THE BELL: VOL IX, ISSUE 1 by The Chapel Bell

BL AT IO N

A PO S IT

[Or are you unraveled by this question alone?] IC

PR E S S PU

T HE B E L L SEPT 20, 2021 VOL. IX ISSUE. 1

INSIDE|OUT: UNRAVELED fourth year baily reese

I hope you’re sitting in your best “I’m mysterious” & “I need to look as pensive as possible” spot. A café, a cerulean couch, a cozy dimly lit corner - ‘tis whatever you fancy . “If you could get rid of any human emotion, what would it be & why?” [pause and REALLY contemplate this impossible question] photo by catherine campbell

Do your thoughts immediately turn to the dreadfully exhausting kinds? Anger, in its crimson glory - blurring everything you feel Sadness, pinning you under the weight of a sweater knit from tears Fear, electric pinpricks humming under the layers of your skin But where there is fear: there is awe for things unfamiliar and surprising. Where there is sadness: there is a sau dade kind of bittersweet nostalgia. Where there is anger: there lies passion some where, between the waves of heat.

You begin to think about others…and settle amongst the warmer. Joy, illuminating, the color yellow personified Peace, tranquil in a sea of calm, sought after by all Power, rushing through the veins - bold and bright Power, mirrored, can insight envy, competition, and disgust. Peace, can one be too calm? Ambivalence begins to creep through its cracks. Joy - it can be too consuming to realize that the once “yellow personified” turns into a numbing permanent grin. [answers may vary, as I expect.] but ENVY, A four letter word that packs a punch in all of its two mighty syllables. burns in the way that white pepper likes to catch in the back of your throat. Not merely a thief of joy - a bandit that obliterates any sense of self. goodbye to individuality, hello to the cult of personality When prompted this question under a starry sky I thought it was perfect to provoke thought, to debate, to sit with, or to discuss. I see value in my experience with envy, because it forced me to realize that it only took about 10 seconds of courage to do or be anything I want. [Admittedly this is the significance of the Roman numeral tattooed on my right wrist, so I can confirm that I’m committed to this claim.] Reader, I hope you’re still sitting in your best “I’m mysterious” & “I need to look as pensive as possible” spot & that maybe you’re thinking of this: if you got rid of any human emotion, there would be loss regardless of which one you would choose.

THE CHAPEL BELL: A POSITIVE PRESS PUBLICATION

Variation from Sleeping Beauty second year erin o’keefe

I LOOK DOWN AT MY SHOES. They are secure, but I am not. I feel it only for this moment, that strange sense of hesitation in which I, only briefly, question whether I can overcome the fear and nerves in an attempt to convert them into excitement. I carefully ready myself to embrace the numbing sensation and the feeling of the light consuming me so fully and completely that my only option is to fall into the black abyss of the stage, once again unable to escape its pull. I move my hands in a silent prayer that I can deliver the truth to the audience awaiting me and touch their hearts while allowing them to touch mine. I take a deep breath before I STEP OUT.

photo by Arantxa Villa

My shoes, that look soft and silken, are hard and supportive as they act as the only barrier between my corseted body and the marley floor. One shoe lands in front of the other as I roll through the highest possible bend of my arch in order to dull the noise. The black abyss must stay silent. Only music is permitted to speak here and it speaks so I don’t have to and I think in my head thank you when it starts. I step en pointe, my arabesque striking true and I stay a moment breathing reaching and allowing my limbs to pull my center in opposite directions. Letting my back leg lower to faille through I smile, step, step, pique and land again in fourth. I shake and still with breath I consume, thankful yet again. I give more of my soul to the abyss to show my gratitude and continue on. My feet move fast as I run to the corner, my back to the abyss, and my face drops only to return once more as I turn around and pose, hold 7 and 8. I feel the light hit my teeth in a flash and I let it electrify me and bring me the energy needed to continue. I hop en pointe and pique a number of times, getting more and more light as I feel the floaty feeling creep into my body. It knows what to do and where to go. Muscle memory becomes my only memory, the only thing I can recall. My body thinks so my mind does not have to and I move as if the steps of this dance are as natural as walking. Soon I am turning. I finish the first pirouette and successfully land. I feel my smile grow larger as I gaze into the darkness seeing, for the first time, a person: one of the people I share my experience with. The person who lives on the other side of the abyss. I move again and position my body in preparation for my next turn, rising spinning and falling again. I hear the melody of the music suddenly signaling me to trace the stage in my final sequence of perpetual motion and I am once again seeing my entire world in a blur of light and dark. It is suddenly so light I cannot see the dark and I fear I may never stop until I DO. I finish. And the music stops only for new music to take its place, music from the silent participant of this experience. Their hands are so loud that they drown out all thoughts including my own.All I can do is feel pure joy and fulfillment and I bow, thanking them for thanking me. The abyss is no longer dark. Instead, it is warm and as bright as the lights I see as I exit the stage.

THE BELL VOL. IX, ISSUE 1

strings third year hannah george

I used to look at my real world reflection and see a puppet, hanging by thick strings, turned and lifted by people she loved and people she didn’t really know.

With the mirror I danced and laughed at the way I can hardly point my toes anymore

I looked at the way my soft shoulders rounded forward and, thinking of those who moved me, I forced them up straight and square. I looked at them and After reminding myself for the 20th time that day that they weren’t bony enough to even attempt to look fragile and poised They rounded back forward and became soft and warm again.

I watched tears trickle down from red glassy eyes And thought I had never looked so beautiful in my entire life.

I spent hours each day putting myself in people’s shoes Wondering how I ought to be perceived by someone so beautiful or so powerful

I look at my real world reflection and accept who she is I reassure her that the faces she will pass will accept her too No matter how she smiles or walks or laughs And that her warm soft shoulders can rest And come forward without a thought in mind. I wanted to trade my body, my blackness, and my old soul For a split second of being like them. Then before I knew it I had to stand in front of the mirror for weeks

photo by Arantxa Villa

And if I could ever be adored by them Thinking of what they probably said when I walked by with my eyes fixated on the ground Hair half done, half of what it really could’ve been Or when I laughed too deeply that particular time, unfeminine and unwoman. The way I figured they saw me as alien because of what set me apart from every straight head of hair and every soprano note sung. After some time the mirror became my companion, My inspiration to take control of what I said and how I reacted to things

That turned to months and years and still from the mirror I did not move. All the while the strings of the master manipulators had faded; disappeared And I was left to lift my own feet and lift my own head, I swore at the mirror and cursed at it for being the enemy I couldn’t escape For weeks and months and years.

THE BELL VOL. IX, ISSUE 1

HURT

fourth year jake forgay

third year Prashant Kolachala

Writers Block

I’ve looked under my bed But all I found were filthy untruths

They’re nowhere to be found They, that once flowed through my pen I’ve pushed and pushed and pushed Still I don’t know if I’ll see them again I’ve looked for them on the ceiling But the surface is painted smooth