who believe in the beauty of their dreams'
Your children are not your children.
They are the sons and daughters of Life's longing for itself.
They come through you but not from you,
And though they are with you yet they belong not to you.
You may give them your love but not your thoughts,
For they have their own thoughts.
You may house their bodies but not their souls,
For their souls dwell in the house of tomorrow,
which you cannot visit, not even in your dreams.
You may strive to be like them,
but seek not to make them like you.
For life goes not backward nor tarries with yesterday.
You are the bows from which your children
as living arrows are sent forth.
The archer sees the mark upon the path of the infinite,
and He bends you with His might
that His arrows may go swift and far.
Let your bending in the archer's hand be for gladness;
For even as He loves the arrow that flies,
so He loves also the bow that is stable.
He stopped the truck and we got out onto a windswept, grassy headland.
At our feet, high cliffs fell away and beneath us the mighty ocean waves restlessly churned and crashed against un-impressionable icy rocks.
"I've brought you to see the ocean, it's the Atlantic Ocean," he said.
I have always known that this ocean existed, ever since I became conscious of my own thoughts and mind, I knew this ocean. And long before then I had seen it, viewed it from my mother's arms, but as this man quietly stated to me, with slow deliberate words, that this was "perhaps, not the world's oldest, but it's second oldest ocean".... this expanse of sea before me took on a new reality.
As I breathed in the wet, salty air, this recognition was a fresh heady cocktail, it's strength seeping into my veins, relaxing my limbs and causing my head to swirl.
The freedom of this understanding, the re-birth of this simple truth was crystalising deep within and drawing with it a desire to re-define every other fact that my conscious mind held as true.
"Do you see the horizon? Kate, Do you see the horizon?" his voice roused me from far away.
"No, no, I don't ... it's misty, or is it my eyes... it's unclear where the sea ends and the sky begins!... Do you see it?" but as I heard my voice ask the question, I knew it would have no answer. He wasn't talking about what we were seeing before us. He did not need an answer.
Turning to look at him there was a distance in his eyes. I need not have asked the question, he need not reply, not merely because this world knew no answer, but this man required no answers. In this moment 'keeping the conversation going' seemed to be a misnomer from the modern world, to which we no longer had any connection. Standing here by his side I was conscious of a peace, a oneness, a closeness, a silent communion.... time passed as a blissful eternity. It felt like hours fleeting by and I wished that it would last forever, even as the dull light ebbed away.
In my head I was clinging, finger and nail, to this moment and questioning myself,
'so if this is the Atlantic Ocean, what of all the other places I have been and of those horizons? We never see our own horizon, never know where our reality meets our dreams.'
In the same moment that I desired to re-discover all I had ever known before, I also yearned to stand still in time and to comprehend all that lay before me.
'Thank God for the sight of all that you have never yet been.'