0 Items

The Sun Magazine

The Sun Interview

A Weakened World Cannot Forgive Us

An Interview With Kathleen Dean Moore

Environmental destruction is a kind of self-destruction. If we go around systematically destroying the places that hold meaning for us, that hold our memories, then we become fragmented and don’t have a sense of who we are.

Essays, Memoirs, & True Stories

Meeting The Sky

The year I turned twelve, my innocent life became incomprehensibly complicated. That was the year I got my period, growing tall and thin. It was the year I grew cruel toward my mother for reasons I didn’t understand. It was the year my best friend French-kissed a boy, and I felt left behind. And it was the year my dad decided he would teach me to play golf.

A Hell Of Mercy

Some Thoughts On Clinical Depression And The Dark Night Of The Soul

I was seventeen when depression began to weave itself into my life: a classic “onset in late adolescence,” I would learn years later, when I finally fell into professional hands. With neat soul logic, I discovered Zen meditation that same summer. I spent my senior year of high school in Honolulu listening to the darker songs of the early Elton John, cutting calculus class to read D.T. Suzuki, slipping away to the Buddhist temple halfway up the Pali Highway, and in general letting the tidy warp and woof of my golden American future unravel.

Erased Edges

Three hours ago I left my home in mountainous western Maryland, forty-five minutes ago I was doing fifty miles an hour in rush-hour traffic through the city, and now I’m nose to nose with a small creature who first appeared with the dinosaurs in the Triassic Period and has changed very little since.



When we step out of our motel room, someone is throwing bread crumbs off the balcony above us. Sea gulls are everywhere, swooping and squawking.

Readers Write

Down And Out

It was hard to get up and get ready for work each morning, I wasn’t sleeping very well. I had hurt my back on the job a few years before, and it still wasn’t right. I was in pain all the time.

Personal Stories By Our Readers ▸
Sy Safransky's Notebook

March 2001

Outside, it’s cold and dark. Inside my warm, well-lit house, I’m finishing dinner. Being a man who takes so much for granted, I take this for granted, too. What blinds me to my great good fortune? Food and shelter, food and shelter: humanity’s mantra for millennia, our unceasing prayer. How many of us have wandered homeless and hungry? How many of us are too weak to stand right now? In my mind’s eye, I see a man no different than I — except he’s gaunt, starving, no roof over his balding head. I’m here. He’s there. But because he’s not here, he’s less real to me than my cats, less real to me than the bills I paid last night. I’m eating. He’s hungry. I’m still eating. I’ve eaten everything on my plate, and I’m reaching for more. The food is so delicious that I just can’t stop myself. More. Give me more.

Musings From Our Founder ▸


Man is the only animal who has to be encouraged to live.

Friedrich Nietzsche

More Quotations ▸
We’re Counting on You

Instead of relying on advertising dollars, we rely on donations from readers like you.

Donate Today