Polly is not real.

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Polly exists.

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At first glance, those two statements may appear contradictory. But think about it for a minute. Santa Claus is not real; no jolly elf dressed in red and white lives at the North Pole and commands a cadre of worker elves. Sherlock Holmes is not real; no cocaine-addicted consulting detective/violinist ever lived at 221B Baker Street in London. James Bond is not real; no licensed-to-kill British superspy travels the world seducing beautiful babes and foiling supervillains.

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And yet: Santa Claus exists; the Strategic Air Command tracks his progress every Christmas Eve, the Post Office handles tons of mail for him each year and department stores and malls erect shrines to his glory. Sherlock Holmes exists; his famous profile with the deerstalker cap and meerschaum pipe survives long after John Barrymore, the so-called Great Profile, is long vanished from memory. James Bond exists; just ask any movie theater owner, or bartender who's been asked to make a martini shaken and not stirred.

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Polly exists. She's a concept, a wonderful ideal, a goal to strive for, a model to live by. She's a god even an atheist can believe in. She's a symbol of creation and tolerance. You don't have to worship her to believe in what she represents. In fact, she'd rather you didn't. There are more important ways to invest your time and energy.

There's no Church of Polly. But you can be her friend. She'd like that.

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