CREATIVE CONTENT TO BRIGHTEN YOUR MONDAY!
VOL. XII ISSUE. 11 APRIL 27, 2020
REMEMBRANCE
photo by noah buchanan
third year caela gray
Icy gravel crunches under the rubber soles of your shoes. Faster you march down the weathered pavement, hanging clouded exhales in frustration. Tucked away under the snowy blanket at your sides, tender fields forever patient to Spring’s touch. Ahead, solemn, grey-faced sentinels watch a lonely ear th-child pace through their keep.
Stop. Your mind’s flurr y freezes, star tled by a voice other than your own. In an instant, the road dissolves into wet cement. Ever ything stills. Numb finger tips unfurl from clenched fists. Shallow panting slows. Each lung gathers deep chestfuls of air and then, hesitant quietude.
Again, whines of an anxious spirit rise to fill the space. What is this world? A snowglobe constantly shaken by domineering hands? A prison for souls stuck in monotony and routine, too afraid to be free? A static-screened dream of possibilities and fair ytales just around the corner? Why--
Stop. The chatter cuts. Silence.
Look. Take in the now. Before it becomes the then. Obser ve the incredibility of what’s sitting right in front of you, of your smallness. Don’t think. Just be. Even in solitude, nothing is separate. Welcome the Presence of peace. When the reality of an unknown future and sorrows of a long-gone past begin to burn through hope and love with fear’s fur y, hush. Wanting to hurr y through uncer tainty is only a natural balance of existence. Even the mountains ultimately kneel to the wind. Cowering under the weight of unfairness, injustice, despair, you remember. This life is only an invitation to pay attention. This moment is enough. This precious, present, singular breath of time is always enough.
Onward .
THE BELL VOL. XII, ISSUE 11
LOOKING UP: INSIGHTS FROM SIX FEET APART third year claire torak Lately, I keep finding myself holding
As of March, I’ve made full impact
• Going for walks in the spring is
with the concrete. There is nowhere
wor th the allergies.
for me to go but a screeching halt.
• There is unprecedented joy in
my breath. It feels like I’m always
solving a New York Times crossword
waiting. For relief, for
I’ve never been one for optimism.
permission to exhale without feeling
I’m chronically negative and clinically
guilty, for answers to the questions
anxious. You’d think
trapped inside of my
that when tension feels commonplace
the way music feels when it’s in front
head.
and ever y headline is worse than the
of me, on a
one before, I’d be
Is now the time for unabashed honesty? Will I be more or less afraid of intimacy after this? Will there ever be an “after”?
wearing wariness around my shoulders like a blanket. Yet in confronting placidity, I’ve found it to be completely the opposite.
Why does ever y step I take feel like learning how to walk again?
all of those.)
friends ever y day. • I will never again take for granted
stage, seeping into ever y cell of my body. • Time spent with my friends is a gif t. • How lucky I am to have so many people I love and care for so deeply, knowing that love
While my breath sits heavy in my chest, hope is swelling there too. In my newfound idleness, I’m
(It seems that the jur y is still out on
over the phone with
is returned. • Having hope (even just a sliver) is the only way to stay sane.
allowing myself to see the silver linings and sit with them, fully.
I don’t know when this pandemic will end. I don’t know who I’ll be when it
Before the quarantine, the word
Here’s what I’m learning:
“stillness” was not in my lexicon.
• There’s a lot I miss from life as
what life will be like two months from
Ever y moment was just that —
I knew it: Hi-Lo trivia on Tuesday
now, but I have to believe that it gets
a moment, one af ter another. Being busy made me feel wor th something. Space —to breathe, to pause, to think — was uncomfor table. I overcommitted myself to school and
nights, scratching my friends’ backs when I hug them, playing pool, the way kissing feels, live music, when my friend invites me over for breakfast,
jobs and a social life because it felt
just to name a few.
safe. It felt familiar. If I wasn’t flying
• In absence, I better understand
through life, I was falling.
does. I don’t know
easier ever y day, that within this chaos there is some good. I have to believe that we’re all learning how to be kinder. How to take care of one another. I have to believe that one day I’ll
preciousness.
finally exhale. Until then, I’ll be
• Cooking three meals a day is an act
waiting, holding onto hope with
of self kindness.
both hands.
photo by noah buchanan
THE CHAPEL BELL: A POSITIVE PRESS PUBLICATION
AN ODE TO ALL MY QUIRKY FRIENDS (AND THEIR FRIENDS TOO) third year evan lasseter I think the absolute, most rad thing you can be is edgy and quirky. When I think about my biggest inspirations, the people I dream to be, they are all edgy, quirky, or both! Look no fur ther than Tyler Joseph, Kendrick Lamar, Kur t Cobain, and even Jesus of Nazareth himself. All of them are naturally unique, odd, creative, innovative, weird, and so much more. In fact, I feel pretty confident that is the reason most people love them. What is Twenty One Pilots if Tyler Joseph doesn’t scream on “Car Radio,” then shave his head in the music video? What is “DAMN.” if it doesn’t introduce us to Kung Fu Kenny, giving KDot a whole new persona? Who is Kur t Cobain if not the only person in the world who could and would write the song “Dumb”? Let us rejoice! Because the good news is that these super awesome quirky people don’t have to be famous! In fact, I see thousands of you strolling campus ever y single day. I see you on Monday in your white Doc Mar tens and The Strokes t-shir t (Hi Caela). On Tuesday, when I pass you in Grady, I see your illustrated Adidas shoes and maroon cardigan (Kyra! What’s up fam?). Maybe on Wednesday it’s a pair of Vans with rolled up jeans and an “Avengers” shir t *inser ts handshake* (Hey, Jacob). I see you on Thursday and Friday to (Moranel, Jake, photo by moranel gober and Queen Caroline). This is an ode to you, all of my favorite, weird people (not just those listed, but ALL of you weird people). Ever yday I’m inspired when I see the authority and audacity you bring to being unabashedly yourself. Embracing myself was never easy. Fully diving into how I wanted to dress, what I liked to do, and who I wanted to be around was terrifying. For example, I’m pretty sure I ignored my Instagram notifications after posting a picture in my bucket hat for the first time. So, if you feel weird, like an OutKast, or think that a cer tain section of the population may look at you funny when you walk by, this ar ticle is for you. You deser ve to be celebrated. You never ignored what you were inspired by and never simply became a carbon copy of what inspires you. So, although I may not be one of you, you all give me the confidence to be me. Even if that means I’m not as quirky or edgy as you (I wish, like really wish, I were). But nonetheless, keep shopping in your thrift stores, writing your poetr y, and playing your guitar. Keep doing whatever it is that keeps you, you. Because who really fits in a box, right?
THE BELL VOL. XII, ISSUE 11
AS JUSTIN TIMBERLAKE SERENADES THE END TIMES
fourth year jacob porter
photo by moranel gober
It’s 4 a.m. for the 6th or 7th night in a row, though I can’t be entirely sure about this. Time has stopped mattering for the most par t. So has light. I find myself staring at the ceiling in my room in my parents’ house, a planet within which I feel more alien than I have in years. My room is dark lately. Sometimes a soft glow emanates from whatever’s on T V: the news, Minecraf t, episodes of “Steven Universe.” “Better Call Saul.” More news footage. Link winning a game of Smash. Another
embers, revealing a familiar black
infected. Grand Thef t Auto. Another
void.
weeks ago, and with it, the final ties
dead. “Westworld.” 45 cases. Transformers 2 on some movie
“Steven Universe” ended a couple to my childhood. My college career
The noise outside, once
ended, and with it, ties to a structure
channel - I switch it of f instantly.
thunderous, is gone, and now that
that had kept me grounded for 4
1000 deaths in New York alone. Lil
you know how to ignore it, the only
years. The entire world feels like it’s
Dicky’s new show on FX blaring in the
sound is that of your own breathing.
ending, and with it, my last ties to
background.
anything that ever made sense. It’s terrifying.
(That last one proves to be my breaking point)
But isn’t that how ever ything It’s easy to see this as the mind
goes? Isn’t ever ything just a chaotic
inventing new problems. ”Now that
whirlwind that you figure out how to
the paranoia of constant
navigate just before you look out past
glimpse of my wild hair in the mirror.
death has been assuaged, time to dig
the dock and see another storm on
As I look at my reflection, my mind
deep into those insecurities with all
the horizon?
wanders to what the world outside
this time we have,” your brain says.
I shuf fle to the bathroom, get a
must look like.
Aren’t we here to make sense of that senselessness until it doesn’t
What a dick. The bathroom walls crumble away.
make sense anymore, then rinse, repeat, and do it all again?
Sometimes, self-reflection is good. The outside world is a cacophony
But there’s such a thing as too much,
Perhaps. Perhaps not. I don’t claim to
of panic and misinformation and
and once that healthy period wears
anger and hellfire. I cling to the sink
of f, it can become... unner ving to sit
as this fire threatens to consume me
with yourself for so long. It’s only a
Back in reality, I stare into the mirror
and ever ything else. But once the
matter of time before your reflection
(shoutout J.T). I give myself a wink. I
realization that I haven’t lef t my home
becomes somewhat unrecognizable.
go to bed.
in several weeks sinks in, the fire
But maybe that just means it’s
dissipates into weak, flickering
time for you to change.
Y P P A H DAY MON
know. What I do know is —
Sometimes, that’s all you can do.
CONNECT WITH US! THE CHAPEL BELL
PLEASE RECYCLE OR GIVE THIS ISSUE TO A FRIEND!
@THECHAPELBELLUGA THECHAPELBELL.COM
THE CHAPEL BELL: A POSITIVE PRESS PUBLICATION