Elizabeth Rose Campbell | The Sun Magazine #3
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Elizabeth Rose Campbell

Elizabeth Rose Campbell was the Assistant Editor for The Sun from 1976 to 1982. She lives in Carrboro, North Carolina.

— From January 1999
Essays, Memoirs, and True Stories

The Unspeakable

Pain is the voice of the inner pearl of being, crying out to be extricated from the blankets of belief that keep us from accepting ourselves, from understanding that aloneness is not loneliness.

January 1978
Essays, Memoirs, and True Stories

Opened Flesh, Naked Spirit

It was Mara who spoke to the child first, her eyes large and full of her own young comprehension, breaking the silence with one soft word out of her hundred word vocabulary: baby.

November 1977
Essays, Memoirs, and True Stories

Journal

Sitting on the backsteps, the wind whipping against my bare skin. I am surprised, again, by the night and the way it makes me feel a part of the silver silence cleaning up the day’s details of heat and activity.

October 1977
Essays, Memoirs, and True Stories

On Specialness (And Guidance Of All Kinds)

When my perceptions truly coincide with what’s happening, it’s because I’m willing to lose myself in the other person or experience. It’s feelings of specialness I have about myself that keep me from doing that.

September 1977
Essays, Memoirs, and True Stories

Psychic Readings: Facing An Empty Canvas

Why does someone call himself a psychic and begin charging for his services? The motivation is surely as complex as in seeking a psychic’s help. Perhaps it will one day seem no more unusual to go for a reading than for a physical exam at a doctor’s office; but as there are good and bad doctors, there are psychics of every description.

September 1977
Essays, Memoirs, and True Stories

Journal

The paradox of trying to educate yourself and then live within the environment your ideals have dictated is: try but don’t try.

July 1977
Essays, Memoirs, and True Stories

The Sacred And The Profane

Shall we throw Hustler and the Times into the fire? And, years from now, when these words and this argument are forgotten, shall we make into a funeral pyre the “spiritual” tracts we now so revere, those that spell out for us the right way, when we’re all heading the same way?

June 1977
Essays, Memoirs, and True Stories

Journal

And when our eyes met, you said silently to me, don’t remind me, not as a reprimand but because these moments, this coming together, was a last blooming lily which I should not point at but rather unfurl my own petals in harmony with yours.

May 1977
Essays, Memoirs, and True Stories

Journal

Every single moment of consciousness, of your experience, from the past, present or future is such an incredible storehouse of creativity that is unleashed upon itself, I am awed, my mind is boggled.

March 1977
Essays, Memoirs, and True Stories

Journal

I have noticed that there are those who give spontaneously, unself-consciously. There are also those who have the same ability, but become distracted and brought down by the shadow of their own personalities, and a wavering results. In that instant of wavering, the gift melts. A state of listening grace evolves from instinctive setting aside of self.

December 1976
Essays, Memoirs, and True Stories

Journal

A Path of Responsible Living. That is what is going on now. In the 60s, you were responsible if you were an activist overtly, and now it seems like you are responsible if you are an activist on an introverted level — spiritually.

October 1976
Essays, Memoirs, and True Stories

Journal

The two big trees fascinate me. . . . I watch the very tiptops of those trees and wonder if I can poise my consciousness in those leaves at the top long enough to BE there. I try.

July 1976
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