The Neural Mycelium

When I think of the human anatomy, the brain always seems out of place somehow. It's unlike any other organ in appearance. Anything else is just meat as we know it, but the brain looks almost more like a fungus. The brain doesn't move like flesh does, rather it grows like mycelium. Like fungus, neurons don't have a particular point to grow towards. They just grow all over the place. Fungus grows to digest detritus; neurons grow to digest each other's input, as if our brain is continually eating itself up. Out of all this, we come up with an idea, but we weren't looking for it, because we couldn't even know what to look for: we merely washed onto its shore. Just like everything else, we evolve — we are not created, not even by ourselves. We aren't pulled onward by a purpose, but pushed onward by a drive, even if that drive is our own free will. But just like a tree, we are part of the landscape around us, and like rain flows through roots, reality flows through our neurons.