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The Sun Magazine

The Sun Interview

Saving The Indigenous Soul

An Interview With Martín Prechtel

For the majority of human history, shamans have simply been a part of ordinary life. They exist all over the world. It seems strange to Westerners now because they have systematically devalued the other world and no longer deal with it as part of their everyday lives.

Essays, Memoirs, & True Stories

Of Coyotes And Conversations

“Even the most progressive Western philosophers still generally believe that listening to the land is a metaphor.” She paused, then said emphatically, “It’s not a metaphor. It’s how the world is.”

The Table

I was walking home through the narrow streets of Greenwich Village when I heard someone say, in a heavy Italian American accent, “Do you want a table?”


It’s autumn, and I’m listening to Rickie Lee Jones sing “One Hand, One Heart” from West Side Story as I drive up Route 2, the sun in my eyes, my rose, tinted glasses giving the fall colors a make, over. And why not a bit of deception for a woman like me, a sucker for a raspy voice and sentimental Broadway lyrics such as these: “Make of our hands, one hand, / Make of our hearts, one heart”? Soon my eyes are wet, and I can barely see the view as Rickie Lee sings, “Now it begins, now we start; / One hand, one heart. / Even death won’t part us now.”


When I Get To Key West

In prison, despite the stereotypes, I am not raped by a gang of women with a toilet plunger; no muscled-up stud with tattooed tits claims me for her “wife”; no one corners me in the laundry room and beats the crap out of me. The guards don’t brutalize me; the warden doesn’t devote his every waking moment to making my life “a living hell.” The warden — the superintendent, actually — doesn’t even know my name.

*NOTE: Original copies of this issue are no longer available. Unbound, laser-printed copies will be provided for print orders.

Readers Write


As a sixth-grade teacher in a struggling seaside town with a drug problem, a high rate of domestic abuse, a seasonal housing crisis, and more than its share of strip clubs, pawn shops, and beer joints, I consider it part of my job to eavesdrop on my students. Oddly, they’re often relieved when I pull them aside and confess what I’ve heard. “Did you say you’ve been staying alone for two days?” I’ll ask. Or, “Tell me again what your mother’s boyfriend did to her.”

Personal Stories By Our Readers ▸
Sy Safransky's Notebook

April 2001

I woke up this morning in a body, breathing. I'm drinking black coffee now. I'm still breathing. The dark morning stretches like a cat. The billions of people who are asleep are breathing, and the billions of people who are awake are breathing. How is it possible for me to feel alone?

Musings From Our Founder ▸


My mother thought it would make us feel better to know that animals had no souls, and thus their deaths were not to be taken seriously. But it didn’t help, and when I think of some of the animals I have known, I wonder. The only really “soulful” eyes in the world belong to the dog or cat who sits on your lap or at your feet, commiserating when you cry.

Liz Smith

More Quotations ▸
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