Art, ascension, change, Community, Connection, fun, God, Intuitive, life, love, musings, presence, reflection, relationships, Source

FOR THE FIRST TIME.

FOR THE FIRST TIME.

If one eats a strawberry and decides this is a strawberry on first taste every strawberry thereafter could be comparible to the first.
If one sees a strawberry as bad as it is not pristine, one may cast out strawberries forever or judge them thereafter, hereafter.
If one rushes and gobbles a strawberry they may not actually truly experience the strawberry.
If one eats a strawberry every single day would you compare it to the first, the last, the bruising, the beauty.
Can you eat a strawberry every day as if it is your first time, allowing it to be all it is in each and every moment.
Can you taste, touch, see, feel, hear, smell, connect with the strawberry allowing all of it and all of you to merge without a single judgement – good or bad.
Could you meet the strawberry every single day as if it’s the first time and feel a deeper connection without trying.
If God gave you the same strawberry every day of your life could you meet it in the Morning and offer it space, presence, connection, communication as if it was the first time.
Can one meet each day, person, animal, experience, place with fresh eyes in each and every moment.
Can you truly meet another.
Can we truly meet ourselves.

Written by Helen Rebecca Hart.

Art, change, fun, Intuitive, life, love, Messages, musings, Mystic, One, poet, Poetry, presence, purpose, rebirth, relationships, Source, Spirit

THE KNIGHT, THE MAIDEN AND THE SMILING HORSE.

THE KNIGHT, THE MAIDEN AND THE SMILING HORSE.

Never a fan of fairy tales must you know.
Something seemed odd.
Rather a no, no.
Knight came on his horse.
White, shiny armour intact.
She said, “Why wear the armour.”
Is your heart bruised and bashed.
I was told it was needed to rescue you dear.
She said, I don’t need rescuing, listen here.
My motive is love.
It is eye and ewe.
The horse a mystery.
Donkey once knew.
They all looked and laughed.
Walking separately.
Together.
Liberation at last.
Never was a prison.
Seasons and weathers.
We all have hearts.
One heart.
Well I never.

Written by Helen Rebecca Hart.

Art, ascension, change, Community, Connection, fun, God, life, love, musings, Mystic, One, philosophy, poet, purpose, Source, Spirit, spirituality, Trauma

FUNNY BITS, FANCY BITS AND EVERYTHING INBETWEEN.

FUNNY BITS, FANCY BITS AND EVERYTHING INBETWEEN.

What I’ve found in life is that nearly everything changes, what never changes is that pure essence that cannot be described with words that is experienced from within and without simultaneously.

This expands and expands and expands into an eternity, an infinite space of no space in absolute truth.

The changeable aspects we all wear are life a change of clothing, some you grow out of some you like, some you dont like, some fit, some don’t.

Sometimes we may try to squeeze into things that don’t fit out of denial. Sometimes we wear things that are to big to hide.
We can wear costumes to act like we’re unknown to draw attention from what’s underneath but does this then draw attention to a persona that just cannot ever be maintained.

We all have problems, flaws beauty, difficulties, opportunities, surprises, experiences and a range of diverse emotions, feelings and beliefs.

Like a tree, we may have straight bits, smooth bits, lumpy bits, inverted bits, projected bits, plain bits, multicoloured bits, textured bits, hairy bits, you get the message they’re all part of the whole.

Sometimes we can embody wisdom and consciousness expansively. Sometimes we realise why a mountain bike is actually called a mountain bike.

We look to others at times like they have caused the stuff that’s bubbling up inside of us be it hate, love, lust, projections, numbness, seperation, unity, rejections, oneness.
We contain all that we “hold.”

We aren’t defined by that which we hold, that isn’t us and neither is the reasons we may feel this way.

Patterns, traumas, processes, hand me down ornaments from ancestors (no blame here), history and a lot of pain that’s affected the way we can see truth is the root that’s needed to delve into kindly, curiously, openly with love and a keen eye.

The patterns change form and changes form, frequency, fluidity and density along the spiral whether it be up to ascend or down to descend. The spiral looks more as an hourglass in the truth of how I’ve experienced it and downwards can mean inwards when consciously working with the somatics of the body.

We hold different beliefs, different views, different titles, etc etc etc.
We can judge this think we’re right, stay stuck.
We can accept that our differences are our journeys, our paths, unique flavours that may be used in a range of meals, delicacies, delights, concoctions, chaotic sensory flops.

Is judging perceived greatness any more or less than judging perceived failures.

Which eye do we use to truly see and which ears do we hear from, inner, outer, something inbetween.

I don’t have any answers.

I do have love though, I am love and in that not even love yet the unchangeable essence with no explanation that was the beginning and is now the end.

We all are.

We all ARE.

Art and Musings by Helen Rebecca Hart.

Art, Connection, fun, Inner child, Intuitive, life, light language, love, lyrics, Messages, musings, Mystic, philosophy, poet, Poetry, relationships, Source, Spirit

NEON – ORANGE.

Neon- orange.
The chills.
Joy sublime.
Creativity opens.
Sensuality high.
Breathe in the colour.
Movement ignites.
As the fire within.
Peaks sexual highs.
Shivers my spine.
No timber in sight.
Nor pirate.
Yet Parrots speak.
Colours.
No eyes.
Vibrations.
Seductive.
Velvet within.
True inner bliss.
Union.
No sin.

Written by Helen Rebecca Hart

Art, ascension, change, Children, Community, fun, Inner child, Intuitive, life, love, lyrics, Messages, musings, Poetry, Source, Spirit

THE SOCK.

THE SOCK.

The sock.
Tic tock.
Yet it ain’t a clock.
Pinched to a wire.
Alone in the fire.
Tic tock, tic tock.
A sock with no flock.
Sock wiggled the world.
Was not looking for a buyer.
As the church bell rang thrice.
Sock came to see.
That the air one feels.
Such a pleasure, click of heels.
The Earth was his friend.
Breath and a wiggle.
Sock transcended higher.

Sock, photo and poem – Helen Rebecca Hart.