The harp had come to Gwilan from her mother, and so had her mastery of it, people said. “Ah,” they said when Gwilan played, “you can can tell, that’s Diera’s touch,” just as their parents had said when Diera played, “Ah, that’s the true Penlin touch!”

Gwilan’s mother had the harp from Penlin, a musician’s dying gift to the worthiest of pupils. From a musician’s hands Penlin, too, had received it; never had it been sold or bartered for, nor any value put upon it that can be said in numbers. A princely and most incredible instrument it was for a poor harper to own.

The shape of it was perfection, and every part was strong and fine: the wood as hard and smooth as bronze, the fitings of ivory and silver. The grand curves of the frame bore silver mountings chased with long intertwining lines that became waves and the waves became leaves, and the eyes of gods and stags looked out from among the leaves that became waves and the waves became lines again. It was the work of great craftsmen, you could see that at a glance, and the longer you looked the clearer you saw it.

But all this beauty was practical, obedient, shaped to the service of sound. The sound of Gwilan’s harp was water running and rain and sunlight on the water, waves breaking and the foam on the brown sands, forests, the leaves and branches of the forest and the shining eyes of gods and stags among the leaves when the wind blows in the valleys. It was all that and none of that. When Gwilan played, the harp made music; and what is music but a little wrinkling of the air?

—

A question to ponder: What’s your most valuable possession? What makes it most valuable to you?

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Next time:”When Will Gwilan Play?”

I heard Patrick Ball, the harpist and storyteller, at the first National Storytelling Festival I went to in the late 1980’s. I was mesmerized by his harp playing and storytelling. So I bought one of his tapes. The tape was simply called “Patrick Ball: Storyteller.” On that tape was a story that has stayed with me all these years. The story is called “Gwilan’s Harp.” Several times a year I find myself listening to that story because it captures many of the emotional themes of my life.

It was only recently that I discovered that “Gwilan’s Harp” was written by Ursula K. Le Guin and can be found in her book The Compass Rose. Over the next several weeks I’d like to share this story with you along with some reflections on different parts of the story. I believe the story captures not only many of the emotional themes of my life but also many universal themes which may resonate with you as well.

The harp had come to Gwilan from her mother…

Next time: “A Princely and Most Incredible Instrument”

Since beginning this blog in September, we have been using stories to think about the three connections we need to make if we desire to move ahead on our adventure toward wholeness.

We said the adventure toward wholeness begins when we connect to our true self(”The Question,” “What is the Meaning of the Character?”). Our true self is found not on the outside, in what we have, in what we do, or in what others say about us, but on the inside, in the dark, where only we and God can see (”Search for the Key”). Our true self is who we really are without all the things we use to prop us up and make us look good.

When we begin to identify our true self we may discover some “monsters” lurking in the shadows. Those monsters need to be befriended because they have much to teach us (”Befriending Your Monsters”).

We connect to our true self when we find our identity in God as the one who created and loves us just as we are. God defines who we truly are, not our possessions, positions, or popularity (”Zaccheus”).

The adventure toward wholeness continues when we connect with the people on the journey with us. We connect with our fellow adventurers by accepting them as they are (”The Dragon’s Tear”), listening deeply to their stories (”Ivar’s Tale”), being honest with them (”A Blind Man Catches a Bird”), building bridges of forgiveness (”Old Joe and the Carpenter”), and sharing their troubles (”The Tale of the Mandarin Ducks”). As we journey together we discover that we are all connected (“The Man in the Boat”).

The third connection needed on our adventure toward wholeness is a connection to our Creator. We said that each of us yearns for that connection, though often we don’t recognize the yearning we feel is for the God-shaped vacuum in our heart to be filled (”The Baal Shem Tov and the Doctor”).

We said that our yearning for God is fulfilled on the breast of Jesus Christ, the great Rabbi, whose heart beats with the Word of God for us. That Word of God is “I love you” (”Mordecai”).

An attitude of gratitude keeps our hearts connected to God. A grateful heart accepts life as it comes trusting in the goodness and love of God for us (”Two Man and the Angry Bull”).

The adventure toward wholeness is the journey of a whole lifetime. Carry the stories I’ve shared with you in this section of the blog with you. They will guide you on your way.

Next week we begin a series of posts looking at Christmas through the story of Barrington Bunny.