Art, change, Connection, life, musings, Poetry, Source

OIL OF SAND – LAND.

The sky as waves in the sea.
Foaming, formed.
A cool crisp, peace.
Birds fly above.
Angel dove.
For where have you been.
Lost? My love.
An Earth.
A canoe.
A silence.
A scope.
I went to a place.
I lost all hope.
It’s drawn the future.
To sky’s of gold.
Not someone else’s.
Not something old.
A glittering, shimmering oil of sand.
This our hope.
We now, can land.

Bec Hart.

Art, ascension, change, Community, Connection, Death, God, lyrics, Messages, musings, Poetry

WHO AM I.

When words cease to exist.
There is no scope to wander.
I wander when wonder left.
Escape left the boat.
Am I really deep down under.
Vices.
Alarms.
No tales to tell.
Addictions I roll eyes at.
Nothing fills the well.
Mind wants to control.
Soul feels buried deep.
Who I once thought I was.
Has run and played no seek.
Mundane as eating cardboard.
Boxes go to hell.
I just can’t find my self anymore.
Ones self has lost the shelf.

Art, ascension, change, Community, Connection, Death, God, Intuitive, life, lyrics, Messages, MOVEMENT, musings, Mystic, One, philosophy, Poetry, rebirth, relationships, Revolution, Source, Spirit, spirituality

ARE WE ALIVE OR IS IT THE BREEZE THAT BREATHES THROUGH WE.

ARE WE ALIVE OR IS IT THE BREEZE THAT BREATHES THROUGH WE.

Does it bare life.
Does it stand strong.
Does the wind fling it around.
Singing the winds song.
Is it dead, stood still.
Rigid.
Rigamortis.
Yet the air breathes through its vessel.
Perceiving life’s liveliest wishes.
An instrument with no player.
A silent sound – minus the mute.
A foot of the climber adorned with no boot.
A dragon – no wings.
How does one fly?
The day – no night.
A lid – minus eye.
The arc minus rainbow.
Hologram in a bin.
Cherry pie in the sky.
The portal within.

Poetry Bec Hart.

Art, ascension, change, Community, Connection, God, Intuitive, life, lyrics, Messages, MOVEMENT, musings, Mystic, One, philosophy, Poetry, relationships, Revolution, Source, Spirit, spirituality

THE TIDE, THE TURN.

THE TIDE, THE TURN.

The wind it moves,
A sacred dance.
A loose structure,
Pure cleansing, trance.
The wind holds eyes,
In ancient skies.
Orange, red.
A holy bed.
A resting wake.
A longing tooth.
From foot, to eye.
From brick, to roof.
Upon ancient winds.
The tide shall turn.
Some will win.
Some shall learn.
In both, a winner.
No loser, in-sight.
The Earth.
The wind.
Blows wolf – away.
Angelic might.
Prophetic delight.

Art and poetry created Feb 2020 – Bec Hart.

change, Community, Connection, fun, life, musings, One, philosophy

JUST LIKE YOU.

Why would we want everybody to be just like us. For some reason we can possibly drive for this; old beliefs playing in the background… not good enough, to good, something right, something wrong.
Striving for people to agree or see things our way.
Oh a dream….What if.
What if this event, leads to this. Where we can all be the same and skip in harmony.
Where there’s no confrontation, no conversation, no motivation nor inspiration.
What if in a lower state of awareness this same pattern is one where we all desire to look a particular way.
What if.
Perceptions.
Patterns.
Still wild, loud and present.
Morphing into another form.
Is one truly awake or going round in different coloured circles. Yet this pattern just as sacred as the rest.
There’s beauty in the eye of another.
The curiosity of what they see, feel, taste, touch.
Of this, we can never truly know.
How interesting is it to hear another’s experience without wanting to change it’s intelligent form….
Without seeing ourselves and the versions we may or may not accept just yet.
What if we lay down these old patterns of psychoanalysis. Coming from a place of acceptance where there are no labels. Lay our selves in awareness and love and accept one another in our now form, regardless of what this is.
Different flavours, textures, tastes.
Journeys of wilderness through ancient skies.
Sensory explosions of creation.
Coloured creations – unique delights.
Highs, lows, who knows where or why one moment leads to the next. There’s something deeply sacred in this unfoldment, pure divine intelligence breathing life in each cells call.
Do we want to live a life where we all turn into bread.
Bread to read, bread to eat, bread to breathe.
Or is the world just perfect as it is.
Imperfection our past creating dread.
Many different coloured threads.
Weaving life.
The weave, the weft.

Art, change, Community, Connection, Intuitive, life, lyrics, Messages, musings, Poetry, Source, Spirit

TREE TO LIFE.

TREE TO LIFE.


Bare branches,
Old.
Aged.
The stories you could tell.
Only you don’t speak my language well.
A mystery of violet.
A hidden wishing well.
Crooked bones.
Wildlife homes.
Ancient, I can tell.
Tall, slender and crooked small.
A picturesque wonder.
I see you.
All.
I breathe your waste.
You breathe mine back.
A cycle of life.
Breath, purity, fact.
They ancient trees.
They speak to me.
I hear them now.
They speak through me.
Energy pours through,
All of me.
I as the tree.
The tree as me.

Bec Hart.

change, Community, Connection, Death, God, Inner child, Intuitive, life, Messages, MOVEMENT, musings, One, philosophy, relationships, Revolution, Source, Spirit, Trauma

BEING A WOMAN.

What being a women has taught me, is that life was not in the suffering, the denial, rejection, opression, objectification, abuse, manipulation, degrading, labelling and sexualisation.

All of which I have faced.

That wasn’t life but lessons.

The story will always be a part of my life, at times denied parts may rise and maybe my story may be shown through another yet it doesn’t have to be the guide any longer nor lead the way.

Grateful for the breaking of armour and the uncovering of my true essence.

We was and are life as we lay in the womb and life as we are now lay in the womb of the universe.

Power is in the ability to stay as strong as a tree at the core as the world falls around you,  not faltering or altering your authenticity by manipulating others and controlling the direction but to be true to your truth, compassion, self love and worth. Allowing our emotions, feelings and truth to be a guide but not our master.

Handing over the struggles and rising in God’s hands as we trust that all is in divine order within Mother/Father God’s plan.

Being a women is being in her truth, unlimited nurturing, love, creation, power, vulnerability, courage, depth, playfulness and forgiveness.
Healing hands without a touch nor plan to heal a thing.

This is the power of a women.

This power a man holds within him too. Repression of the feminine within. Also a lesson not a life plan.

Balance, the key to see.

I am grateful for all those who came before us and now stand beside us in and as the air, trees, breath, being, bones and grit of life.

Beyond grateful!

HAPPY INTERNATIONAL WOMEN’S DAY.

May our days be blessed.