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.

Art, ascension, change, Children, Connection, God, Inner child, Intuitive, life, love, Messages, musings, One, parenting, philosophy, presence, purpose, relationships, Revolution, Source, Spirit

WHAT IF

WHAT IF….

If someone is always viewed as a beast they will always be a beast and dictate your life from the shadows.
When did a child turn into a narcissist or co-dependant….when did the child turn into the swinging pendulum of it’s polarised parents, grandparents, ancestors, society.
I’ve found Narcissism is always fed by the beastly status.
When you allow yourself to see under that hard exterior, shell, there lays fear, pain, suffering.
A petrified child fearful of showing their pain to the world that’s why they play games, psychoanalyse, hide, find your weak point to hide, to hide so you cannot see their messy humaness and raw naked, sensitive vulnerability.
When you refuse to feed the game, they have no prize to focus upon.
I’ve seen this from observing pained children who have grown into numbed, apathetic adults.
I saw a beast of an ex partner turn into stone yet show a glimmer of humaness if only for a second.
Imagine if you shed the layers of illusion, if you can hate so much, imagine how much love you can experience.
The beast within us all dies and the charge, pain and judgement within dies when we accept ourselves, our expansiveness, capabilities, limitations.
I’m not interested in fixing anyone, taking on projections or playing games.
I’m not interested in being right, this most likely will not be a popular post.
I’m not advocating anything here.
However I do not see beasts.
I see contrast.
I see more opportunities to unite with myself as the world on the deepest levels.
I feel my own validation.
Love me or hate me.
It’s yours to hold.
Labels separate.
Love just is.

Written by Helen Rebecca 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, 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.