Chalk dust settled on my shoulders, as I wiped away the day’s lecture.
I started slightly, as a polite cough came from behind me.
I turned to face Mr. Johnson, an elderly gentleman in a mothball-scented tweed jacket.
It was refreshing to see an older face in my class, among all the mockingly young ones.
He offered in slightly shaking hands, a thick stack of paper, along with a weak smile.
Taking the stack, I was startled by the weight, but more so by the squint-inducing typeface.
Mr. Johnson usually just wrote sparse meanderings on whatever took his fancy.
Another cough returned my gaze to the old man’s now worried face.
“I-I hope it’s not too much, I-I just thought you might--” he stammered.
“Oh, don’t worry, I’m just glad to see you found something you’re passionate about!” I chuckled.
The man nodded curtly, and scuttled out of the room.
Looking back at the papers, I finally read the title:
A Theory on Achieving a State of Nirvana
After reading through a dozen essays about mourning dead grandfathers and “life-changing” vacations,
I remembered Mr. Johnson’s essay-- gladly picking it up for a change of pace.
As I began, it became clear this was far from Mr. Johnson’s typical wax-poetic mentality.
It seemed the paper was discussing the theories of a scientist, apparently his father,
which seemed to suggest that the religious concept of nirvana was scientifically achievable.
Thoughts of grades and grammar fell away, as I grew increasingly fascinated with the text.
It seemed his father, and now he, had believed that sections of the brain could be stimulated,
leading to a state of enhanced mental functions-- while shutting down the physical elements of the body.
Then, the writing took a turn from theory-- to practice.
It seemed the rest of the paper was discussing entirely new experiments, all by Mr. Johnson.
He began to explain how through experiments, he had finally found a means to achieve this “nirvana.”
He claimed that tests had found the process “easy to perform,” even using “a simple electric hand drill.”
Although he claimed this evidence came from “a living subject,” he never said what, or who, that was.
It finished with a diagram which showed how to perform “the process of ascension,” on yourself.
At this point I wasn’t sure sure how to react, was it all just made up? Just some elaborate joke?
I mean, he had me convinced.
The next day Mr. Johnson wasn’t in class...
or any day after that.
The radio played a news segment about an old man in a coma, found with self-inflicted head wounds.
I ended class early to drive to the hospital. I had to know if it was him.
I kept telling myself I wouldn’t find him there-- that it had to be a coincidence.
As I entered the hospital lobby, I asked the receptionist about the elderly man with head wounds.
She showed me to the room-- as the door opened I started violently.
Mr. Johnson was lying in the bed, head wrapped in bloodied bandages.
She noticed my reaction, and asked me if I was his son.
I absent-mindedly said “Yes.”
The answer just came... I don’t know why.
She rested a conciliatory hand on my shoulder, and said:
“I’m so sorry... He looks peaceful though, doesn’t he?”
I felt a chill crawl up my spine as I responded:
“Yes... Yes he does.”
I’ll never forget the look on his face.
I’ve never seen someone look so genuinely at peace.
I felt hollow as I left the hospital.
The feeling remained as I drove home.
I wasn’t sure what to think... I just stared at that disturbing diagram.
I know I shouldn’t give any thought to it-- clearly he was just some crazy old man.
But, why do I eye that drill sitting in my garage with this feeling of intrigue?
I mean, after all, it’s only a theory... right?
