The Freedom to Choose – An Artist’s Narrative

When you let yourself experience the freedom of choice your life will open up to endless possibilities. Everyday we make countless of choices that define the narrative of our waking lives. Choices are presented in a variety of different ways from the cereal boxes in the grocery aisle to making the next big step in your life. Sometimes we feel stifled by our inability to choose for ourselves. We’re crippled with anxiety so profuse that we hold back and sit calmly waiting for the internal clammer to calm down, so we can stay in the straight and narrow. I’ve always found my ability to choose to be an overwhelming feeling, I struggle with the choices of daily life never knowing if I’ve made the right ones. I think that is where the majority of my anxiety comes from. As a critical thinker, I constantly evaluate and then reassess my personal actions (usually after I have already impulsively acted.) But at least that means I have a little bit of awareness into my own behavior, right? However, as an artist when I have given myself the freedom to choose my personal expression, and I allow the universe to flow freely through me without doubt or hesitation. I experience creative intuition so vast and profound it changes the course of my work. Somedays I doubt my capabilities as a creator. Somedays I wear different hats: psychologist, trauma survivor, millennial, marketer, teacher, artist. However, I think at the core who I really am is an artist. My art seeps into everything that I do. Whether it be finding new ways to move my body while cooking fish for lunch, or writing poetry in my journal to process the shapes and colors I’ve seen in a day.

I am constantly searching and looking at the world through an artistic lens.

What I have discovered most about my relationship with myself and my art is that when I am experiencing the freedom to feel and think without constriction. I am inspired to think and create without restriction. I don’t look in the mirror and critique my movement as if I am comparing myself to some of the world’s most elite dancers, nor do I create a painting with the mental block of inadequacy or personal hostility regarding my technique. I am just experiencing the proverbial flow of creation and heart. I am in the midst of being. I am exactly that. I don’t think or try. I just do it. And what I feel is release and growth in understanding my own personal identity but also healing the identities that have been structured for me by society. I allow myself to choose my personal movement and how I define what it means to move. I am outside of a structural discourse and pattern of archetypal realities. When I give myself the freedom to express with the freedom of choice, it is as if I am awakened to the potential of the millions of choices we can make. Neither one of those choices being right or wrong but apart of a cloak of intricate possibilities that shape our own personal realities.

My Identity As An Artist Is Defined By My Freedom

I think one of the biggest moments of reprieve for me in Paris was walking around the Modern Museum of Art. I was in tears half of the time just walking in one of the world’s most advanced exhibits of abstract and modern art. Literally, I was walking around this museum balling crying. I feel that the reason why some people don’t always understand modern or abstract painting is because they don’t see that these artists have embodied personal freedom. They have created their own narratives and identities as artists. When you’re an artist and you understand the awakening to that potential and you see it mastered. It is something that will change your ability to view and appreciate art itself.

Matisse, Modigliani, Kandinsky and more weren’t exceptional at realism or any of these tactile art forms. They interpreted their personal expression of the world through shape, color, light and movement. They didn’t need a name for it. They just did it. It was the freedom they allowed themselves to express.

What Can We Take From This?

I think whether or not you’re a 19th-century modern artist, you can give yourself freedom. And you can express it however you want. Take your coffee with two extra sugars and maybe stand naked in front of the mirror and laugh. Giving yourself freedom is one of the most amazing things because it will create an appreciation for the absurd or the undefined. The things in life we can’t make sense of because the truth is life is chaos. Living your life with to choose your personal freedom is how innovation, poetry, art and love are all re-conceptualized.

The Helix Nebula

The Helix Nebula

The Helix Nebula
Sometimes in the broken barrier of a rising sun
The moon presses against its baring chest

Awaken me for I am hazy and without rest

Rain formed from endless love
Love molded and shaped from boxed souls

smothered and unable to breath
From the hallway a window opened
The wind blows like wave-sickled particles
Along the crooked hallway
Lays a dying man
His face is covered in black
And bares a crooked hand
The den in which he sleeps colored by explosions in the sky
Slowly dying waiting a brief encounter from his third eye
A planet completely uninhabited

In the middle of the room
Spiraling, death and destruction
Gravitational chaos encrypted by the weight of uncaring doom
A vacuum of emptiness
Thousands of lost souls searching

standing alone like a brideless groom


Harbinger of a painless syndrome

What if we stumbled into heaven?
Zero correspondence
No assumption of up or down

expanding in all directions


Not once fearing the ground
Do you think a lion killing a gazelle is evil?
It does not disparage

Entropy- has no victims but the victims themselves
Only thing left to do is jump




10 Pictures and Quotes That Will Remind You What It’s Like to Be Zen

Zen and Quotes

Love her and leave her wild – Atticus


She sprouted love like flowers,

Grew a garden in her mind,

And even on the darkest days,

From her smile the sun still shined.


Zen and Poetry

I am a child

Of the moon

Being raised by the Sun

In a world walked by Stars

And a sky drawn with flowers

Zen and Poetry

My religion is very simple. My religion is kindness. 

Zen and Poetry

What you seek is seeking you 



When two souls fall in love, there is nothing else but the yearning to be close to the other. The presence that is felt through a hand held, a voice heard, or a smile seen.

Souls do not have calendars or clocks, nor do they understand the notion of time or distance. They only know it feels right to be with one another.

This is the reason why you miss someone so much when they are not there- even if they are only in the very next room. Your soul only feels their absence- it doesn’t realize the separation is temporary.

Zen and Poetry

To imagine – to dream about things that have not happened- is among mankind’s deepest needs.

– Milan Kundera

Zen and Poetry

Tormented by dreams

which evaporate at dawn,

leaving me weary.

Beyond my sun-bright windows,

a happy riot of birds.

– Michael Boiano

Zen and Poetry

We don’t believe in ourselves until someone reveals that deep inside us something is valuable, worth listening to, worthy of our trust, sacred to our touch. Once we believe in ourselves we can risk curiosity, wonder, spontaneous delight or any experience that reveals the human spirit.

E.E. Cummings

Zena and Poetry

I am still learning – Michelangelo

Queen Of The Nile

Queen of the Nile

The Queen Of The Nile

Face round and black as the cat loitering in the ally 
Eyes as dark as the deepening sea
Unscrupulously freezing the mind of the fates eyes
Ferocious and Mighty
Lioness engulfing the skinless body
Puncturing the thick bleeding muscle of its heart
Curse the haunting drum of the jungle’s beat 

Crying out-loud to her pets in the deepening trenches of the wicked forest, The Queen, barks:

“En-thrown the immortal symmetry of my pride stalked sanctification,
Dub my golden-speckled impishness as righteously entrenched with the battering of your vex-less momentary permanence

Maggots and Worms

Spineless you crawl like serpents in the warm, thick and melting juices of my carnivorous canal
I drop stale bread crumbs stained with the forests succubus for you to squander and your flea-pined brains think that I bring you a loaf molded by the iron-working hands of the gods
Bountiful and soft
Blind-less faith has made you tender like the petals that are stained red from the life-less asphyxiated corpses of your fathers
Like sightless un-encased moles searching for the tit of your mother’s breast
Living underneath my unpolished arm pits you dig in the enchanting darkness senseless and comically dying believing you are actually living.

Now chant the wakening song that you have sung for centuries as you walk shackled and manufactured waiting for a flight that will never departure
Thinking your white superiority and your horse-laden chariots were better than the men who lived by the edges of the seas and the center of the waters trails
Who cared for and tended to the land
Who saw warlords hung as monuments on Mesopotamian Isles and warriors were proud to call men
An age where fertility and agility was the jewel in which you sought and the women were the queens of the vast and toppling lands, whose minds and bodies stretched to the peaks of the highest mountains.

But because you have enslaved me
You have poisoned my blood stream
Broken my chastity and expunged my fluidity
Because you have tied your children, both men and women, with the iron chains of selfishness
Your days will be barren, industrial and solemn

And you will chew on my bread-crumbs like the dumb-witted beasts you are and spit will fall from the encrusted crevice of your mouth loosely hanging off the tip of your tilted flesh

Brain-dead and worthless.”

Queen of the

A punishable curse cast before men of all ages
Dawning the empire of soundless pulses
Darkness falls
and black tidings encompass me

I talked to an existentialist today

Paige Swanson

I talked to an existentialist today,
He sold me a cup of coffee, and he could see the avid discontentment stream of the curves and creases of my face. My damn face always shows the way I am feeling. He told me life isn’t so bleak. Then he gave me a book, “Existentialism and the Human Emotion.”
Essence proceeds existence
I can’t deny this statement.
“Man is nothing else but what he makes of himself. What that means is this: that man realizes that he is not only the person he chooses to be, but also a law-maker who is, at the same time, choosing mankind as well as himself, and cannot escape the feeling of his own total and deep responsibility.”
There is no such thing as God.
I can’t deny this statement. I can’t prove this statement.
I have to say, I don’t know anymore, and I am about ready to give up my search and accept that my life is has no pre-ordained purpose.
Because if man is who he makes himself to be, that is implying we as men have free-will.
Therefore, I am basing this assumption on the a priori that:
I, as man, singular living breathing, and secular entity have power of my own existence.
I have to deny this statement.
We don’t have free-will.
We actually don’t have control over anything.
In fact, it is because we have believed that we can control everything that we have become wretched drunks lusting over our own power. And this in turn, has made us dreadfully, dreadfully powerless.
I think I’ve gone mad and paranoid
Peace of mind is a hoax, a comical farce when you begin to see that God really is dead and without him we mean nothing
Because if I could make anything of life
If I had it my way
If I was in control of my own destiny
I would sit in the garden and watch the birds sing and chase one another
I would lay with the caterpillars, dragon flies and bees
I would dance with the butterflies
And I would stand infinitely still in time and within that stillness I might find the heart to love
Because there is nothing like the infinite timelessness of nature’s company
And I would say, my garden is my greatest friend
When you sit in a garden
Day in and day out and speak to the trees
You begin to see what is actually living
Everything even the wind has its own pulse
And everything even the ant in your chicken salad has a life
Have I gone mad? Am I projecting?
Everything in the garden is just as much a part of you as you are to it
That is peace-of-mind
We do have human nature
Equilibrium belongs to the understanding that our entire survival begins and ends with the very thing that is keeping us alive
Mother Earth
And we don’t notice the baby bird who has fallen from the tree
That was made from the table upon which we lay our meal
Which is being scooped up and placed into our whole disease ridden mouth’s
And we unconsciously chew
The nutrients that where provided by the grass upon which the livestock ate
Who were then taken and killed for the same purposes the baby bird had to die
To feed our gapping, gnawing disgusting hunger
Don’t worry, you’ll get a toy with that purchase
The land lord came today and locked my doors and mowed down the garden
Nothing is free not even our will
I feel stripped
You should see the garden
She is screaming
And we pretend not to hear
I think I’ve gone mad
But what you don’t understand is that we’re all connected
And we don’t care to know how the blue bird really died
Because we owe our entire existence to ourselves
And we have built our entire humanity off this very notion that is slowly killing us and the planet
So, I think I have given up believing in a purpose
Because to fulfill a purpose within this reality, I must give power to the things which only end up destroying us

The Gardener

Poetry about Love

I’ll never forget you

Sweet, loving Gardner

The day you stumbled into my luscious greens adorned in petals

A secret garden few have ventured to go –

blessed only by my soul

You sat beneath the Hawthorne tree-

unaware of what you found-

Yet, still, you tended to the weeds that grew upon my ground

Pruning the petals and cutting the thorns

Blooming bushes-




effortlessly and without thought-

And when you tired, you would sit at my fountain and drink from me

Holding innocence in your hands

You sipped my nectar

like the blessed water meant to cure all sorrow

Sipping the life and agency of a precious morrow’

Take my vile and lay it by your chest

Take my source and drink without rest

and in times of bleak un-expectancy

sit in my garden and think of me

stay in my garden until you’re old and grey

take my trails and wash your pain away

And I’ll be the moon and you the wolf

alive you’re loved and whole as can be

and I’ll pray one day you’ll howl for me

And if you ever lose your way

Sweet, loving Gardner

look towards the light and there I’ll be

whole in the garden

waiting for you to play with me