Art, ascension, change, Children, Connection, fun, life, lyrics, Messages, MOVEMENT, musings, One, philosophy, Poetry, Revolution, Source, Spirit

BUTTERCUPS.

Made up of nothing but everyone else’s ideals.
Tossed from one form to the next with no clear plan.
No blame, merely a deeper deconstruction.
An accessory to others dreams.
A disposable toy of enchantment until I’d served their call.
Light and life sucked out.
Yet we are all light.
I allowed this!
The pit of my stomach weeps with the acid of my self abandoned tears.
Lost, desolate, deep.
Dark, round, down.
Circles of disappointment and a yellow eye keenly watching my fall.
Black hole – RISEN.
Prompt on command.
Command on prompt.
I took the remote.
No more, one screamed.
As a shell filled with nothing but smiles.
As I give gratitude for the place that never felt like home.
The lessons, strength, connected bleed-through,
Merging parts I thought were oneness.
Not my parts not my role.
I realise true oneness, true connection is home.
Home in the temple of self.
The wholeness lay in the welcoming of what was hidden, judged as tarnished.
Covered in shame, playing out in the outer arena projected out from the inner eye.
Sense of self is who we are not what we do.
Another story – Who knows.
Connected in broken wholeness.
Born into life through a bleeding eye.
No merge.
White horse.
A crisp white cool breath.
Smoke no screen.
No plans to change the world.
No plans.
Accepting the world and all in it’s disconnected, connected, imperfect,
glorious, source powered perfection.
Am I lost or found.
Burrowed.
A chalice.
As life.

Art + Musings – Bec Hart.

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