change, Christ, Community, God, life, love, Mystic, poet, Poetry, purpose, Source

STILL TO SEA SEE.

STILL TO SEA SEE.

In this moment I realise we’re free.
Free from yesterday.
Free from tomorrow.
Free from being more, doing more, having more.
Free from attaching to something external to bring about false hope, light and happiness.
Free from denial.
Free from chains.
Free from the prison of the mind.
If not free there.
Free now.
Breathe.
Cool inner.
Hot outer.
Space inbetween.
Breathe.
Now.
Here.
Now.
Here.
There.
Becomes.
Now.
Here.

Written by Helen Rebecca Hart.

Art, ascension, change, Christ, Community, Connection, life, love, Messages, One, philosophy, poet, presence, purpose, Source

TRANSCENDENCE

TRANSCENDENCE.

One hears of transcending the body or mind.
You are not this.
We are not this.
Yet you are not that.
Transcendance I found, isn’t a doing.
There’s no need to even speak of it.
It cannot be understood logically.
Nor taught.
In this I wonder why I am typing this out.
Yet I desire to bring you truth.
It is not an achievement, a goal, a focus.
Nor a non acceptance/denial of the body or mind.
Nor a dissociation.
In my experience – all that I can reflect upon.
It’s a total acceptance and embodiment of all we are, in our entirety.
No accolade received from this.
Then somehow all dissolves into one.
Not even that.
Here, present, aware.
It isn’t something that comes and goes.
It holds no separation.
It doesn’t hold.
I see, feel, be no seperation from my body to yours by way of energy.
This doesn’t make me wise.
The body just is.
It’s beyond explanation.

The closest way I can explain is and even in this I spoil it’s truth, simplicity – beyond words;

I am a blanket as is everything in existence.
You a thread as I, as is a tree yet I don’t see thread, feel thread just waves are present.
As frequencies rise and fall the blanket flows, curves, rising, falling, flowing the blanket is there yet it isn’t.
This wasn’t something sought.
This doesn’t make me special.
Absolutely no sepation not even oneness.
It just happened.
As does the mind.
Clear.
Free.
Unbound.
Never wasn’t.
Just thought it was.
As an instrument.
God breathes through our temples.
Even God ceases to be identifiable.
No feeling of I or you, even we.
There this blanket that spans all that is.
Even the blanket is non exsistant.
Nor is there non existence.
Nor nothing.
Nor nothingness.
Nor nor.
This to me is transcendence.

Written by Helen Rebecca Hart.