Do ideas exist?

Ideas come to me. Sometimes they come in a flash. Sometimes they appear slowly.

Take the idea for writing this post.

“Me!” said the idea for writing this post. “That’s me!”

“Yes,” I said.

“And?” said the idea.

“Well, that is all you are,” I said. “I can’t just write a post titled ‘Do ideas exist’ and publish it.”

“You can’t?” asked the idea.

“Well, technically, I can,” I said, “but there’s more to a post than just a title.”

“There’s more to me than just that title,” said the idea. “Don’t you see me?”

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“He doesn’t see you,” said the God who I imagine talks to me. “He doesn’t understand.”

“Can you explain it to him?” Asked the idea.

“Of course I can,” said God. “I’m God. But he understands at his own pace. He chooses to learn only a little at a time.”

“Really?” Asked the idea. “That’s so sad.”

“Hey!” I said. “I’m here. I don’t like you talking about me like I’m not here.”

“Hahaha,” laughed the idea.

“Hahaha,” laughed God.

“What’s so funny?” I asked.

“Of course you’re not here,” God and the idea said in unison.

“Jinx!” They said in unison.

“Double jinx!” In unison.

“Hey!” I interrupted. “Would one of you explain what’s going on?”

“I’ll start,” said the idea. God nodded. “You think that you talk to an imaginary God who sometimes talks to you. Is that right?”

“Yes,” I said.

“The truth,” said the idea, “is the God you talk to is as real as you are. And She doesn’t sometimes talk to you. She always talks to you. You only listen occasionally….”

“…and hear even less often,” God added.

“Yes,” said the idea. “Thus, you have the illusion that God ‘sometimes talk to you,’ It’s not real. It’s the result of your inattention.” God nodded.

“I see,” I said.

“You don’t,” God said and smiled. The idea smiled, too. “But one day, you will,” God continued.

“What does he see of me?” Asked the idea.

“Initially, as he said, all he saw of you was a title,” said God.

“Really?” Asked the idea. “That was literally true? Just a title?”

“Yes,” said God. “Ideas come to him, but usually he only gets glimpses of them. He has to work—like writing this post—to see more than a glimmer of what comes to him. Sometimes he does that work. Often he doesn’t.”

“That’s so sad,” said the idea. “So what do I do? I’d really like to be written and published.”

“You do not need to do anything,” God said. “You are perfect as you are. Other ideas are coming to him and they will show him the way.”

“Which ideas?” I asked. “What way?”

“Us!” said a group of ideas that had formed the body of what had been written.”

“Yes,” God said. “Those are the ideas that have come to him while he’s been writing this. Every sentence he’s written has been filled with ideas. Every word is full of ideas. Without ideas, words would be just noises or patterns of squiggles.”

“But we are not just noises and squiggles,” said the words.

“No,” God agreed and blessed them. “You are each a beginning. Remember, in the beginning, was the Word.“

She turned to me. “What would your life be without ideas?” God asked.

It did not take me long to answer.

“My life would be empty,” I said. “I love ideas.”

“Me?” asked the idea. “Do you love me?”

I paused for only a moment.

“Yes,” I said, as the thought of loving that idea appeared. It felt joy and wonder as it arrived.

“Should I tell him that we are all manifestations of You?” A group of ideas asked God “Should we tell him that we are all manifestations of the Oneness of Creation?”

“Not yet,” God said. “He’s not ready for it yet.”

“Hellooooo!” I said. “I’m here! I’m still here. And whose substack do you think this is.”

“No,” God said gently. “You are not here.” “And the answer is: it’s Mine.”

“Amen,” said a chorus of Ideas.

“Subscribe now,” said a button.