ascension, change, Children, Community, Connection, God, life, Messages, MOVEMENT, Mystic, One, Revolution, Source

BIRDS – MESSENGERS – CALL.

I was guided to go outside this morning and God had a message through the birds song.

One bird sang a solo in a field of a divine orchestra, the bird stood out for it’s unique ability to hold many different tones, frequencies and patterns. The bird spoke a message of the connection of all. I noted one of the tones even sounded like the call of a monkey yet this does not mean he/she is a monkey nor did they steal or impersonate this tone. There’s always a reason that things, people, places are different yet not. In the grand scheme of things the bird delivers a message but the whole orchestra delivers the call.

As I spoke to God this morning about my fears of what is transforming in my life and how it’s really not what I expected nor do I feel qualified, Christ gave me these words;

There are no “right’s” in righteousness! Man’s mark is not defined by what he defines as the truth but what I show as truth – Just be.

I wanted to share this message just in case you too are feeling fear of power, fear of judgement,  fear of change and an unconventional path.

The doubt that speaks is not you but that inner power that speaks through a different call, is.

Much love all. ❤

Art, ascension, change, Children, Community, Connection, Intuitive, life, musings, philosophy, Poetry, spirituality

EMPTY VASTNESS.

Once again, stripped fully.
Bare bones.
Blood stained lies,
Lying upon the floor.
Where I once stood.
Broken, broken, broken.
DUST.
All known, knowing,
Completely destroyed.
Conditioned illusions.
Delusion – Broken.
BORN?
Born or lost.
Lost nor born.
Stagnant.
Transition – DEEP.
Deep down.
Down into the inner.
Inner.
Core.
An empty vastness.
No longer knowing.
Who we are.
Once more.
Are there ever no layers.
Layers as the sea.
A cool foam forming.
On a startling, bare, boned, breeze.
Will there ever be a time.
Where I, the air.
An inner – outer blanket.
Caressing all.
Yet flowingly vast and free.
Will there ever be life.
Living without restraint.
Born.
Flood.
Free.

Art + poetry – Bec Hart.

addiction, Art, ascension, change, Children, Community, Connection, life, Messages, musings, parenting, philosophy, Poetry, rebirth, relationships, Revolution, spirituality, Trauma, Uncategorized

WHAT IF THEY SEE WHAT WE SEE.

WHAT IF THEY SEE WHAT WE SEE.

Should we hold a guard up.

Chase unavailable men.

Plan our life to perfection.

Re-Write words over and over again.

Should we do a spell check.

Oh wow there, he’s the one.

He’ll fix us inside.

We’ll do everything wrong.

What if they find us out.

We’re not perfect.

Oh, “that is so wrong.”

Here is a label.

Now there is somewhere “we belong.”

How can we prove oneself.

Get some results.

Agree with the masses.

This is real love!

Maybe run from a Partner.

Pretend its not time yet.

I need space.

She can’t see I’m imperfect.

Hey everyone, check out my CV.

It’s dripping in accolades.

Everyone wants part of me.

If they only knew our denied truths.

Dark, squashed deep inside.

They’d run a mile.

We’d be a recluse.

Dear Diary;

I’m digging you out.

The darkness is explosive.

There’s only one way out.

Denial of true essence.

Cannot take it, no more.

We’re not like the Jones’s.

No lies, no more.

We’re not very spiritual.

We get angry and sad.

I thought if I was honest.

I’d be labelled, bad!

Our bodies show stretch marks, cellulite and wobbly bits.

We don’t own a fit bit and frankly don’t give a shit.

There are scars from birth.

“You chose the easy way.”

What a lie that was.

They don’t see this though, hey.

There’s scars on my arms from years gone by.

I mutilated myself for being told I was bad.

The shame ate my insides.

The blame looped the outside lessons.

Old lovers say,

“Oh them, watch them they’re mad!”

They don’t see the destruction.

Of life through a filtered lens.

Just an opportunity to shine.

Cheese, smile, action.

Press send.

Poetry and artwork – Bec Hart.

Art, change, Children, Community, Connection, Death, Intuitive, life, parenting, Poetry, relationships, spirituality, Trauma

FEEL ME HERE.

FEEL ME HERE.

I couldn’t say, “I loved you,”
This was not as I didn’t care.
I loved you with every heartbeat.
At times the beat was barely there.
I switched off my vital feelings.
So I could live – to carry on.
When I passed away.
There weren’t a day,
I haven’t seen you.
Since I’ve been gone.
I know it wasn’t sudden.
Yet you still blame yourself.
Heal your health.
Forgive yourself.
There’s nothing you could have done.
You may not see me here.
You can feel me if you choose.
I love you more than ever.
Some things you never lose.

Art + poetry – Bec Hart.

Messages from spirit.

addiction, Art, ascension, change, Children, Community, Connection, Inner child, Intuitive, life, musings, rebirth, relationships, Revolution, spirituality, Trauma

PAIN AS MIRRORS – TO HEAL, TO FEEL.

PAIN AS MIRRORS – TO HEAL, TO FEEL.

You reached out to me I think.
Although I’m not sure.
Back then a blur.
Lost in my head.
I thought you cared.
I felt so much love for you.
You stood there yet you fled.
You wouldn’t take the time to hear me, see me, get to know me.
Mind games, playing with my head.
You stood as a brick wall.
I could feel your anger inside.
I was picking at your wounds too.
Projecting energetically, trying to fix my head.
There’s nothing wrong with me.
My insides bled.
I felt hurt, rejected, angry, betrayed.
I ran to you, to fix, to fix, to fix.
The bad girl I thought I was as a child.
Distraught, alone, heartbroken.
Unrequited love.
What can I do instead.

So many messages.
So many texts.
Calls when I say “NO.”
Please give it a rest.
They say, I know you can help me.
I love you.
What have I done wrong.
You’ve done nothing.
It’s my shame, blame and guilt.
They’re all singing an ear deafening song.
Nails on a chalkboard.
Skin crawling around.
I scream please give it a rest.
They don’t hear a sound.
I think leave me alone.
I’m not your Mother.
I’m not your home.
Nor am I your lover.
Your life does not lie within my hands.
The same responsibilities fed to me.
As childhood demands.
Anger boiling.
Here, me, now.
You don’t even see me.
I let the tears flow.
Rage screams.
I’m not a bad person.
Nor are you.
I hear me now.
I hear your screams too.

Mirror number thirty something….ninety five.
Why do I keep attracting this.
Am I evil inside.
How many more mirrors till you see.
Stop trying to flee will you.
The loud voice trying to speak inside of me.
There’s nowhere to run.
The darkness hits painfully.
Sexual advances.
Sensations as flames through my body.
Burning, intrusive.
Shaking profusely.
Vomit rising.
Memories haunting.
I tried to run, numb, avoid.
You didn’t hear my “NO.”
Daggers to my stomach,
Piercing, protruding.
Sexual advances.
Pornographic pictures.
It felt so abusive.
My sexual armour.
Induced this.
Thoughts;
What’s wrong with me.
I’ll never have a healthy relationship.
How’s this non-conducive.

Don’t run nor hide.
Come out to play.
It’s happening for you not to you.
Intimacy heals.
Feel, scream, release.
Feel all.
You can meet demons face to face.
Enter the pain.
It’s the only way.
I declare – no longer will this consume me.
I see they are in pain too.
Bringing feeling to each other’s wounds.
The dance we avoid.
This dance of wounding between two.

I decided to feel it all.
No need to run, numb nor hide.
I’m grateful to all those people.
The wounds they picked to show.
I needed to feel.
To say “NO.”
To heal.
To know my limits.
To truly love.
To truly see, feel and hear.
I’m not an object and nor are you.
A saint I’m not nor a sinner too.
I’ve played all roles,
This I cannot deny.
I’m not on a pedestal higher than high.
Just trying to be, day by day.
To grow.
To be love.
In my own unique way.

Bec Hart.

ascension, change, Children, Community, Connection, Intuitive, life, musings, philosophy, Poetry, rebirth, relationships, Revolution, spirituality

I THOUGHT.

I thought I knew.

I thought I had the answers.

I thought I was helping.

I thought I was right.

I thought I was wrong.

I thought I was good.

I thought I was bad.

I thought I was a success.

I thought I was a failure.

I thought I was listening.

I thought I had listened.

I thought of all the reasons.

I thought I knew who I was.

I thought I knew who you was.

I thought I could help.

I thought you could help.

I thought I had a mission.

I thought I needed to be.

I thought I needed to do.

I thought I needed to have.

I thought I needed to hold.

I thought I needed to be taught.

I thought I needed to teach.

I thought I needed to do this.

I thought I needed to do that.

I thought I was special.

I thought I was evil.

I thought I was enough.

I thought I wasn’t enough.

I THOUGHT.

I THOUGHT.

I THOUGHT………..

Were they ever my thoughts.

addiction, Art, ascension, change, Children, Community, Connection, fun, Inner child, Intuitive, life, MOVEMENT, musings, parenting, philosophy, Poetry, rebirth, relationships, Revolution, spirituality, Trauma

HINDER CALLED HELP – BREAKING BORN.

HINDER CALLED HELP – BREAKING BORN.

What when we strip it all away.
Working with no payment in sight.
Unconditionally sharing creation for passions wake.
Righteousness washed away.
What when we let go that old fairytale that others need us.
Knowing the truth, it is they whom need themselves.
Everyone is exactly where they need to be.
The universe guides all, not our ego self.
When we let go of our hidden trauma tendencies.
Lay our desperate helping hands on another shelf.
Our own dormant yet revolving health.
Fixing our mighty old reflection in the form of another, calling it help.
A need to assist a humanity who is far from broken.
To feel needed, wanted, good in a world – let us crack this fallacy open.
What when we admit our polarization causes pain not peace.
Attracts disaster, poverty, shame.
What if we lose our validation.
Our right to claim.
What is left.
Who are you.
Who remains.
A selfless act, a surrender to God.
God your highest self.
Whom sees everything is in perfect order.
Steps back into life’s creative corner.
Seen as selfish to others yet is this a service to all.
Had we been blindly fooled.
Mutters that they need you now more than ever.
Eyes see truth, go within rather than trying to “fix” another.
To glue together your perfect view.
What hope remains, in this old stale tale.
If we all committed to caring for ourselves.
What would our lives look like.
Would we be hidden on a shelf.
What if we stripped ourselves of everything we knew.
The absolute appeared.
Raw, awake, shaking, dripping with life.
No accolades in sight.
A true being of unconditional love.
A sight that shall blind.
Undeniably you.
Of pure life, love and truth.

Bec Hart.