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.

Connection, life, musings, Poetry, rebirth, relationships, spirituality, Trauma

I’M NOT PERFECT.

I’M NOT PERFECT.

Forgive me.
Forgive me for my pain.
My raw, aching, bleeding heart.
At least that’s how it feels.
The loss.
The destruction.
The breaking and collapse.
The surging, pained, life surging through.
Caused by I.
Created by I.
Magnified by I.
Please have patience with me.
I may be delicate.
I won’t hold it all together.
I shan’t.
I can’t.
I won’t.
I allow myself to break.
Break the illusions.
To free the inner turmoil.
My masculine and feminine.
Begging to be heard.
To be seen.
To be at peace.
Yet struggling to find the balance.
Wounded war.
Deep, deep, deeper.
Still.
Outside reflecting the inner.
Projection of past.
Shame speaks.
How can I heal.
Lost in pain.
Deeper in self.
Down, down, down.
Deeper.
Breathing.
Wild.
Alive.
Delicate.
Still.

Bec Hart.

addiction, Art, ascension, change, Children, Community, Connection, Inner child, Intuitive, life, musings, rebirth, relationships, Revolution, spirituality, Trauma

PAIN AS MIRRORS – TO HEAL, TO FEEL.

PAIN AS MIRRORS – TO HEAL, TO FEEL.

You reached out to me I think.
Although I’m not sure.
Back then a blur.
Lost in my head.
I thought you cared.
I felt so much love for you.
You stood there yet you fled.
You wouldn’t take the time to hear me, see me, get to know me.
Mind games, playing with my head.
You stood as a brick wall.
I could feel your anger inside.
I was picking at your wounds too.
Projecting energetically, trying to fix my head.
There’s nothing wrong with me.
My insides bled.
I felt hurt, rejected, angry, betrayed.
I ran to you, to fix, to fix, to fix.
The bad girl I thought I was as a child.
Distraught, alone, heartbroken.
Unrequited love.
What can I do instead.

So many messages.
So many texts.
Calls when I say “NO.”
Please give it a rest.
They say, I know you can help me.
I love you.
What have I done wrong.
You’ve done nothing.
It’s my shame, blame and guilt.
They’re all singing an ear deafening song.
Nails on a chalkboard.
Skin crawling around.
I scream please give it a rest.
They don’t hear a sound.
I think leave me alone.
I’m not your Mother.
I’m not your home.
Nor am I your lover.
Your life does not lie within my hands.
The same responsibilities fed to me.
As childhood demands.
Anger boiling.
Here, me, now.
You don’t even see me.
I let the tears flow.
Rage screams.
I’m not a bad person.
Nor are you.
I hear me now.
I hear your screams too.

Mirror number thirty something….ninety five.
Why do I keep attracting this.
Am I evil inside.
How many more mirrors till you see.
Stop trying to flee will you.
The loud voice trying to speak inside of me.
There’s nowhere to run.
The darkness hits painfully.
Sexual advances.
Sensations as flames through my body.
Burning, intrusive.
Shaking profusely.
Vomit rising.
Memories haunting.
I tried to run, numb, avoid.
You didn’t hear my “NO.”
Daggers to my stomach,
Piercing, protruding.
Sexual advances.
Pornographic pictures.
It felt so abusive.
My sexual armour.
Induced this.
Thoughts;
What’s wrong with me.
I’ll never have a healthy relationship.
How’s this non-conducive.

Don’t run nor hide.
Come out to play.
It’s happening for you not to you.
Intimacy heals.
Feel, scream, release.
Feel all.
You can meet demons face to face.
Enter the pain.
It’s the only way.
I declare – no longer will this consume me.
I see they are in pain too.
Bringing feeling to each other’s wounds.
The dance we avoid.
This dance of wounding between two.

I decided to feel it all.
No need to run, numb nor hide.
I’m grateful to all those people.
The wounds they picked to show.
I needed to feel.
To say “NO.”
To heal.
To know my limits.
To truly love.
To truly see, feel and hear.
I’m not an object and nor are you.
A saint I’m not nor a sinner too.
I’ve played all roles,
This I cannot deny.
I’m not on a pedestal higher than high.
Just trying to be, day by day.
To grow.
To be love.
In my own unique way.

Bec Hart.

ascension, change, Connection, life, musings, rebirth, relationships, spirituality, Trauma

HOLDING ON – FROM ATTACHMENT TO FAITH.

HOLDING ON – FROM ATTACHMENT TO FAITH.

I have held on for far too long.
Far too many times.
I used to see it as a really negative trait.
Others saw it as love and forgiveness.
In the past it’s torn me.
Ripped me apart.
Leaving nothing but an empty shell.
A trail of unhealthy relationships.
Self harm.
Enough body armour for a war.
No love for oneself.
A huge desire for validation.
Unhealthy attachments.
Wondering what was wrong with me.
Why could I not be loved.
I was forced to change.
The only resolve, to take ownership of all.

Years pass, deep work.
Many lessons.
I can still hold on for too long.
Mainly now by faith not attachment.
I am aware now.
I call it to assist.
It’s stripped me of all I’m not.
It has been quite painful at times.
Deepened my connection to self and source. Powered me into my worth.
I’ve been taught endurance.
Patience.
Acceptance.
Self respect.
Forgiveness.
Self love.
I realise it can be a great quality.
I work with life.
Yet I’m in no way perfect.

I’m not one to run away when things get tough.
What I’ve discovered is.
There is vast strength in remaining neutral.
Breathing into discomfort.
Acknowledgment of that which arises within.
We can never truly run away anyway.
When we run we’re only ever running from ourselves.
When we chase we’re only ever looking for ourselves.
Exhausting.
Painful.
Truly haunting.
Liberation reveals itself when we stop chasing the invisible man.
Freedom appears when we’re present with all of us, with no preference of state.

Bec Hart.

Art, ascension, change, Connection, Intuitive, life, musings, philosophy, Poetry, rebirth, relationships, Trauma

TO HEAL, TO FEEL.

TOE – HEEL, TO FEEL.

Can you allow yourself to crumble when your world’s torn apart.
Can you allow the anger to explode without tearing yourself apart.
Can you breath into that fear and not judge those tremorous shakes.
Can you feel all the pain – alive, raw, awake.
Will you judge yourself this time for not being enough.
He, she, me, you, we, we’re,
Life can feel so rough.
Will you hold it all in, saying that this means “he’s tough.”
Or break what’s not ours into dust.
A tower of darkness crushed.
Can you crack open your core vulnerability.
Pour your truth out on the floor.
Naked.
Vulnerable.
Strong.
Courageous.
Trembling with shame.
Screaming, “no more.”
Exploring all the dysfunction.
Bringing peace to your inner war.
Laying in the water of our tears.
The seas rise once more.
Can you walk away when you need to.
To honour your inner call.
Sometimes we need the quietness.
To allow the rage to roar.
Can you hold yourself awake.
Can you hold yourself asleep.
Can you rest in knowing that this chaos.
Is the light to their inner peace?

Bec Hart.

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

AROUND OR FOUND, FOUND OR AROUND.

When seeking destiny,
Destiny fled afar.
When seeking the path.
The path became a hole.
By doing we lose being.
By being we lose the why’s.
Are somatic memories and beliefs
creating this now reality by disguise.
Are we ready to drop these old lies.
As we lose this who is self.
Give up our old dirt.
Birthing our purest self.
Merging with and as air.
Unlimited potential.
Pure dreams unconsciously manifest.
A weaving of our passion fuelled potential.
Leaving all our old deceptive wounds.
We need not preach old stories forever.
When those truths become our way.
Had it reigned label over us forever.
When teaching is it preaching.
Recreating our old dirt.
Is one truly happy.
In this now.
Or lying in despair.
Gripping onto old hurt.
Illusion, that it’s care.
When it’s truly a sneaky way to heal our former self that we could not bare.
Manipulating form to the one who stands.
In front of us lay bare.
Accept their mirror.
As they themselves.
Are perfect as they stand there.
Can we allow ourself to feel.
Birth the truest you.
We aren’t our past.
Nor in the future.
We are of presence, truth.