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The Sun Magazine

Culture and Society


The Sun Interview

On The Flying Trapeze

Sam Keen Ponders How To Be Free

I think trapeze could provide an excellent liturgy for a new society. Our present public liturgies, like football and basketball, are a kind of ritualized violence. One side has to beat the other. In trapeze, men and women cooperate to create something of transcendent beauty. A great trapeze act is a kind of performance art. Like a Navajo sand painting, it shows you something of exquisite beauty that lasts only for an instant and then is gone.

The Sun Interview

Enemy Of The State

An Interview With John Zerzan

I’m talking about time not existing. Time as a continuing thread that unravels in an endless progression, linking all events together while remaining independent of them — that doesn’t exist. Sequence exists. Rhythm exists. But not time. This reification of time is related to the notion of mass production and division of labor. Tick, tick, tick, as you said: Identical seconds. Identical people. Identical chores repeated endlessly. But when you realize that no two occurrences are identical, and that each moment is different from the moment before, time simply disappears. If events are always novel, then not only is routine impossible, but the notion of time is meaningless.


The Lap Of Luxury

Russell was telling the three of us — Melody, Leigh, and me — about the last moments of his mother’s life. The three of us were crying, but Russell wasn’t. His face was pale, not his usual ruddy hue that made him look as if he’d just come in from jogging a few miles.

Essays, Memoirs, and True Stories

To Be A Sexual Son

For me, it is a magical moment. Some combination of the group dynamic, the food, the wine, and the festivity — together with a little courage — has for once made it possible to speak directly and be heard clearly about these usually misrepresented subjects. For a moment, my mother, as well as my more receptive father, is able to see an aspect of my sex life free of distortion or oversimplification, and therefore to better understand me as a sexual human being. I am exhilarated to have accomplished such a delicate bit of communication, and deeply appreciative of my mother’s willingness to put aside her usual judgments and biases. It is a moment of real intimacy between us, and, although neither of us speaks of it directly, I know that she, too, feels the connection. I also know that this moment will pass.

Essays, Memoirs, and True Stories

On Being Wrong

Years ago, I wrote a little essay that appeared in the Readers Write section of The Sun. The theme that month was “Being Wrong.” I wrote about all the mistakes I had made in my life, how tired I was of looking back and feeling embarrassed and angry with myself for having been so wrong in the past.

The Sun Interview

When Nature Speaks

An Interview With Jim Nollman

But, once in a blue moon, we communicate with the whales in such a meaningful manner that I experience a sense of grace. That’s what communication with nonhumans is really all about. When that communication happens, no matter how subtle it is, whether or not it registers on tape or film, I feel as if I’ve been blessed. It is the greatest blessing of my life, and, in some way, it is the same experience that I see lying at the heart of religion.

The Sun Interview

Man Versus Machine

An Interview With Kirkpatrick Sale

Chepesiuk: So you see yourself as a modern-day Luddite?

Sale: A Neo-Luddite, yes: a person who sees technology as the principal threat to a sane society and the welfare of the planet. A Neo-Luddite says there must be an assessment and analysis of the effects of technology and, where appropriate, resistance to it.

Essays, Memoirs, and True Stories

Out Of The Psychedelic Closet

Last spring, I celebrated the twenty-fifth anniversary of the greatest turning point in my life. In April 1970, at the age of twenty-three, I found myself climbing the western slope of the Mount of Olives, facing Jerusalem and the Dome of the Rock. By midafternoon I had returned to the foot of the mountain and entered the Garden of Gethsemane, a lush patch of green adjoining a Russian Orthodox church and filled with roses and olive trees. The ancient trees inspired within me a deep sense of awe surpassing any I’d ever felt, though comparable to my childhood response to the blowing of the shofar that signaled the close of Yom Kippur each year.