I am grateful for Derek Askey’s wonderful interview with Jeffrey J. Kripal [“Radar and Revelation,” October 2025]. My father was an open-minded Methodist minister, and in my family it was a natural step to go from believing in angels and the divine to believing in parapsychology.
My family witnessed one of the 1994 UFO sightings in Michigan that Kripal mentions. We were living in Ann Arbor at the time, and my sister was walking home from middle school late one fall afternoon when she noticed a silent, circular craft ringed with colorful lights flying above her. When she turned the corner, it turned as well. She walked faster and turned again. It followed right behind her. She started running as fast as she could, afraid to look up.
Minutes later my sister flew into the living room, shouting. My mother was in the kitchen, and she looked out the sliding glass door and saw the craft hovering over the neighbor’s backyard. It left just as my sister burst into the kitchen. When my mother called the police, she learned that they had received over 350 calls that same day. Later The Ann Arbor News featured a photo of a big circle of burned grass in the center of a local college professor’s yard.
Kripal mentions the vertical dimension, which is often scoffed at by materialists and academics. But the vertical dimension is precisely what gives me hope and sustains the feeling that anything is possible. I would be bereft without these signs that we are not alone.
I enjoyed Jeffrey J. Kripal’s balanced discussion of unexplained phenomena. For him, the reality of UFOs isn’t the question. Instead the point is to be open-minded and to leave everything “on the table.” This idea feels especially important right now, when our government wants to take so many ways of thinking off the table. Kripal’s open-mindedness—and open-heartedness—was refreshing.
Although I haven’t had time to read The Sun in a while, I couldn’t resist Sy Safransky’s essay “The Cat Who Woke Me Up” [October 2025]. I read it out loud in bed to my partner, a dog lover who took me in along with my two cats, Dylan and Thomas.
As I read about the death of Safransky’s beloved cat, Cirrus, I was reminded of how my own cat, Leo, had died alone in an emergency room at the veterinary hospital nine years ago. I don’t cry easily, but at that moment I burst into tears. It was a welcome release of the pain I had been holding in for years—pain not just for Leo, but for everyone I’ve lost.
Thanks to Cirrus and Safransky, I, too, feel a little more awake.
I came to The Sun out of curiosity and stayed because its content educated me, stretched me, and helped move me forward in life. I also stayed because of founder and editor Sy Safransky’s wonderful writing.
Several years ago, after decades of being a dedicated fan, I decided to take a break and stopped subscribing. Part of the reason for my time-out was because it seemed like Safransky’s contributions had disappeared. I missed his musings, which so frequently mirrored my own feelings and experiences.
I recently resubscribed, and you can imagine how delighted I was to discover Safransky’s immensely satisfying essay in the October issue. It was a wonderful welcome-back gift. The fact that much of the piece was written years ago, long before his Alzheimer’s diagnosis, in no way lessened the joy I felt returning to his writing on love and grief.
I have been a Sun subscriber for over a decade. In that time I have been moved, inspired, annoyed, educated, and entertained, but I had never shouted, “Wow!” until I encountered the short story “Rude and Raw” by Peter Gordon [October 2025]. And, yes, I wept a little too—for the beauty of Gordon’s language and for how the story touches the rawness of the human experience.
Elizabeth Hawes’s essay “Eight Tenets” [September 2025] took me by surprise. The start is like listening to a poetic friend share some affirmations. Then, bam! With the phrase “breakfast in prison,” Hawes reveals a new dimension to her reflections.
I am seventy-three and work hard to stay positive as I read the headlines. Hawes’s essay was a refreshing reminder that the universe is full of energy, and it is up to each of us to decide what our response to that energy will be. I immediately forwarded the essay to my kids, who I hope will share it with others. It doesn’t matter how or why Hawes ended up in prison—I’m grateful to her for sharing her experience, and I commend her skillful writing.
Elizabeth Hawes’s “Eight Tenets” resonated with me. I especially appreciated her willingness to ask, “Who am I to say what is stupid or beautiful?”
I read those words during a recent trip to Mexico City with my daughter. The primary purpose of our trip was to make a pilgrimage to the shrine of Our Lady of Guadalupe. It just so happened that the same day we attended mass at the Basilica, we also went to a Mexican wrestling match at the city arena, which some affectionately call the “Cathedral of Lucha Libre.”
Though I share Hawes’s distaste for professional wrestling, I was blown away by the athleticism and choreography. It was a deeply joyful experience to join in the chorus of cheers and boos and laughter.
The locals I later spoke to found our combination of activities odd, but to me it felt like the right way to spend the day. Reading Hawes’s essay, I thought to myself, Todo es humano. Todo es hermoso.
It’s all human. It’s all beautiful.
The contractor had just finished up our consultation and left. This home repair was a routine job for him, and I’m sure he couldn’t have imagined the despair I felt. I sat down feeling unmoored and wondering how I could possibly salvage the rest of the day.
I thought I could at least finish reading Steve Edwards’s essay “A Good House” [August 2025], which I’d started the evening before. My heart felt like exploding when I read, “I looked out the window at fallen trees slowly disintegrating in the woods and envied them their journey.”
To think that this is what the American dream can do to people.
I just ordered two of the four books recommended in your New-Release Roundup. What a delightful feature. Thank you for the suggestions—keep them coming!
I’ve been a committed Sun reader for many years; the magazine has been my safe haven in a rapidly changing world. I love how you prioritize readers over corporate sponsors—no ads, just art throughout. But I have to ask: Will your editors be as diligent when it comes to generative AI?
I come to The Sun’s pages to have a real and human experience. It would shatter my heart if AI contributions crept into this place of solace. Perhaps you could ask writers to sign some sort of “Written with my natural intelligence” clause when submitting their work. The AI invasion has no limits, and your magazine has been a bulwark against the lazy editorial practices of other publications. I hope you proudly adopt a “No AI” stance to go with your “No ads” policy.
