Issue 300 | The Sun Magazine

December 2000

Readers Write


A facelift, a name tag that says Allen, an unanswered knock

By Our Readers
Sy Safransky's Notebook

December 2000

We fell asleep the usual way, Norma curled against me, the cats between us at the foot of the bed. At three in the morning, she woke up, violently sick from something she’d eaten, and spent the next two hours throwing up. I knelt beside her in the bathroom, my arm around her shoulder. There are many positions for love.

By Sy Safransky


We take a handful of sand from the endless landscape of awareness around us, and call that handful of sand the world.

Robert Pirsig

The Sun Interview

Getting Free

Escaping The Prisons Of Our Own Making — An Interview With Bo Lozoff

Those three years of retreat were the hardest of my life. I’d been doing prison work for almost twenty years, but that one incident in Louisiana popped my balloon, and everything deflated. I had no energy. Had I been in a mainstream career, people would have pushed me to take Prozac. But I recognized that a very important spiritual development was occurring, and I needed to follow it to its conclusion.

By Derrick Jensen
Essays, Memoirs, & True Stories

meeting with a god

The Mackinaw and I are now face to face. Nose to nose. In its world, not mine. It regards me with surprising calm. Thanks to the treachery in my heart, I regard it far less calmly. My fingers are in position, just behind its gills. The fish remains motionless. It’s time.

By David James Duncan
Essays, Memoirs, & True Stories

After The Ecstasy, The Laundry

Bringing Spirituality Back Home

It is one thing to offer a multitude of prayers for the sick and the poor, or to undertake loving kindness and compassion meditations for thousands of sentient beings everywhere. It is another to bring these same practices to bear in our own family and our closest community.

By Jack Kornfield


He doesn’t seem crazy. Not at all. There’s no muttering, no matted hair, no tics, no eyes that are keyholes into rooms where the worst things happen.

By Sybil Smith

Help Me With This

It’s been almost two years since I shot and killed a ten-year-old boy. It was an overcast day in early December, and I was hunting from the deer stand I’d built where my property meets the woods.

By Robert Finegan