It’s a doomed journey, the passage from the head to the heart. Having grown so used to the order and stability of their logic based ecosystem, the dutiful soldiers of my good sense are thrust upon the wild and unpredictable jungles of my heart’s will. Tumultuous storms that roll in and out, lush greenery that bars all passage, carnal creatures that feed from the rivers of my passion. 

It takes a strong thought, a big idea, to find its way to the other side. It must hack through the thicket and bear strategy against the locals. It must bargain, and plead, and persevere at the uncompromising nature of all that it encounters. And when it finally barrels out of the undergrowth and into kind company again, my heart already knows what it’s come to say. It’s heard the shouts through the lightless boscage. It knew long before this soldier arrived, and even before he departed.

No, it’s a perilous campaign to my core. The elevator jolts, the cobblestones of the road are pulled up by roots, the way is unclear. But the path is sure from my heart to my brain. The savage creatures that spread my passion’s unripe doctrine make haste there often. And so my days are often ruled by the fleeting fledglings of my rapture. I don’t often hear the ring of logic over the booming of bellowing things.

And so the weeds spread. My rib cage becomes a conduit of thorned vines and wild flowers. My heart an overgrowth of fertile and hostile species. The throughlines of my body slowly transformed into freeways of shrubbery. This wild body of mine, of dust and betrothed to it, ruled by sovereign forces of the heart.