He rose from his stupor and exclaimed, “I see the meaning of the universe!”

Over the course of a day, he tried to explain it to me, drawing many diagrams in his notebook. He made no sense at all, but he was emphatic. He seemed to sense this sudden understanding was fleeting, and if he wasn’t able to write it down or at least have me witness it with comprehension, then he would lose it.

He ate nothing during this whole mind adventure, and so I just tried to get him to sip some water from time to time. He pulled me close to him at one point and held me in a deep and penetrating gaze. He held up his hand, palm facing me, and pointed to the bottom of his palm with the index finger of his other hand. He never broke eye contact, and he said, at the moment his finger pad touched his palm, “I understand everything.”

He did not leave his room for three days. I asked the maid service not to go in his room, and to just clean the rest of the suite. I slept with my daughter in her room, to give him space to “understand the meaning of everything”. My husband was a Mensa level genius, a stunningly brilliant man. I was very curious what he would ultimately get out of this experience, if he would somehow be able to bring back, or hold on to some piece of this cosmic and ultimate revelation.

When he finally came out of it on the third day, he was pretty hollowed out. After some coffee and a decent breakfast, we looked through his stack of writings and drawings he made on loose papers and in his journal. None of it made sense, not even remotely. He shook his head and laughed. So close. To remember that you understood the heart of all existence, but not remember what it was…

Years later, he died in Cambodia. In that very city. Whenever my daughter or I want to indicate without speaking that we understand something fully, we hold up our hand and touch the palm with our index finger. “It is known.”