Chamber of Peace

The phrase “chamber of peace” was coined by a friend, Orbella, during a discussion of methods and meditations on balance and spirit. We all need a place of safety and peace to which we can retreat, either from the world or, in some cases, from our own doubts and insecurities.

Amid the clutter of pots and pans
clanging in the kitchen, caked with dried
leftover soups and liver paté,
leaving rough, raw hands…

Amid brassy pitches
of out of tune bands clamoring
for attention, strident dissonances
shorting the circuits of all switches…

Despite snags and tears,
bleeding cuts and bruises
on body and skin from shards
of bitter thoughts and cares,

paralyzed by leaden fears, clogged
emotions stuck half way
up the pipes, trembling,
wheezing through the fog,

daring not to stare too long
at heavy, brown clouds,
daring not to covet their rain
for its fresh, cleansing songs…

Within these brambles,
these thorned villages
cramped along thin rails,
barely seen amid the shambles,

there resides a place,
cool and hidden, reposed
within the cacophony,
filled with grace.

When feelings become impermeable and stuttered
we can resort to this floating chamber,
retreat to its valleys of peace
and breathe deep, clear air, unfettered.

Signage and whistles
retreat to the distance,
snares and hissing cymbals
are barely missed.

Here the quiet music is sweet,
while vistas of a rising moon
browse over murmuring fields
singing with golden wheat.

Pastel petals of fragrant gardenias
fall from the sky, brush our cheeks,
crave the pain from it’s
wretched peaks.

Ravaged skin is smoothed with creams,
burned vision is soothed with drops
of moist, sweet oils
from the purest dreams.

If fear preys yet again
with curling shadows,
talons spread in quivering threat,
it is allowed to pass clear through us,

for we are transparent
through every cell, invisible,
quenched of thirst, unfurled
heart filled with love inherent.

Skin sheds boundaries,
wounds heal as pain dissolves.
Never tired, never trembling
we claim our inner country.

Within this purposeful place,
we find our heart’s intentions.
Cleansed, free and infinite,
we reveal Spirit’s delight.

For what it’s worth, there are 15 tracks mixed here. 1 clarinetist improvising to repeated Robin calls, American Robin quarter speed, White Crowned Sparrow, Carolina Chickadee, Acorns dropping on my roof. Sooty Shearwater bird calls, Japanese Winter Wren, and Sage Thrasher at 64 and 128 slowed down speeds. Enjoy!

I haven’t posted here in a long, long time. Most of my attention is now devoted to writing for my professional clarinet blog, The Buzzing Reed. DavidHThomas.net

Sometimes I just want to write something non-clarinet or music oriented.

My parents are miraculously still alive. My mother is 88, and my father is 83.

Each is declining in their own special way, with moments of breakthroughs mixed with the general trend toward the end of their lives.

I also have a cat named Punker, who is 20 in September. I cannot imagine him going. He has been with me for almost half my life. I raised him as a pre-weened kitten, only one week old. His mother died of toxemia because she had another baby inside her which did not birth.

I had to bottle feed Punker with a special kitten milk. I also had to rub his tummy (to simulate the mother licking him) to stimulate his urine to go, and eventually, to encourage a bowel movement!!

I don’t want to write the whole story now, because it’s midnight, and I need to eat (dinner) and go to bed. But I’ll post more about Punker’s wonderful life in the next few weeks.

David Thomas (aka Garnet)