CHANTELL FOSS
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VISIBLE INVISIBLE
​March 31/2020
​

you are visible, vulnerable, victorious
I am 
we are
you are invisible, indefinable, infinite
I am 
we are

As Covid-19 gathers itself into a massive change-wave, those pushed to the margins and in need of support will be those most likely to go without and drown.
Fact. One that shines an uncomfortable - excruciating - light on human society. Almost all of us are taking the measure of our lives in the shadow of this towering wave.
​May we stay conscious in the aftermath. Alerted, as we have been, to reality, to priority, and to our power to sustain and create.
From visible and invisible sources and lineages. From who we really are.

"Turn your suffering into art, your art into awareness, and your awareness into action."  Okay, Gabrielle.

In the dance as in life, chosen vulnerability is strength, not weakness, and it is a well of clear and positive power.
When we show up, vulnerable and intact, we taste victory as practice, as breath by breath-ness, as the power to appreciate being alive, dancing and honest.

In the dance as in life, there is also more, so much more, going on, unseen yet present, never-exactly-named, moving us as we could never plan to move...



​
Visible Invisible Wave
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​

​A PLAGUED JOURNEY
Maya Angelou, 1983

There is no warning rattle at the door   
nor heavy feet to stomp the foyer boards.   
Safe in the dark prison, I know that   
light slides over
the fingered work of a toothless
woman in Pakistan.
Happy prints of
an invisible time are illumined.   
My mouth agape
rejects the solid air and
lungs hold. The invader takes   
direction and
​seeps through the plaster walls.   
It is at my chamber, entering   
the keyhole, pushing
through the padding of the door.   
I cannot scream. A bone
of fear clogs my throat.
It is upon me. It is
sunrise, with Hope
its arrogant rider.
My mind, formerly quiescent
in its snug encasement, is strained
to look upon their rapturous visages,   
to let them enter even into me.   
I am forced
outside myself to
mount the light and ride joined with Hope.

Through all the bright hours   
I cling to expectation, until   
darkness comes to reclaim me
as its own. Hope fades, day is gone   
into its irredeemable place
and I am thrown back into the familiar   
bonds of disconsolation.
Gloom crawls around
lapping lasciviously
between my toes, at my ankles,   
and it sucks the strands of my   
hair. It forgives my heady   
fling with Hope. I am
joined again into its
greedy arms.
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