What is an idea?

It isn’t a substance; that’s an idea embodied.

It isn’t a sentence; that’s an idea verbalized.

It isn’t knowable, but it’s already known.

Without it, every attempt to know anything ends in frustration and even despair, if the learner tries long enough to know without it.

If you think you know it, then you don’t yet know it as you ought to know it.

The quest to know it is what gives birth to every art and science.

When you start to speak but know you haven’t said what you meant to say, it’s the idea that told you.

When you compose a song and know that this is the note or phrase that you are looking for, it is the idea that tells you.

It hides itself so you can find it, and reveals itself only when you give up.

If you stop seeking it, you have nothing worth teaching – but you can’t measure what you learn about it.

If you seek it, you can learn, though you’ll never comprehend it when you find it.

When you touch it, you burn with joy; sometimes with ecstacy.

Every science is grounded in its unknowability and is guided by the attempt to know it. That is why every science is ultimately rooted in art and why every science is an extension of music or harmony.

An idea is a wave of energy that excites what it touches, glowing it white hot, melting its dross; purging it from error, vanity, fear, and sloth; curiously purifying and energizing the mind that welcomes it in.

When you receive an idea, it opens to you worlds of insight, giving you power to become like what you have received and setting you free to take possession of new and clearer truths.

It is what a feeling longs to be in its melancholy, hopes to become in its cheerfulness, and strives to realize in its optimism.