Gabriel Jeroschewitz, April 3rd, 2026, Inspired by a CBC program on Easter Friday about Jhana Meditation and Neurochemistry
Like a Russian doll that’s full of light instead of other dolls.
Geoff said it at breakfast, over the sink, as he rinsed his bowl. Today is a beautiful day to die. He never looked up from his bowl. His forehead seemed unnaturally smooth – had it always been this way?
I waited for him to say something. Anything. A jest about the traffic on the 405, perhaps, or a comment on the quarterly reports he’s been stress-eating over for three months. Instead, Geoff dried his bowl with a towel, folded it into thirds, and smiled at the window. His smile did not touch his eyes – because his eyes were not in his eyes anymore. Not like they used to be. They looked like he’s done something with the “soul” slider on Photoshop.
“Geoff,” I said, seeing the dog staring at him with the same amount of consideration one gives to a man debating whether or not to adopt a pet during lunch. “You’re scaring the dog.”
Geoff knelt on the floor, like a heron that has just taken flight from the water and began to scratch the dog behind the ears. The dog appeared to melt into Geoff’s lap.
“He’s fine,” Geoff said. “We’re all fine. Nothing needs to be defended.”
This is Day Three of the retreat- that wasn’t a retreat. Geoff never went on a retreat. Instead, he sat in the garage attempting to figure out the leaf blower for the last fourteen hours. When I finally found him, he was sitting cross-legged on the garage floor, the blower running in what I can only describe as a state of Zen-in-terms-of-the-blower. Geoff’s mind was on something else entirely. Something deeper. Something related to the jhanas. The jhanas are a practice in Buddhism that seeks to allow the thalamus to cease sending signals of anxiety to the cortex, to flood the brain with dopamine, and to allow the mind and self to unwind from its grasp on existence.
I first thought Geoff had suffered a stroke. Then I thought he was in some secret yoga class. Then I thought about the affair between Geoff and Marcy.
There was no affair between Geoff and Marcy. Geoff had equanimity.
“When work called,” I said, “Jenkins needs the Henderson account by Friday.”
Geoff looked at me with a grace that bordered on the offensive. He poured a cup of tea. He did not spill a drop. According to the literature I found after frantically searching Google for “jhanas” and “equanimity”, Geoff was experiencing the Fourth Jhana. Pure equanimity. Deep stability. Acceptance of all things without desire for any particular outcome. It was terrifying because it meant Geoff had accepted his mortality. He had accepted that one day he would cease to exist. And he was okay with it.
“It’s handled,” Geoff said.
“You didn’t handle the Henderson account. You’ve been sitting in the garage.”
“I’m handling it now,” he said. And I believed him. Geoff understood the temporary nature of spreadsheets and the eventual heat death of the universe. He had time to take care of the recycling. The horror I felt when Geoff told me about the retreat was not because I was scared of him dying. It was because he had accepted his mortality – his deep commitment to life – to filing our tax documents within seventeen minutes of realizing what needed to be done.
“They’re saying you need to come back to the office,” I said, “they say you’ve been off.”
Geoff looked at me with a gaze of the First Jhana – applied thought to joy and happiness. “I know,” he said. “The horizon has dissolved, Sarah. There’s no future. There’s only this field of presence. Also, I think we should rewild the backyard.”
Geoff had taken complete responsibility for his existence. The illusion of lack that he had lived with since he was a forty-year-old man was finally done. His thalamus and limbic system were in sync.
“Your mother called,” I said. “She’s worried.”
Geoff smiled with compassion. “Soft melancholy. Tell her I love her, but it’s just a pattern recognition system functioning in alignment with a feeling.”
Geoff reached out and touched my hand. His fingers were warm with that “comfortable numbness” described in the literature on altered states of consciousness. He was touching me like a very expensive massage chair that had finally achieved sentience and emotional maturity.
“You’re frightened of me,” he said. “You’re concerned that I’m becoming nothing. But I’m becoming everything. Like a Russian doll that’s full of light instead of other dolls. Also, I cancelled all our subscription services. We don’t need them. We don’t need anything. Everything is already here.”
Geoff was right. We had too many streaming subscription services that we did not watch. The garage was organized. And his frown lines had disappeared – his mind focused on nothing beyond existence.
On day seven of the retreat- that wasn’t a retreat – Geoff entered the garage and stopped breathing.
It wasn’t dramatic. He didn’t gasp or clutch his chest. Instead, he ceased breathing for forty-five minutes. I stood in the kitchen with the phone ready to call 911. Geoff’s chest did not move. His face was serene – like the wax figure of the enlightened man in the garage. I knew from the literature that opioids were flooding his system, inducing a state of deep relaxation in the body.
When he inhaled, Geoff opened his eyes. “The second jhana is intense.”
Geoff looked at me with a look of horror – of a man who was about to become a houseplant with a 401k and a deep concern for the world beyond our backyard.
“I know,” he said. “Death can wait. Not out of avoidance. Out of preference. There is something here that wishes to be expressed.”
“What?” I said.
Geoff walked to the workbench. He picked up a sander. He began to finish the coffee table I’ve been nagging him about since 2019. The sander began to scream in objection – Geoff was focused on the task at hand. His face remained calm in deep equanimity. The coffee table was finished.
Geoff had taken complete responsibility for his life – yet he was unbothered by the fact that he had a life. The horror I felt wasn’t because Geoff was dying. It was because he had found a way to be alive without being bothered by the existence of the world – the fact that I had panic attacks, to-do lists, and a personality that made me look at myself in the mirror and wonder who I was supposed to be.
“Will you stay with me?” I asked.
Geoff set the sander down on the workbench. “As long as there is breath,” he said, “there is a natural inclination to give.”
Then he handed me a coaster he made from some scrap wood. He asked me if I wanted to learn how to let my thoughts stop.
I stared at the coaster. I stared at Geoff – he who had finally achieved total responsibility for his existence and liberated himself from the concept of having to worry about it. He who had found a way to be alive yet unbothered by existence. He was now glowing with the compassion of a man who had truly mastered the concept of equanimity. He who was roughly 15% refrigerator.
“Yes,” I said.
Today was a beautiful day to die. And Geoff, damn him, had made the garage look really good.
