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.

addiction, ascension, change, Children, Community, Connection, life, musings, parenting, philosophy, relationships, Revolution, Trauma

TO THE MOTHERS THAT I WAS.

TO THE MOTHERS THAT I WAS.

You are enough.
There is no perfection.
Drop the perfection.
The comparison.
The disappointment that you feel you are.
This was a lie sold to you.
You cannot and need not fix anyone or anything.
Nor can anyone fix you.
There’s no thing to fix.

There is no need for you to do and be everything and some more.
Release the pressure.
This pressure will cause collapse.
Destruction.
A lack of life.
A desire to flee from life itself.
Yet it is not life you desired to flee from.
It was the incessant demands placed upon yourself, by yourself or submisively accepted and adorned by yourself as a jewel of love.
The No’s you said Yes too.
The love you threw, drenched, drowned to and in all but oneself.

Yes, you’ve really made epic mistakes.
Who hasn’t.
This is how we learn.
This is how we grow.
This is how we break old, mouldy patterns from multiplying into the hearts of our children.
Yes you really taught your awake children to sleep.
You didn’t listen.
You didn’t hear.
You didn’t know.
You did all you could do.
That was enough.
That is enough.
You are enough.
Listen.

Look at you now.
Look at you guiding the way.
From your mistakes.
Which where never yours.
Yet you took them on as wildfire.
Allowing the destruction.
To lead you.
Onto a new path.
A new way.
A new existence.
A new reality.
For others to follow, if they so choose to.

There’s nothing to forgive.
No shame to bare.
No guilt to grasp onto.
No wasp to sting.
No blame to throw around as the stuffing at the centre of a Christmas meal.
Those conditions stripped.
The lies bled.
Life exposed.
Into body, out of head.
Into heart.
One, intuitive, mind.

Be at peace dear one.
Hold yourself.
Get to know yourself.
The truth of you.
Love yourself.
Accept yourself.
You are enough.
You are worthy.
Life is worthwhile.
This is the end.
This is also the beginning.

Bec Hart.

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

DEAR MASCULINE.

DEAR MASCULINE.

We don’t desire you to worship us.
We don’t desire you to project at us either.
Please do worship yourself.
Your flaws, imperfections, darkness, light, love, compassion.
All you see in me, is within you too.
Your inner self is calling.
You are your Mother and Father.
Merge.
Connect to your inner feminine and allow her to speak, dance, flow.
For she is calling you.
Mirrored through me.
Your strength and power lay here.
Go deep and deeper, still.

We do not need a saviour, a warrior, a protector.
For I am, see, are all those as our self.
You were sold a lie.
One that could never be met.
Feel your feelings.
Break, cry, flow.
Hold space , yes.
Be there, yes.
More so, be you.
Be there for you.
That is more than enough.
We see you.
We hear you.

In those times you feel you miss another.
You are missing you.
There is an intelligent disconnect.
Misaligned to align further.
Go deep, go deeper still.
Enter that portal to love right there.
Within.
Alone yet never lonely.
Never truly alone.
Always held.
Hear your breath.
Feel your skin.
Taste the air.

We don’t need to be told we are loved.
We feel it.
We are it.
Equally.
As are you.
We see you.
We are you.
We are love.
It’s not to be sought.
Nor to be stole.
Yet to be still.

Allow yourself to sink into those parts you see as flawed, forbidden, bad, unhinged, unmasculine.
Apathy, empathy, lust, envy, sensitivity, insensitivity, childlike curiosity, wonder.
Shine pure light upon them and merge with their unique beauty.
As you are beauty itself.
Pour your sacred love and awareness into their deep, dark, suffocated flesh.
Breathe new life.

Dear Masculine.
More than ever.
Allow yourself to be you.
The true you.
Not the lie once sold.
The boy that felt everything.
The boy that accepted all as they are and were.
The boy who dreamt his biggest dreams.
The boy who spoke to stars of a night sky.
The boy that loved and loved some more.
Strip the mask.
You are safe.
The boy becomes a Man.
When your Child is heard, held, nurtured.
Life breathed into life.
Awake.
Aware.
So very whole.

Bec Hart.

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

WE ARE ENOUGH.

I AM ENOUGH.

That deep down core validation.
Deeply deprived.
Unheard.
Unseen.
Not just a dent in the pride.

A soft subtle child.
Yearning for love.
Needing your care.
Feeling they weren’t enough.

The older they grew.
The more invisible they became.
Chewed up, spat out.
Riddled in shame.

Blame a pre cursor.
Before the event.
I need you.
I need you.
A dark dissent.

How could we see you.
We couldn’t see ourselves.
All our dreams on a dust ridden shelf.
We loved you all we could.
In our pain and strife.

We’re so sorry dear one.
There’s no need to fight.

You were always enough.
We didn’t know what to do.
Just one thing we want you to know.
It was never about you.

Bec Hart.