Great ideas are like great seeds: tiny particles of promise; all potential, nothing "valuable" as of yet, but full of a strength and presence only the wise ones know. Those who understand the power of great ideas will not keep their share in a plastic bag on the shelf; nor will they labor endlessly to find the best pot, the best water, the best soil; they will choose any pot that will hold soil, fill it, and plant each seed with care, one by one. And, once all their seeds are nestled in the dirt, the planters go inside and--have lunch! After all, it doesn't take an above-average intelligence to grow a healthy plant. Add a little water, sun, and soil, and greatness simply becomes itself.
To a city-dweller, or to others equally unversed in the cultivation of such unassuming mysteries, a handful of the stuff might as well be a clutch of dust. But, in classic irony, as the ignorant discard what seeds of genius they possess (perhaps for bowls of soup, or worse, jobs), the seeds are not destroyed. On the contrary, they fall to the fertile soil of disuse, forgetting, and the vital depths of unconsciousness. Else, they catch a gust of wind and drift until they find a place to rest, take root, and grow. Then, even after being trampled by ten thousand bureaucratic boots, swept away by cataclysms of culture, and buried under the ponderous weight of institutions, the great idea rises silently from its humble ground in triumph--unembittered, rugged, raw, and true to its original, eternal grace.
So, do not boast and say, "I have a great idea." Rather, plant it in good sunlit soil, and remember to water it every day. For anyone who asks, say, "I am growing a great idea," but even then, do not boast until you can hold the ripened fruit of the tree in your hand, bite down, and taste its succulent flesh. Then, you may boast of your expert skill in tilting a watering can, and of your capable teeth.
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