Issue 189 | The Sun Magazine

August 1991

Readers Write


New neighbors, the sack of Rome, a treehouse in the Cascade Mountains

By Our Readers


I believe in God, only I spell it Nature.

Frank Lloyd Wright

The Sun Interview

Renegade Priest

An Interview With Matthew Fox

We have to get back to that sense of raw reverence. And by reverence I don’t mean this bourgeois thing of nodding your head and being pious. Reverence comes from the word to revere, which means to stand in awe. The Bible has been mistranslated; where we read that wisdom begins with fear of the Lord, it should read awe. Awe is the beginning of wisdom.

By Michael Toms
Essays, Memoirs, & True Stories

Big Ideas

For a long time the whole idea of God is bewildering to a little girl, but in a dreamy and faraway fashion, you know him. Like the moon and the stars across the night’s long distance, you love and fear him.

By Dana Branscum
Essays, Memoirs, & True Stories

The White Man’s Vision-Quest Journal

It was dark by the time we got to camp. I felt as though I were entering another time zone. There were campfires and tepees set up. (Just as you had envisioned, Sarah, when you predicted that I would be traveling to Dakota!)

By Gloria Dyc
Essays, Memoirs, & True Stories

Minding The Equipment

It is interesting enough, you might suppose, that a man goes out every winter, in the very worst of the Northwest weather, and lives out there alone for months at a time, all to take care of someone else’s heavy equipment.

By Jaimes Alsop
Essays, Memoirs, & True Stories

Euclid’s Hell

It’s amazing to me how little respect most people seem to have for reality. The mind is capable of tricking us into accepting its version of what takes place around us. We repeatedly mistake our perceptions for the stuff of existence, even when we know better.

By Robert Heilman
Essays, Memoirs, & True Stories

Secret Power

A generation of men, wrote Homer, is like a generation of leaves.

By Sy Safransky

The Nosebleed

When the children were small and woke with fear in the night, they came into our room and stood breathing quietly by the side of the bed, waiting. They never waited on Dan’s side, but always on mine.

By Judy Darke Delogu