All bowmen are caught between heaven and earth, born to discovery, choosing to love and raise their eyes high to a future that is apparent only through the strength of their hope.

We are the archers with the bows that spring our children forward. Life does not go backward, nor does it tarry in yesterday. It is not a circle, but an arrow. It flies forward with the great express of Love.

The river was beautiful and wise. There were the two of them being happy in a new way. For here, there was no man, no woman, no master, no yellow, no black, no white. We, we who were, we are the same no longer.

With good reason, love's messengers, Eros and Kama, are armed with bows and long-distance arrows. No being, god or mortal, can choose love. Love comes despite ourselves; and then, if we have not already done so, we have the task of becoming our selves so we may welcome love.

You are the bows from which your children as living arrows are sent forth.

When your dad comes back from a faraway land with bows and arrows and spears wrapped up in a carpet... that's cool.