Its been awhile since I last wrote to you, dear Reader. Please forgive me for the lapse! The Doctor has kept me rather busy. Im supposed to exercise a lot by day, and sleep a lot at night. Shes obviously trying to divide my world in two. She means to jog my memory in any way she can.
Maybe its not working like she hopes. Many thoughts have come to me, but its difficult to put them in any proper order. Thats why I like to write to you, Reader. You dont seem to care about such neatness. You understand what I say as easily as a character in my dreams.
Sometimes, it is true, I dream about the Doctor although in those dreams she is a very different person. She looks younger, her hair is down, and she smiles at me. She listens to me just like you do. In my dreams, the Doctor seems much prettier to me. Maybe she is even happy.
When I am awake, however, the Doctor dismisses my words so carelessly. She doesnt want to listen to my dreams because they arent in any order. They dont follow a straight line like any formula shes used to. "Life is all about order," she tells me. "There is a beginning, a middle, and then" she says this part sadly "theres an end."
The Doctor makes life seem so logical.
"But what part am I in?" I ask her.
She turns her head away. If I ask the Doctor about the past, she thinks she has all the answers. And if I ask her about the future, she has many explanations. But if I ask her about the present, she doesnt have a thing to say.
The Doctor still believes that Ill learn my place in this world accidentally. But thats a strange explanation even for her. This world Ive woken up to is certainly no accident. Accidents are for scientists who make careless mistakes. Yet the world isnt filled with just any mistakes, its filled with inventions. It seems that no one, not even the scientists, wants to take responsibility for the way the world is now.
All scientists are good for these days is counting. Thanks to them, people have become very capable of thinking of this world in terms of minutes, hours, and days. They treat life, just like the Doctor, as having a beginning. But maybe, I wonder if that beginning is just the moment when people started counting time. Suddenly some moment ago, time, like everything else, must have been invented.
I dont know how long ago it was. Maybe its written down somewhere on the Doctors calendar. She seems to record every day there as important as a birthday. But then she draws a red "X" at each days end, and she rips the whole page off before the month is barely finished. How can she enjoy the days, I wonder, when she waits impatiently with a red pen to cross them out?
Even these minutes, hours, and days must have been invented in some fashion. Every morning people open their eyes and start counting the hours again. But as soon as we fall into a comfortable sleep, we lose all track of the hours. Time isnt such a reliable invention, I guess. Surely the world comes from dreams, because thats the only thing we remember when we wake up. But forgetting these sleepy hours makes it so difficult to remember the beginning.
Perhaps we can do as all children do we will wish on a star to help us remember. Look at the sky and choose one pretty star (choose the prettiest, if you can). Let your choice your dream shine brighter. Let it surround us in memories, outshining its brother and sister stars. It will hide them in light. Because only in this way a blindness that covers reality can we truly see through. Maybe the blindness will let our eyes see inside.