after the cohort….

hello blog, it’s been since before the cohort. the longest i have gone without writing in you for years. i want to be able to find words to express here about what occurred. any words. i am still coming down off of convulsing tears in group, feeling images from the collective move through and out of me. i could not say why i was crying. before, in the hallway i got scared when my chest and back were gripped with pain. when i fell into her arms and tears came out, the pain went away. those tears also felt bigger than me. there was no left brain to it. all feelings. rivers and rivers. with each presentation of the container today, i fell into their soul story. i felt inside each person. i fell in love with each person. upset my presentation was yesterday and i was regressed to age 7. not only that, the inner child stayed with me after that and made today the day in first grade. that year nobody invited me to their birthday table and so i did not invite my one friend when it was my birthday. kids model unconsciously. so do adults. what else have i modeled. little me was ostracized in school. my first experience of groups. i thought she had healed though, from the feeling of extreme non-belonging. she hadn’t. she still feels invisible except when she is pointed out in order to humiliate her. it was young young. by sixth grade this shifted a lot. i became punk by high school and that worked. i learned that it did not hurt when they made fun of my style. in fact, i liked to push their buttons once in a while on purpose. but it faded out by senior year. no, wait, it didn’t. more serious things happened. yuck, i am still not a fan of looking back. but she visited me, and in fact, i think she is still here. so that was just one crappy part. there were two other crappy parts i am not gonna talk about. and there were also two amazing parts. the best part of being seven was my connection to the universe. i felt it talk with me often as a spirit. i felt best friends with the woods. there was so much laughter too. with the one friend i always had. laughter that is better than tons of money or flat abs, better than a lot of “things”. anyhow. hello you, little me.  why don’t you take the stage in the form of a letter…and if i chime in, it will be in parenthesis…

Dear Blog,

I am seven years of age. My name is Michelle Lynn Shelly Shell Bloom. I am going to be a famous singer or a famous scientist when I grow up. (the famous part of this = american brainwash).  I love singing to Olivia Newton John records, it’s my favorite thing. I love the line “butterflies dance on invisible strings, growing wings they borrowed from a rainbow.” It’s on the album where she’s wearing a red outfit. I love sitting in the woods. Not with my friends though, they pull tricks on me. When I am alone it’s fun to pretend. Loraine told me that if I look in the mirror at night, the Queen of the Devil will appear. I don’t look in my mirror at night. I also don’t let my foot come out from under the covers because it might get shot by that guy in Hawaii 5-O. (i wasn’t really sure who i feared). I don’t know what else to say. I am confused a lot. This place is filled with people who are scary and I am unsure why but I don’t know that I am scared yet. I showed up in your cohort, big me, cause you put me in your container project, which is really a living shrine of all you are. Therefor, different beings in there will visit. Maharaji, Hanuman, Dad, Mom, The Moon, Death, The Hierophant, Isis, Blue Mu, Red Mu, Orange Mu, Yellow Mu, Cleopatra, The Seven Stars of the Pleaidies, and Celia our Unicorn. Lets not forget we are also being seized by The High Priestess, Temperance, Justice, The Lovers, Strength, and The Magician. This container is our life purpose. Not everything. Remember this when you embody the four Queens, two as a healer and two as an artist. Remember when you are not working inside or out, to let those visitors take a vacation and remember to visit with me. I am still as much alive today as I was when you were seven too. Trust me on this one. I need love so much right now it’s not even funny. Only Olivia understands about the love I need. Especially in Xanadu. But since you have grown up, big me, I have learned a lot too. I have learned that good things come no matter how long it takes and good things are always happening during the bad things. We had the woods and the Universe and dreaming. I love you so much, big me. I know you might be in a bit of disbelief that I came on so strong today. But remember, I am smarter than you. I see with x-ray eyes now that I have lost my physical body. The 43 year old is the one getting to be attached to this life. I get to be a guide. A visitor. One last wisdom before I leave: Being quiet is not bad. Wanting to be more of the observer is not bad either. It’s ok when you want to hold energy and be more anonymous with your story or words. Don’t compare yourself to others like we did our whole lives. Let that go and do what feels magical.

Love Forever,

Michelle Lynn Shelly Shell Bloom

i am gonna post this blog without editing it even once, i feel this is important. i need to keep the flaws in place. i am in love with my seven year old. i will call her seven. my continued obsession with the number 7. there aren’t words for the beauty of each person in my cohort, faculty and students. each container told a snowflake story and i was so fucking moved. each person opened up their universe to us. and as dan said, the blue office became a chapel as a result. we consecrated the space. how did that spell of darkness come over me in group? many of us were feeling the same thing and that’s the thing. i was no longer an individual. i felt like a vessel for us all. i could no longer distinguish my feelings from those of other members of the organism. i felt embarrassed. i tried to intellectualize it by looking through the lens of archetypes and then just fucking broke the fucking fuck down. convulsions. images of horrible acts never committed on me. being struck by a hard hand. shrinking in fear. god it was so awful. i am tearing up writing about it, i am not done crying. alex came over to help my nervous system release. like ann’s energy, alex felt so safe and i let it all go. i knew it was about more than me, so i allowed there to be no thoughts or analysis…

when in the darkness i felt like an idiot. i feel shamed for being the most woo woo person i know. it’s the lemurian wound seething inside of me. i feel stupid sharing that my life on mu feels as personal and traumatic as this life, and as equally as beautiful and loving. high contrast. these days, the break downs are rare. i am more used to being associated with peace through the tidal waves. but peace needs to take vacations too. i fell into the fragmented and cried us all back together. i don’t know what i did. i think of strange sage reading this blog and smile. i think of that notebook of fucked up thoughts. i think of missoula sister driving back to the other side of the mountains. i think of his brother living inside of him. i think of her courage to connect to us. i think of his opening of the desire to run. i think of the first time i got to see her cry. i think of the second-years protecting us somehow, from a little bit afar. i think of him trying to not do it right anymore. i think of the loss that just happened in her family. i think of the song he made up. i think of her oak tree, and her gargoyle and courage to sort of reveal the deepest of the deep. i think of the women’s lunch that spontaneously happened when the men had lunch. i think of her feeling lower rank. i think of sorrow. the sorrow in me, the sorrow in you. i think of how we are all falling in love with one another. i think of the joy spreading her wings as we revealed what hurts. i think of sacredness….

this unedited ramble is for me….if you got through this, kudos. there will be another in the morning after full decompression. this one is written in the thick of post-breakdown, two hours after the five day cohort is over. end of semester too. it’s hard. i miss everyone already knowing it will be three months till we meet again. i don’t ever want our cohort to end, dammit. yet there i was feeling like the freak of the century only moments ago. many of us did. that’s the power…coming out of isolation….creating a container for transformation….

it’s easier to write about now…here….i still have not figured out how to be in groups and differentiate fully….i still need a ton of down time to integrate. but that’s ok…

unedited, here it goes.

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