Where do our thoughts come from, what is an idea? Sometimes I feel it inside, moving, coming, the birth near. Articulate me, make me real. We wait, travelling some desolate plateau of facts and studies, never seeing the end, no sense, no consequence, no synthesis in sight. Life is a desert.

The idea may be an oasis, surprised, revealed, complete. It may be a door, opening painfully, slow, unwilling to yield. But the door, when open, reveals a new world, a view to a distant horizon.

Friends accuse me of bringing my ideas to life from nowhere, not introduced, no background, as if soldiers sprang from dragon’s teeth. But if I try to evolve them with you, you tire of them. Where do our ideas come from? We know that they come from many people, and to some men at the same time. The idea is of its time. The time is of the coming together of data, the need for synthesis. To have an idea is to see the obvious, standing like a deer in the forest, always there, but a shock to the vision, difficult to see, one with the background.

But like a deer, once delineated, the idea is obvious. We must point out the deer by marks, the idea is delineated by words. All we seek are the words. Our lives are a time spent seeking the right words; once we have them, all people can comprehend the idea. We live and work to articulate our ideas, so that they are available to others.