When I received my first issue of The Sun, I read it cover to cover in one sitting. The old teachings of the Cheyenne suggest that the one thing that makes humans different from all other creatures is a common thread of loneliness. The stories in The Sun allowed me to experience each writer’s loneliness and to understand my own in a new and healing way.
The Sun never condescends to its readers, never hands us Ten Easy Steps to Eternal Bliss. I thank you for that.
Thanks for publishing “Looking at Trees” by David Campbell [November 1992]. In the last few years, my wife Joanne and I have also sought to establish ritual in our lives — to honor the seasons, the earth, important passages and times of change. We have discovered that people all over the world are creating and reviving earth-centered, life-affirming traditions.
Campbell’s piece was beautiful and nourishing, bringing together nature, politics, and good old-fashioned pagan values.
I am writing to express my gratitude for “The Prayer of the Body” [October 1992]. Stephen Schwartz eloquently expresses what I have discovered in my own work with clients over the last twenty years, but have struggled to put into words.
I must confess to a love-hate relationship with The Sun. Just when I am about to give up on you, you print something that touches me deeply, like Michael Ventura’s “Memoir of a Ritual” [February 1992] or “Replacing Therapy” [September 1992]. One day, when I was feeling terrible, I took The Sun to lunch. This time it was the Readers Write section that got me. By the time I had finished eating, I felt human again.
Two years ago I was disappointed when I gave The Sun to my friends and none of them fell in love with it. Now, I feel ready to try again.
Sy old boy, I’ve nearly had it. I just finished the October 1992 issue and it may be the last one I’ll be able to stomach. Your once lovable little rag is fast becoming the Lawrence Welk of camp. I have not seen such horrible sameness since the Reader’s Digest.
It seems impossible that all the blame should go to editing, but in the words of old Harry S., I guess that’s where the buck stops. Maybe you should consider putting someone on the payroll who is not a philosophical “Sy Clone.”
My wife is a marine chemist who works at a university school of oceanography. She recently accompanied some forty scientists, technicians, and crew on a two-month scientific cruise to Tahiti. Scientists don’t enjoy being cooped up for so long and can be quite inventive at providing diversions: alcohol tucked among the scientific stores is not unknown, and romance is quite popular. My good wife packed a large box of magazines: the New Yorker, Scientific American, a modest pile of The Sun, that sort of thing. And, of course, some books.
Each evening, a package of Oreo cookies was set out by the cook. You were there on the spot when the cookies landed or you went without. They went that fast.
The Sun went faster. Within days they disappeared from the box, leaving piles of New Yorkers and lesser companions behind. Unofficial but unequivocable evidence from a select focus group. Looks like your future is in good hands.