The life of an aimless gypsy has several enviable benefits and a few troublesome shortcomings. “How do you get mail?” is an oft-asked question. It’s tricky enough for ordinary mail and too tricky for magazine subscriptions. The magazine I miss the most is The Sun. This is a thoughtful publication, literate and intellectual with three major features that are entirely reader-contributed. The Sun also pays well for essays, fiction, poetry and photographs. The magazine does not have advertising and appears to be supported only by subscribers.
Recently, I came across a couple of ten-year-old issues.
In the June 2002 issue, the publisher Sy Safransky wrote a letter to the readers soliciting donations. The letter, written when the 9-11 wound was still fresh in our national consciousness, included several thoughts I found provocative, even when taken out of context.
And the blog for today shares them with you:
“Every time you inhale, imagine it is the first breath you’ve ever taken. Every time you exhale, imagine it’s the last breath you’ll ever take.”
. . . .
“President Bush’s approval rating soared to 80 percent. (I don’t even approve of myself that much.)”
. . . .
“In the movie, Zorba the Greek, Zorba tells a young friend that he’s learned to embrace all of life: the joys, the sorrows, “the full catastrophe.” I’ve always wanted The Sun to be a magazine that embraces the full catastrophe.
“The Sun has come a long way since 1974, when I sold the first issues, barefoot, with hair down to my shoulders.”
. . . .
“Every month, we gather around the fire. We breathe in. We breathe out. We laugh and grieve and give thanks. We tend the fire, then we tend each other. Perhaps our hearts open a little. And when the hour grows late, and the world too much to bear, and weariness overcomes us, we take turns staying awake, feeding the flames.”
The Suns website is: Thesunmagazine.org. You can order a subscription there.