"I" hate to bow. It means losing the separateness that is "me." But there is that of God, deeper inside me than I, who loves bowing.
A bow happens when I have no idea to whom I bow. My forehead touches the soil and whatever was in here spills out... Then I am so empty, all creation bows to itself through me.
Friend, let's kneel to one another for no reason. Let's throw ourselves gently on the sweet earth, and scatter our bodies like brown sugar.