As I sit here and my heart opens so much it hurts.
It hurts to see how much I betrayed my truths to fit in to societies standards.
Somehow, somewhere I lost my way.
Putting the pen in the hand of another, waiting, forever waiting for a sign, a man, a breakthrough.
The one I sought was always here, underneath the layers and layers of shattered dreams.
Yearning, longing to hold herself, love herself, fall deeply in love with the simple complexity of her ever changing form.
Always here, never left.
Do I desire fame, no.
Do I desire success, no.
Do I desire to be well known, liked, understood, frankly no.
I want a simple life, one where I flow with the tides, breeze and ever changing form of existence.
I want to feel the air on my face, the grass under my feet and not know where I begin and they end and even if it’s me experiencing, observing these delicious delights.
To not even question this or speak of this absolute imperfect perfection.
I’m tired of trying.
Trying to find myself, my destiny, what I’m here for, who I am, what I’m here to bring to life.
All I have to bring to life is myself and that for me is more than enough.
I am not how I look, what I say, the good or bad I do, the work I create.
Really I’m nothing and in that everything.
An expanded creation of everything and nothing all at the same time through the hand of God’s honey nectar golden liquid light.
A formless form of ever expanding vastness, experiencing life in perfect simplicity.
I don’t desire to be anything, anything other than my true nature.
Anything else feels superficial.
I cannot try anymore.
It breaks me, separates me, hollows my fullness.
I can’t try to fit into societies boxes.
I wish to dance to the song of creation with no expectation.
A flowing flow of formless form.
That’s as close as I can explain.
Words cannot cover the truth of ones nature.
There is no being small or stepping up fuelling my soul or spirit in my world.
I just want to be me, unexplainable, vast, free.
I choose to be me.
I loosen the grip of control.
Flowing once again.
Forever like water.
It finds it’s purpose in the flow.
Not in the frozen.
Lost and found in the wonder of flow.
Art + writing – Helen Rebecca Hart.