Art, Connection, God, life, love, Messages, musings, philosophy, poet, Poetry, presence, realisation, Source

COMING TOGETHER, COMING APART.

COMING TOGETHER, COMING APART.

Do you truly accept me as all I am in each ever changing moment.
Can you flow with the fields of grace as the tides rise.
Can you sit back and allow rather than fix, flea or fault find.
Can you help me, truly help me by helping yourself.
Can you accept all of me without judging the parts that seem more appealing.
Can my perceived flaws become a home to your sweet, compassionate smile.
Can you work with me and flow like a river and maybe be still as ice in winter, eye to eye, gazing into our souls as one breath to one eye.
Can you accept that I want all of you, not just certain parts.
Can you accept that I’ve met your darkness with an open heart.
Can you accept that I will never be perfect and cannot fullfill your insatiable needs.
I shall not feed them either though as love needs breath and your needs within your heed.
Can we work together apart.
Can we create something new.
For what I’ve seen of love in movies, is not love but an adornment in which this love is lost.
I truly, deeply, feel and see all of you.
It will never come at a cost.
For I found eye when I was lost.

Written by Helen Rebecca Hart.

change, Christ, Community, God, life, love, Mystic, poet, Poetry, purpose, Source

STILL TO SEA SEE.

STILL TO SEA SEE.

In this moment I realise we’re free.
Free from yesterday.
Free from tomorrow.
Free from being more, doing more, having more.
Free from attaching to something external to bring about false hope, light and happiness.
Free from denial.
Free from chains.
Free from the prison of the mind.
If not free there.
Free now.
Breathe.
Cool inner.
Hot outer.
Space inbetween.
Breathe.
Now.
Here.
Now.
Here.
There.
Becomes.
Now.
Here.

Written by Helen Rebecca Hart.

Art, ascension, change, poet, Poetry, purpose, rebirth, Source

FIRST I MUST BREAK.

FIRST I MUST BREAK.

There’s a mighty roar of oceans.
Oceans that want to reach out and pour.
A mighty roar of oceans.
That want to breathe life once more.
There’s a new beginning.
Stripped bare from what was before.
As I shed my hair.
In to the wind.
Leave the one behind.
Who once was.
She doesn’t fit in.
No in the concept of herself.
No more.
A need to move forward.
Or upward.
The old had no more room to grow.
No place to go.
The silence too still.
No will can take this lake.
A touch to talk.
One word may breathe, breath, walk.
First I need to break.
To feel the wind within.
The willows bloom breath.
The heart breathes gold dust.
To dance as the field.
Without a care for more.

Poem – Helen Rebecca Hart.

love, Messages, One, parenting, poet, Poetry, presence, purpose

PINK FLOWS.

PINK FLOWS.

Love.
True love.
It is delicate yet very present in it’s presence.
It cannot be owned, possessed or taken.
It is full, filled and fully felt.
Without sex in sight.
It is not an object of beauty.
It is not brought on by the eye.
Love just is.
Love is an ever floating pink mist that cradles you without taking you.
Love is a heart opening full flowing force.
Minus force.
It holds no control.
Nobody owns love.
It has no status.
It is not dependant upon sexual desire.
That’s lust.
Many man have confused lust for love.
Love isn’t an erecting force.
It is soft, delicate yet is full bodied in it’s taste.
Love doesn’t speak with a tongue.
It has no need to be told.
For if you are telling of love.
It’s not that.
Love just is.
A baby an image of love.
An embodiment of love.
Not an object but pure life.
A Mother or Fathers love does not bind nor attach.
It guides, it allows, it accepts.
It’s felt with no hands steering a wheel in sight.
It’s not an adornment but an embodiment.
A pink mist from the inner core.
It envelops the one.
It’s in it’s words, breath, touch.
All without a plan.
It touches all of those around who feel.
It brags not of what it has done.
An inner outer blanket.
A warm supportive hand.
A vision, no eye.
It isn’t blinding.
That which binds.
That again not love.
Love doesn’t ask for a thing nor does it give with intention.
It isn’t taken or given in greed or lack.
It does not come with a photo or image.
Yet desire does.
Again not love.
Love a state of presence.
You’ll feel it when you know.
It cannot be held in permanence.
A force of vibration.
A pink caressing mist that softly holds.
Yet fully flows.
Love a heart filled presence.
No words truly explain.
True loves vibration.
No claimant in sight.

Written by Helen Rebecca Hart.

ascension, change, Children, Christ, Connection, God, Inner child, life, love, Messages, musings, One, poet, presence, purpose, relationships, Spirit, Trauma

THE GOLDEN ONE.

When your heart is yearning.
Pour yourself into yourself.
It yearns for you.
It longs for you.
It calls to be heard.
To be held.
To be here.
Not there.
Love is not found in another,
Nor is happiness.
For you are love.
Crack open and let it flow.
If you hand the key to your heart
To the one.
Let that one be you.
Nobody else deserves the honour.
Of all of you.
There’s no need to give yourself away.
It’s a painful existence.
An open wound.
A melded plaster.
A painful seperation.
When you long and yearn.
Pour yourself into yourself.
No other can fill you.
To be filled.
Call for source, the divine, God, Christ.
Whoever you choose.
That spark you see in another.
That light you feel you need.
Is source.
Fill yourself up.
Please don’t give your heart away.
Most definitely not to me.
I am not the one.
I’m unsure if there is another at this point in time.
Outside of me.
Time will tell.
What I do know from life is.
When yearning, when not filled.
I/she/he could never meet your expectations.
They’re not what you’ve imagined.
Don’t give yourself away.
At least not to me.
When they said no it meant no.
Stop trying.
Save yourself the heartache.
I’ve been there too.
Yearning for someone who isn’t interested.
A painful existence.
Wondering why.
Trying, forever trying.
Save yourself for yourself.
Fall into the arms of the beloved, source.
Pour yourself into yourself.
Your heart yearns for you.
To give up the fight.
To come back home.
Held always forever held.
Home.

Written by Helen Rebecca Hart.