The Meaning of Everything

ff_santoshwriter-1

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.”