Art, ascension, change, Connection, Intuitive, life, Messages, musings, philosophy, Poetry, relationships, Uncategorized


That dilemma you have.
How about bringing it together.
Rather than allowing it to tear you apart.
Speak to fear.
Be compassionate.
Allow it a voice.
Step in with fear as a sincere guide.
A friend.
An ally.
That dream you have.
Breathe life into it.
Allow self sabotage to rise.
Treat the enemy within with love.
An open heart.
A tender touch.
Open ears.
Feel some more.
Be free.
Surrender the war within.
Hold it high.
How can these waring worlds unite.
As one.
Yin and yang.
A circle.
A sphere.
A heart.
Beating, bursting.
Dripping with life force and passion.
We are not enemies.
We are opposites.
Let’s attract.
A force of fire.
Flowing freedom.

Art + musings – Bec Hart.

addiction, Art, ascension, change, Children, Community, Connection, life, Messages, musings, parenting, philosophy, Poetry, rebirth, relationships, Revolution, spirituality, Trauma, Uncategorized



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, ascension, change, life, musings, Poetry, rebirth, Uncategorized


When the path has no steps,
Many twists and returns.
Delving in deeper,
Getting lost in the air.
When life has no limits.
Integration commands, “stay there.”
Knotted and unruly.
Unbearable hair.

We cannot see clearly.
Feeling so lost.
Body broken, vulnerable.
Shaken, layed bare.
Vision blinded, a cloudy lense.
Light engulfed in the fire.
Dreams burnt and plans lost.
Life’s chuting you lower.
God, please shoot us higher.

Breathe deep into birth.
Scream into those pains.
Feeling sensations.
Surrendering the game.
New labyrinth to walk.
Rewiring our brains.

This path of no path.
Not for a faint heart.
Death, the end.
Death, the beginning.
The end!
Or the start?
All that remains.
A wild, racing heart.

Bec Hart.




I have no idea where my life is taking me.
Day by day, hour by hour, minute by minute.
I find this mystery exhilarating, shaky, untouchable yet very grounding in its presence.
The numbness of my love life or lack of.
Or the lively breathing life of vastness that I had not yet discovered as I was seeing it in the olden days and ways.
Words spoken in a different form, pictures joining the dots into a journey.
The signs, synchronicities ravaging my mind as I could not believe in its presentation.
Searching for the thing that already existed.
Fear singing my song.
The fear of not being enough or may be too much playing it’s bitter, sweet song.
The raw, trembling shaky ground shaken by my own very legs as they purge their desires and fears into Mother Earth every time you enter my mind.
I am petrified to have faith in this being real as than I have to admit I’m scared.
I look into my own very eyes, through you, as you in through my minds eye and say to you; Beloved other I am scared yet I am also willing to step into whatever this may or may not be.
I feel I already have been dancing, leaning into your depth and feeling all of you.
I asked to learn about you, I never expected it to take form in the way it has.
A beautiful dance of frustration, fear, longing, purging and presence.
Beauty, rawness and colour.
Captivated by all of you, darkness, light and all inbetween.
As faith takes the lead, I take each breath one step at a time.
I’m here dear one.
I know you see me now.
Here, there, nowhere yet everywhere.
I don’t want an illusion, a fairy tale.
I breath life in, out, through and of all.
We may meet yet maybe we won’t.
Only God knows, as it’s vastness.
Fire and ice.
Do you feel me yet.

Bec Hart.

ascension, life, musings, philosophy, rebirth, relationships, spirituality, Uncategorized


“You are my life,” innocently said the parent to their child, looking deep into the child’s eyes filling their cup up in that very moment,

“I love you, you are my life.”

The child grew older, “You are my life” said the boy to the girl.

The boy left the girl and the girl felt like she had lost life.

The girl eventually moved on with life, then the boy chased the girl as he too felt like he had lost life and must seek it back, to find himself.

As time went on the girl now a lady and the boy a man, they went their separate ways.

The man says to his wife,

“I love you, you are my life.”

They have children and they say to their children,

“I love you, you are my life.”

As the children grow they feel they are missing something in life.

They feel they need someone to be their life, so they continue the cycle of giving their life mistaking it for love.

As the children become older and parents become ill, the adult child looks to the parent with the weight of the world held in their stomach. Feeling as they are their life they should be able to save them – be their life.

Can you see the pattern? The family heirloom passed down dressed as a gift of love yet containing chains that bind.

The moral of the story is, we are life.

Life is eternal, infinite.

Nobody can give that which we are.

Whole, complete, living our own lives.

We may be apart (A part) of our children’s, parents, partners lives.

Yet we aren’t there life as we’d be fused, attached and unable to be able to form healthy connections and continue in the push, pull of the dynamic of looking for love outside ourself. Love cannot be gained within another as we are love, just as we are life.

The lady says to her partner, child, friend, “I am my life” and I love that you are yours.