range between the trivial and the transcendent. At one end are the details of waking life. At the other end is what really counts.
By David SearlsNovember 1977We open our hearts at different rates. Often we are afraid of touching the parts of ourselves that we still don’t love or accept, where the lifetimes of pain lay buried.
By Leaf DiamantJuly 1977Personal, political, provocative writing delivered to your doorstep every month—without a single ad.
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