Every day now the Doctor joins me in the hospital for a game of memories. I tell her some of mine, and she tells me a few, less guarded ones of her own. But we seldom understand each other. Even when I am sure we have some common memory, she shakes her head uneasily. Perhaps this must be because everyone looks at the world with different eyes. There is at least one thing, though, that I hope we can all agree on: the world is a beautiful place.

I ask the Doctor if she agrees that the world is beautiful.

"Okay," she says.

This is a very common answer for the Doctor. Everything is okay, but decidedly few things are marvelous, and even fewer are beautiful. Reader, I admit I am growing desperate to understand the way the Doctor views this world. Perhaps if I could then I would find the words to convince her these forgettings are important.

So I ask the Doctor to tell me of something beautiful. This should be so easy, but she seems bewildered. I can think of so many beautiful things! She looks around the room doubtfully. Then, like too many times before, the Doctor retires her gaze to the ground.

It’s not just the Doctor, of course. For ages now, people seem unsure where to look for beautiful things. They are always confused by their own eyes, and so they keep changing their views, keep changing their minds. People keep turning in circles, like the world. But as everyone spins faster and faster, their eyes start to blur. Alone, moving in circles, each person spins his own solitary world apart from everyone. And today people don’t look at anything anymore. Their view is too blurry from spinning, the eyes too tired even to see.

But there are many beautiful things in the world worth looking at. I would very much like to show this to the Doctor. I point out of the window of my hospital room. "What about the moon?" I ask.

"It’s daytime," replies the Doctor disapprovingly. She does not even care to glance out of the window to see.

v. the moon and you Unfortunately the days have passed when people would sit and gaze at the moon for hours. But still there is magic there in the moon – and safety.

I assure you there is a daytime moon. The Doctor does not look. Maybe nobody looks, but it is still beautiful. I will admit that the moon appears unwell these days, pale and even frightened. Surely the moon is afflicted by its loneliness and betrayal. It used to be that people looked up at the nighttime sky, of course. They used to watch, talk to, wonder with the moon.

Unfortunately the days have passed when people would sit and gaze at the moon for hours. But still there is magic there in the moon – and safety. The moon hides itself in phases, it pretends that it will disappear, but it always comes back to us. The moon never leaves for very long; it just stays in the sky and waits for us to speak again. So it is easy to talk to the moon because it is one thing that never abandons us. The moon is too honest, I’m afraid. Maybe that is what frightened people. Because people don’t talk to the moon anymore. I wonder, though, whom do they talk to now?

It can’t be the sun. No one stares at the sun either. But that I can understand. The sun is too bright and quiet. It is too proud to let you see it, too shy to show its true shape. So of course no one looks at the sun. The sun makes itself almost impossible to watch. And the sun will never speak so as not to reveal its deception. But I’ll tell you the sun’s secret: the sun is not happy; it envies the moon.

I guess I shouldn’t be surprised that no one looks to the sky anymore. These days, no one looks at themselves either. Ever since our eyes opened up to the world we have forgotten how to turn them back. But eyes used to look both ways, you know. Eyes used to look inside, too. And inside there are things worth watching. It is colorless and trusting and pure. Inside is large and subtle and loved. Yet the eyes aren’t allowed to see inside anymore.

Though it is still daylight, I feel a need to close my eyes, to look inside for awhile. Even if I am not sure what I will see, I’m certain it will be beautiful. I ask the Doctor if I might close my eyes sometimes, just when I feel this way.

"Okay," she says. The Doctor always says this. It usually means things are not.