Art, ascension, change, Children, Community, Connection, God, Inner child, Intuitive, life, love, Messages, musings, One, philosophy, poet, Poetry, presence, relationships, Revolution, Source, Trauma



I write this from my heart.
A heart that’s been punished by self and others.
No war ever won.
A mind that’s been ravaged by “trying” to get out of the victim mindset.
Looped in a pattern of trying to get out of the victim mindset.
Roar into an oppressor.
To hide behind the walls.
Flip, flop, round, round.
A body that’s been worn down, torn, separated and belittled by others and I,
pushing the get out of the victim mindset pill.
Is there something fundamentally wrong.
Is it just me.
No it isn’t.
It’s quite likely anyone and no-one stuck in duality, polarity.
Hidden wounds, hidden life behind the curtain.
In one form or another.
A pill with a very bitter coating that poisons the spirit within.
A pill pushed as it’s an ulterior motive of the hidden one within that may not accept it’s own inner victim and prefers the deceitful power a mask of the oppressor.
I have contained both.
I’m no saint, saviour or demon.
At times they can come and say Hello when triggered.
“Hello” remember me.
“Not again.”
“Ooh let’s play.”
Neither better nor worse.
Both generally circulating around the core sacral wounding, falling into a pit of despair.
Seeking, seeking always seeking.
It may be temporarily satisfied by false sense of achievement called competition and winning at life.
It may be temporarily satisfied by hiding out, escaping from the noise.
It may be temporarily satisfied and filled with food, pity, hiding, superiority, alcohol, drugs, plant medicines, relationship, lack of relationships – anything basically.
Never satisfied – insatiable.
Don’t try anything.
In fact try nothing.
Don’t even try that.
Those voices inside.
Those tired, weeping wounds.
Orange, red and black.
Open raw.
Allow them to bleed.
Pour them love.
Welcome them to your safe home.
In time, they’ll return.
As one hand in hand.
Yin to the yang.
Yang to the yin.
Knowing it couldn’t have been any other way.
Always whole and empty.
For not though.
Do no thing.
Don’t even do that.
Find the space inbetween.
Yet don’t look.
Always breathing.
How is that?

Art + Musings – by Helen Rebecca Hart.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s