The Meaning of Everything


He spoke of tremendous mysteries buried in numbers.

“Right under your nose,” he would say.

He’d spend an hour on the symbolism etched into the dollar, fill a notepad with calculations of its hidden meanings.

He counted everything.

Once I found him in the yard counting the needles on a pine tree, convinced the numbers would reveal a code.

Once I found him dissecting a robin, studying the entrails with a magnifying glass.

He said it held the secret.

“The secret of what?” I asked him.

He pointed at the world.

“All this.”

He tapped his chest.

“And in here.”