Epistolary: The 50 Years Before We Were BornBy:Maribor
In 1942 Manhattan, Amy contacts Edwin Bracewell & begins a friendship that will last half a century. Through correspondence & journals spanning 50 years she & Rory leave a chronicle of their lives and a legacy for the Doctor to remember them by. Post The Angels Take Manhattan.
Curator's Note: The following pages appear to have been photocopied and placed carefully into Dr. William's journal undated. We do, however, speculate they best fit with the Autumn of 1965. The pages are from Dr. Jackson Lake's aforementioned book relating to astrophysics, mathematical theory, physics and The Doctor.
*Photocopying was done by a machine that produced paper copies of documents and visual images quickly and cheaply. Though having a personal version of this technology was wholly incongruous to 1965, we speculate that some of the equipment brought by their daughter, Melody Pond would have had this function.
Supplemental: Archival Records
Marker: Journal Entries From The Diary of Dr. Rory Williams
Frequency: Intermittent Entries provided courtesy of Mr. Anthony Brian Williams
A Mote Of Dust
The Beautiful or the Good
Mathematics elevated takes on a mystical property. Probability, theory, infinity. Theses on the truth and lies to be found beyond the bounds of our solar system. Facts and fallacies of laws we know to be unassailable today which will be broken 10 years from now, 20, 30. There is a hope to be found in mathematics, a hope that says "I do not know. But I hope to know one day."
I find an incalculable beauty in theories, a largess found in no other place but perhaps the silent contemplation of the Divine. There is a beneficence in mathematics, especially in passing it on to the youth that is unmatched because it bestows upon them both a future and a past. Giants standing on shoulders of giants until we all one day walk astride into the beyond. Mathematics is the words of Psalms reimagined. "Lead me to the rock that is higher than I."
Mencken has said...will say that higher maths are two intertwined with metaphysics and theology. What of it? Why shall they not all walk the same resplendent ground? Why must the line between the scientific and the theological be so broad a stroke? I have seen pure science, pure logic, pure creation...and though I could explain it in binary, in x's and zeroes and calculations and computations it would be better said with poetry.
Aristotle himself said "Those who assert that the mathematical sciences say nothing of the beautiful or the good are in error. For these sciences say and prove a great deal about them; if they do not expressly mention them, but prove attributes which are their results or definitions, it is not true that they tell us nothing about them. The chief forms of beauty are order and symmetry and definiteness, which the mathematical sciences demonstrate in a special degree."
I have "seen" a planet orbiting a black hole. I have "seen" a planet that absorbs so much light it is nearly dark as pitch. I have "seen" a planet that is 13 billion years old, three times older than our own. I have "seen" the beginning and the end of our Earth. I have "seen" peoples and creatures that have adapted to all manner of living and survival. I have "seen" those with knowledge that would astound the greatest minds of today. I have "seen" people, those who, for a sliver of time I thought were my people, who could bend and rule time, as Ladies and Lords.
I have tried to teach this to my son but I believe he would find himself to be a more willing pupil of the likes of Mencken than myself. He finds me too fanciful. No, that is perhaps being kind. A great deal of the time when I say what I've written just above, he thinks that I am ranting like a madman. He's a man now, with children of his own and has retained no memory of the events of that Christmas of 1851. He doesn't remember his mother, my dearest Caroline. For him, Rosita filled that space in his memory and his heart. He already thought of her as his mum before I took her for my wife. To Frederick all that happened...well, it's just stories. Dear Rosita chided me early on to keep them that way. "There's no good can come of you filling his head with nightmares and wonders." she'd say. She was more than likely right. But they aren't flights of fancy, they aren't stories or make-believe or the ramblings of a daft old man. They are truth. For a very brief time my life and the Doctors life were intertwined and for an even briefer time they were one. What he saw, I have seen.
Though it made my head ache as my hands hovered above the levers and bobbles in his TARDIS I knew I could fly her. I knew the knowledge would flow from my fingertips as I launched her into the vortex.
When I told Frederic I was writing this book he was pleased and quite encouraging. When I told him I was including my knowledge of the Doctor he became sullen. "Why? Why, Father would you pollute it with nonsense. You have an amazing mind but rather than put it on display you'd prefer to deal in children's bedtime stories."
It has caused a surprisingly deep rift between us. He is trying to make a name for himself and I understand his reluctance to share Lake with me. Perhaps we are both too stubborn for our own good.
"I do not know. But I hope to know one day."
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