A Prison of the Mind
I’d last seen my brother when he was 11 and I was 15. I did not recognize this man—soft, bloated and white—that stared upon the world with these watery eyes. He was like a corpse, newly surfaced in some icy pond.
“Brother…” I said. “Paul.”
“He will not speak,” Meher said. “Our world is as distant to him as God’s light is to the heathen.”
I set down my equipment and tried not to sound perturbed.
“There’s nothing godly about this,” I said. “His mind has closed itself—a response to severe psychological trauma… It has been this way since we were boys.” Read the rest of this entry »