Gur Oynpx Obbx

Earlier in life, John had many dreams - entire galaxies of thought spun through his head. He remembered the intensity of thought, vivid conversations, endless scrawled notes, and dreams he enrolled people in. Looking back, all of them had come to nothing. He was annoyed thinking about it because everyone he talked to in person was raving about this book that mysteriously hit all the bookstore shelves, had not a single commercial or ad anywhere, but yet every time he'd bump into someone or read a social media post, someone had bought a copy. No one knew the author's true name - the book was a leather black book, was titled Gur Oynpx Obbx, and was written by Gur Nhgube. It seemed like something retrieved randomly from Borges' Library of Babel. It looked like a personal notebook but when you opened the pages it looked like someone had carefully handwritten each page, yet on the back was a barcode and a price tag and inside was a publisher. Whoever wrote it was very clever.

John liked puzzles but this one was driving the entire world mad. He wasn't one for following the crowds, but he was a bit intrigued by the movement the author created - hearing people trying to ask for 'Gur Oynpx Obbx' at front desks of bookstores and then watching people everywhere devouring the pages. There was some sort of intrigue about the book and oddly enough he would bump into someone at the bookstore, strike up a conversation with them, and suddenly be having the vivid conversations like he did in his youth, except the roles were reversed: he was the cynical, jaded, and sarcastic non-believer and the person he approached was wide-eyed, full of dreams, and filled with hope for the future.

That afternoon, he decided to ask for more details at his local bookstore in Baltimore. He spoke to a clerk and inquired why so many people were buying 'Gur Oynpx Obbx'. The clerk told him that by word of mouth, there was rumor that the entire book was a code and if a person cracks the code, the author granted a substantial gift onto the reader.

John said, "Oh, so this is just greed motivation we’re seeing."

"Not exactly - it seems more than just that. While people read the book, it seems to wake up something in them - it speaks to them about their dead but not yet forgotten dreams and it seems that part of the code is tapping into their own dreams to mine out the answers."

"This all seems like an elaborate prank, but is intriguing", admitted John. That day, almost by compulsion, he found himself buying a copy. He absolutely hated himself with each step he took away from the bookstore. He fell for one of the greatest scams in the history of bookselling. He turned around thrice and almost marched back to return it... but was too ashamed that someone would see him returning, so the shame made him turn home.

He hid it away in his home so no one who visited might see and judge him for joining the deceived. He left it untouched for weeks as he judged others he saw so publicly professing their naivety by devouring the pages. Yet, something strange happened. Christina, a neighbor he knew was as morose about life as he was and had attempted suicide in the last few months, could be seen outside quietly reading it at Druid Hill Park near their apartments - he saw her reading it daily for weeks. He had compassion for her and noticed a positive change in her. He saw her as a precious soul with a spike driven through her head - he wanted to take it out and tell her how amazing life could be...yet, he didn't really believe that, nor did he know any way to remove it without harming her more. Yet, reading this book seemed therapeutic to her.

One night, while Christina sat outside reading with the setting sun, John sat beside her quietly as she continued reading. He could feel her peacefully accept his presence and finally after fifteen minutes of silence said,

"Hello John. I've noticed you watching me read for weeks. What's up?"

"You seem different", John said.

"I am. I've processed lots of trauma across my life by reading this. I don't even care about the supposed prize in cracking the book. I've found my prize: I don't want to die anymore; I want to live through this precious gift called Life."

John nodded deeply, slowly, and understandingly. His cynicism fell away for a moment. He sat in silence, fully present with her, as he probed her eyes as she did his. She was alive, awake, and truly meant it. He teared up and couldn't understand why - it felt as if he had found his own prize by seeing the suffering no longer suffer. Then he got his answer:

"You see, I saw you buy it in the bookstore and could tell how conflicted you were in buying it. I know you are as confused as me about life so I figured ‘if John’s buying it, how bad can it be?’"

For the first time in years, he felt present, awake and alive. He breathed deep and let all the years of cynicism fall away like scales. He didn't defend himself nor admit to her that he had shoved it away. He merely smiled deeply at her and bowed to her as he walked away.

Later that night, he cracked the apparently handwritten notebook open and admired its handwritten pages. He got a magnifying glass out and studied it and saw it was in fact ink printed out of a machine but looked like handwriting. Yet, after he studied each letter he noticed that the handwriting was repeating without defect or variance - each letter when it repeated was written identically. It was a handwritten font scanned in and then used in printing.

Something about the title of the book seemed familiar and he wondered if it was a cipher. He went online and tried complex ciphers, but nothing worked. Out of desperation he tried the most simplistic in the world: ROT13, the special case of the Caesar cipher used in ancient Rome where you rotate the letters by 13 positions (so that 'a' becomes 'n' and 'm' becomes 'z'). He plugged in 'Gur Oynpx Obbx' and 'Gur Nhgube' and obtained 'The Black Book' by 'The Author'. He nearly threw the book back into its hiding place. He was filled with anger and humor all at once - anger that it was simply a joke but humor that everyone worked so hard to say a Caesar cipher in an intellectual way and all they were asking for was the 'Black Book'.

John began reading the book outside with Christina in the evenings. It reminded him of books by Robert Pirsig that would go from details about an intriguing story into the private thoughts of the "Gur Nhgube" (perhaps) as it addressed the reader. It seemed like a very deeply moving expression of lovingkindness for any reader who could possibly pickup "Gur Oynpx Obbx" and John gradually began to get this is why people loved it as a work of literature itself. It naturally instilled a deep desire to meet "Gur Nhgube" in person and speak with her or him.

John wrestled with many demons while reading - he figured out that he had abandoned his dreams because he simply didn’t believe anymore. It was similar to his childhood – he was expansive and full of dreams, had grown up in a good home with loving parents (unlike some of his friends), and then that terrible event happened one weekend when he stayed at his uncle’s place. Then he didn’t believe in himself or anything else anymore. Somehow as he grew into a teenager and adult and got further away from everything, he began to believe again but something he couldn’t put his finger on kept snuffing it out.

John and Christina spent many evenings talking about the benefit the book gave them. Yet, one night, John decided he wanted Christina to join him on cracking the book’s code. He told her about ROT13 and she responded back ‘Route 13’? U.S. Route 13 was a short drive from Baltimore – could this be a clue? Suddenly, he remembered something he couldn’t crack – a passage in the book said, “You must assemble all of your memories before you, like I did at fcehpr”. “Fcehpr” rotated to “Spruce”. It seemed like pure nonsense at the time. He got out a map of Route 13 and it led to Philadelphia, which had a Spruce Street. It was an obscure clue. He also found a passage ‘After the bomb and the orphanage, I found a wonderful place called Cuvyyl’, which rotated to Philly. He convinced Christina to accompany him that weekend to Philadelphia.

That weekend, as John drove, Christina read the book aloud to see if they could find other clues. Reading aloud together was nice on the nearly two-hour drive. The author mentioned cataloguing his most powerful memories in one part – John’s ears were perked after the line about assembling these memories. He said there 3,920 of them at that time. Later, he said his first royalty check was $3,920.

On arrival, they parked at House of Our Own Books at 3920 Spruce St. John went up to the front desk and said he’d like to meet with “Gur Nhgube”. The lady behind the desk said ‘of course’, called someone, and then said, “Got it”. She told them, “Meet at Rittenhouse Square at 2pm and be reading this”. She handed them another little black book that looked identical to the first except it had an obscure symbol on it.

Over lunch, they started reading the book quietly. It had no title, only the symbol. It actually was hand-written. The handwriting was easy to read but the material was hard.

By 2pm, they were in the square, still reading, but tears were coming out of both of their eyes.

A man’s voice startled them: “You’ve made the hero’s journey, but I see that you have met your greatest foes… yourselves.”

An elder man who appeared in his seventies extended his hand and a warm smile.

He said, “I am Gur Nhgube.”

John smiled and shook the hand: “The Author.. We’re John and Christina, it is truly an honor.”

“So you cracked my simple code but how did you find my city?”

Christina said, “When John told me about ROT13 I thought he said Route 13.”

“Hence you both sit before me today – I am delighted. I suppose you want your reward.”

John said, “No, sir, our reward was the book itself. It was mainly about meeting you.”

“So, you liked the final book? This is the last I write – there is only one copy, handwritten. I entrusted it to the bookstore in case no one ever showed up, but that now you’ve claimed it, I want you to publish it for me, after you add your own words about our encounter today. I’m fronting you your first royalty check of $20,000 as your promise you won’t let a dying man down.”

They talked for hours. It turned out he was dying of cancer – he lost his parents in the Nagasaki bombing – he only survived due to a trip with his school. He explained that he wanted to awaken all of his readers with his first book but the second he wanted to transform a person or couple alone to carry forward the work. What is inside the first black book and the second book are not a mystery as the secrets are embedded into your very self – you just have to awaken to them and discover how special and loved you are. What lead you to read this story was your need to realize that.