Art, change, Connection, God, life, love, Messages, musings, philosophy, Poetry, relationships, Source, Spirit, spirituality

RESTORATION.

I thought I was deeply flawed.
As life pushed me away from all I wanted.
Broken, torn.
A masquerade of false promises by a dissolutioned mind.
Breaking through, wanting more.
Given less.
Losing, losing, lost myself.
Who is that now.
Pushed and pushed to work things out.
All around me fell to the wasteside.
Crumble, crumble, crumble, drop.
The tower fallen.
Broken hot.
Scattered tears of yesterday’s.
Mangled dreams transformed a nightmare.
Looking in the mirror.
Lost.
I do not know who stood there.
It was not me.
A fallen creation.
Crossed.

Written by Helen Rebecca Hart.

Art, ascension, change, Community, Connection, life, love, Messages, MOVEMENT, musings, philosophy, Poetry, relationships, Revolution, Source, spirituality, Trauma

BOUND TO BREAK FREE.

BOUND TO BREAK FREE.

Bound to break free of the patterns imposed on we.
From lives gone past.
Ancestral longings, locks last.
Bound to we.

I cannot carry the weight of these chains no more.
Denial isn’t an option.
Nor running and chasing.
No score.

Meet me face to face.
Dare you will.
Face our inner demons.
Consciously, still.

Meet me face to face.
Mirrors are loud.
In this space.
No masks allowed.
Discomfort turns red.
Hidden gets loud.

Take this into ourselves.
Feeling all that’s shroud.
Drop the guard.
Playing proud.

There is no war.
No power trips.
It’s for us to rise in our own ships.

Can you commit to healing all within.
Can you commit to yourself.
To break this bill.
Can you lay your weapons on the floor.
Let us pick up a rose.
For our very own hearts.
No need to impose.
Chainbreaking the goal.

I’m done with these energetic hidden games.
Peak out from the curtain.
No need for shame.
I’m not willing to be part of the hunger games.
I lay this to rest.
I will not remain.
In the hall of blame.

Burdened by binds of years gone past.
A fairy tale in duality.
A nightmare that lasts.
I need one not to make me whole.
This is not what I propose.
I care to break these binds.
For I, my self.

If you cannot rise.
Together.
Apart.
Then drop your pull.
Go.

Beating heart.

Art + poetry – Helen Rebecca Hart.

Art, change, Community, Connection, Death, life, love, lyrics, Messages, musings, Poetry, rebirth, relationships, Source, Spirit, spirituality, Trauma

FEATHERS.

There’s this point in time where you realise you’re the one who’s betrayed you the most.
Denying yourself of your true self.
Fitting into an old scene.
Dying in each day.
Holding on to old pains, hurts, lovers, ways.
Not seeing you as you truly are.
A vision that cannot be seen with words.
There’s this deep conflict.
This anger, terror, rage, foaming, forming.
Rotting inside.
It’s not there to hurt you nor another.
It speaks in the silence.
It has the answers of self betrayal.
Denied pain, denied joy, denied tears.
In a world where we’ve all been a victim and perpetrator.
We choose to see ourselves as one or the other.
Like there is a good and bad.
At the deep core of both is fear and betrayal.
Fragile, rotting, shaking, bed wetting, fear.
Self rejecting, abandoning betrayal.
What does your heart desire.
If you move through this fear you find life.
Fragile, shaking, breathing, fresh crisp air filled life.
Breathing bounty into your being.
Who are we.
Who are we not is the question.
Everything yet nothing.
Nothing yet everything.
See to flow with life as breath.
You have to loosen the grip.
Allow yourself to be all.
Experience all.
Like a baby.
Allowing each breath to pass through.
Without needing to know there is a breath.
What it looks like or what it truly means.
Just allowing the rise, the fall.
The black and white and colour as all.
To truly live is to accept all of you, of all.
In that there’s no acceptance visible.
It ceases to exist.

Art + musings – Helen Rebecca Hart.

addiction, Art, ascension, change, life, Messages, rebirth, spirituality, Trauma

UNHEARD, UNSEEN.

I don’t wish to know how much you forgive them.
I want you to truly sit at the edge of that pit of despair and truly see.
I want you to feel what happened.
How you felt, what really goes through your mind, is it truly how kind they were.
The sickening abuse, the denial, the projections aimed at you, did you really deserve it.
Held inward, our little secret.
We get on with life.
Hidden within the body of a lie.
The rage hidden, simmering under a brick wall in the gut.
The hate you project at yourself.
So kind to others though.
Why is that.

Feel.
Feel, swear, break free.
If they judge, so what.
Be true to you.
The you you’ve never met yet.
Lost in who you thought you was.
They’ve gone, no going back now.

Break yourself to feel and fall.
Run, swear, kick, scream, allow.
Be untamed.
Lose control.
You are safe.

Be wild.
Wild without fear.
Wild without destruction.
Wild without abandonment.
Roar.
You are going inwards not backwards, allow.
Don’t fear what you feel.
There is no wrong.
That story was once told by someone who didn’t feel.
Hidden by a blanket of suppressed denial.
“I’m ok, be happy.”
Abandon the world’s ideal.
Lose the envelope.
Pull out the letter.
Tear it up.
Cry, scream, rage, pour.
Feel.

When you’ve felt all you can.
Fall.
Fall into the earth.
Held.
Free.
Unbound.
Released from the prison of unheard screams.
No longer enslaved by emotion.
The prison has past.
Breathe. Know. You are pure.

Written by Helen Rebecca Hart.

Art, ascension, change, Death, life, Messages, musings, Poetry, rebirth, Revolution, spirituality

VERSUS.

When change is upon the breast of the mantle.
When the change is so fierce.
New, bold, unknown, inhibited space.
There is no answer available.
A hot liquid honey pouring upon the body of self.
A numb body that won’t allow recognition.
A miracle right there before your eyes.
A wall that lives between the miracle and the eye.
A new layer of authenticity peaking through the blinds.
Swayed back and forth.
Extremes.
Be nice, smile, think of others, bypass your desires.
Roar, anger, wilderness, darkness, a mighty presence.
No more.
Good boy versus cave man.
A war within ones pores.
Thrust, throw, pull, dissect.
It’s ok they didn’t mean to hurt us.
Rip, tear, roar, thrust.
There’s no space left for masks.
Only one will remain.
In truth.
We wonder what truth looks like.
Yet throw it away.
Judging the other.
I’ll never be like that.
So easy to run, hide, reject.
Face to face.
There’s no room for clones.

Art + musings – Helen Rebecca Hart.

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

TURTLE DOVES.

Enter YOUR heart, the portal, the Star, the gate as you are all. All is part of flow, weaving, wefts, sovereignty, love, forgiveness – justice – “Just is.”

TURTLE DOVES.

Turtle doves.
One, two and three.
Three to two.
Truth, complete.
Your eyes do dazzle.
Just as the stars.
No scary missions.
As life on Mars.
Orions belt.
Opposing views.
It’s in those wars.
Oneself we lose.
The gain is now.
As we hold.
Hand in hand.
Gazing sacredness.
As feet land.
Palm to palm.
Cross to cross.
Well my love.
We did it.
We became divine love.

Art + Poetry – Bec Hart.

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.