Sometimes you just have to sit down and write. Even if you feel like the words you are writing will carry no weight; just start writing and see where the words take you. When we are bound by determination perseverance will pillage its way to the surface. It is hoped that the meaning will then emerge in the texture of something portraying a logical fashion. Words have always had a way of figuring themselves out in my head but lately I haven’t been able to put an end to the product that I have stained on the paper. The purpose of this post is to get the wheels spinning back in their normal direction. Through hell or high water, I promise I’ll do the best I can to get there.

Where did I come up with the title “Atrium of Expression”? Honestly, it was the third article I started to write. I had an outline drawn up but I found myself lacking interest in carrying on with it because the enigmatic message didn’t speak to me loud and clear. Low and behold, I never finished it. My hope is that I can finally accomplish a means to an end with this post. Sometimes you have to get lost in order to find out where you are going. Whether it is in the midst of a blog post or on a Sunday afternoon drive, getting sidetracked can be an unexpected blessing.

Atrium is a word that has always captured my imagination because it carries a hint of life and expression with it. The biological definition of an atrium is as follows: It is the two upper cavities that receive and pump blood through the most vital of all organs, the heart. Its purpose is to make the heart beat with a rhythmic stability. It is the organ held the most accountable in the human body. It is full of virility and critical to life, as we know it.   An atrium can also be constructed or defined as any space that bears an open-air concept to it. It’s a gathering place full of life that functions through expression. Atriums were first designed in ancient Roman times to allow light and ventilation into living or meeting quarters. They always create a dynamic and stimulating interior that provides shelter from the outlying environment yet maintaining an aesthetic connection to the external setting. Flesh and bones is all we’re made of, but we are also expected to lay a sturdy foundation in life that breathes a productive style. See the word, atrium, simply put is both anatomical and architectural. This in my opinion is standard to a high functioning level of innovation, because it can be taken in any direction. It carries a choice with it, which is what I tend to seek out in an individual idea of inspiration. Choices are the kind of thing that art thrives on, without them art would be soundless and colorless. It is difficult to envision but it is true.


On the other end of the spectrum within the title we have the word expression. Expression is something that embodies the act of manifesting your thoughts or feelings either by writing, painting, photography, or some other manner of abstract communication. An expression is also defined as a mode, means, or use of significant symbolism meant as a subtle and vivid indication of something’s mood or sentiment, regarding a particular subject. In the spirit of this post’s title I am symbolizing an atrium overflowing with my own written words and the meticulous meaning beneath layers of an alleged agenda.

One of the most toothsome traits that I like in regard to expression is that it isn’t strong-armed by any certain set of written or traditional rules. The only rules one must adhere to are entirely those that are built via an internal manner, a self-constructed foundation, if you would like. Of course the powers-that-be, through continuation and constancy will try to push your art into the realm of their set of established rules. Remember though, in order for something to be profound with originality and genuineness it must bubble up from the deep-seated depths of your own self.

About a month ago, I stumbled upon my own creative congested crossroads. I was at a loss for words. I had so much momentum but then in a “Flash of Brilliance” they became strewn about my soul. I couldn’t piece together anything in a creative sense. I couldn’t connect my own dots. One would guess that I was trying to hard. I was pushing myself to get over some symbolic speed bump of writers block and wound up backing myself into a corner with no way out. I felt like I had no genuine expression, my atrium was clogged and the words were just regurgitating and recycling themselves in my inner scriptorium. All I could do was read, I read until my intellect went numb, then I read some more. I was reading multiple books at a time, trying to merge the messages into one valuable lesson. I think this was too much for me to chew on. My thought process was in overdrive and moving way too fast from one point to the next. One morning I looked at my desk, it was littered with literally a thousand post-it notes and half-written pages of chicken scratch. This was when I decided it was high time to organize my self-imposed stubbornness, in the inkling of an outburst full of ignorant bliss, I unplugged the arteries of my imagination. With one sudden swoop of my arms, stacks of miscalculated ideas danced into the refusal bin. I was panicky at first but all of a sudden, I felt this omnipresent sense of relief. Just toss what you know in the trash and rebuild yourself from the ground up, again. Much to my surprise it worked with swiftness. It was in the relief of self-appointed pressure that I was able to let the natural flow of things work their wonders. Words started to flow again. Fingers mashed the keyboard in rhythm with the optimism that my words could make a difference in someone’s life, somewhere. One little token of inspiration rested in the reorganization of a blank canvas. Excavating my soul and rewiring a few loose connections have been a welcome sight; full with a fresh attitude and a new avenue of innovative intention.  I can now see clearly from every peak resting within the mountains of my imagination.  The outlook is no longer crowded with previous over-thought considerations.  It is very easy to start and have a clear view through the open corridor of our dreams but any hint of neglect in said corridor, can lead to a complicated direction of meaning. By taking a different approach towards the ultimate destination we can easily find ourselves back in the saddle and taking back the reigns to what is rightfully ours.

What I learned from all of this is that writing is a robust choice. It is tough to constantly create something that carries a constant weight. I find it similar to running a marathon, in order to reach the finish line; it is imperative that we must exercise with a methodical and rigorous approach.  The writers thought process must be treated the same way.  Through a regiment of strenous practice we will make the sought after goal more achievable.

In relation to the choice I made at the crossroads, I would give the following advice.  When on the road to wherever you are going, I suggest taking the scenic route to get to there. Most of the time we arrive in a late but timely fashion, yet we carry a bit of a bohemian flair when we get there. Our conscious and constant struggle is replaced with clandestine clarity. The anxiousness in a sea of madness can prove both deadly and disastrous to the creative flow of individual thought. Take the time to go out of your way for a little self-induced open-air therapy. Your thoughts will thank me later. The mind just seems to work more creatively for me in less stressful surroundings. The irksome induced impatience of some generic jammed-pack highway always leaves me in a bit of a funk.


In theory, the same could be said for writing, more so this day and age than ever before. The Internet is a freeway full of freestyle, critical-thought, and fashionista writers, moving at warp speed and coming from every possible direction. This can be detrimental to the confidence of the self-titled blogger-slash-writer nowadays because sometimes the message can be characterized as irrelevant amongst a sea of shallow and short-attention spanned requirements that people tend to want nowadays. Maybe my message is irrelevant but that doesn’t mean I am going to stop doing what I love. These words are my original thoughts; they belong to me and no one else. I know I am as crazy as they come but that is what makes me who I am today. My words are chockfull of relevance to me because I view it as practice through patience. These words, no matter how you read them are the emblematic blood that is being pumped through the heart of my creative process. I promise you these words will always be spun with love and they will continue to beat with an abstractive rhythm of purpose. I can also guarantee you that you will always be able to find my words and myself right here in this atrium of expression.

In hindsight, lets reflect. Sometimes the message may be long-winded, but it is important to value the time and effort it takes to savor a moment of solitude while meandering through some uncharted beauty towards the inevitable destination. It is deeply satisfying to practice patience in doing what you love to allow opportunity the ability to show up front and center in a standing room only crowd of vexation. One must comfortably detach themselves from the rigors of a stagnant stance, so one can acknowledge the creative struggle that is wrestling within the mind, body, and soul before one can carry on to the next destination. Next time you travel somewhere, whether near or far, go off the beaten path to get there. Take a way you have never taken before and pay attention as your thought process spins a different direction and notice the originality spawning from those newfound thoughts.

Most important is to just remember to be you because everyone else is spoken for.

Tea Leaf Green / “Don’t Curse At The Night”


My roots are buried in the Dirty South. I grew up learning the importance of God and Southern Charm. I began writing in my late teens mostly through heartbreak and music. I moved out west 15 years ago and live right around the corner from the Fountain Of Youth. Most people refer to it as Lake Tahoe. I play Chef during the day and search for ways to save the world by night, through reading, writing, and believing. I enjoy the side of life that is less abrasive. I look forward to joining you on my quest through Spiritual Sobriety with the Promised Land as our ultimate destination.

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