Once upon a time, a guitar found joy in the resonance of sounds strummed on its strings. Its owner loved the instrument, made of a precious wood, carved and crafted into the musical instrument that it was. It was a happy and joyful guitar. As the years moved forward, the playing found pause. The owner busy with life and work and other things.
Along with other household belongings, the guitar found its place in storage and sat in the dark, quiet and alone. As the years went by, the storage unit fell into disrepair and the roof opened to the sky. Rain fell and blanketed all that was inside and dry. The guitar filled with water and the wood swelled. One by one, the musical strings fell away from its neck.
Upon discovering this, the owners took all that could be salvaged and left the rest- to the land. The once happy and joyful little guitar, or what was left of it, sat under a large banyan tree, totally exposed to the elements. As time passed the layers of wood peeled away from each other and mold and moss covered every inch of it. The strings rusted and most all of those parts that allowed it to sing were returned to the earth.
One sunny day, a joydreamer wandered by and saw it. The old guitar, now barely recognizable, lay abandoned. She picked it up and gathered what was left and brought it into her home to dry. The wood began to dry, and twist and curl and bubble. She watched it each day and took care of it. Disassembling it carefully and rescued what remained.
The little parts of the guitar rested in the days that followed, watching the joydreamer work on her art and other things, quietly wondering what would become its fate. And then one day, the joydreamer approached, took all of the parts and spread them out on a large table. Piece by piece, each was touched, caressed and carefully loved, with color and light and sun and air and love.
It would be several years in the making, but one day, the little guitar was given a smile, a most beautiful smile and eyes to see. To finally see the joydreamer that took care of it.
“Ah, you are so beautiful my little guitar.”, said the joydreamer.
The little guitar could not speak, but only looked on as the artist spoke.
“You have been through so much in your life. First from seed, to tree and all the days you grew. To the day, the tree was harvested and crafted into the materials you would become. Metals from the deepest mines would make your strings and then some lucky beings would play you, listen to your song, your voice until they grew tired of you and left you. Oh, my little guitar, not anymore- You are loved again!”
The remains of the guitar listened intently. The artist spoke more and they found conversation in the morning hours of art and life and coffee and joy. Always dreaming of joy.
Then one day, the final touches of love were complete and it would be time for the little guitar to see the world again.
“What shall we call you?”, asked the joydreamer.
The eyes of the guitar looked on and forward, but no words could express what the artist had done for it. They simply gazed peacefully at the new life breathed into it. There was a message there and the artist knew it, saw it and felt it.
“Messenger of Peace!”, proclaimed the joydreamer.
You will travel the world and to all who see you … peace with prevail.
The Messenger of Peace marveled in the name and all that was given to it, forever grateful to the earth from which it came, to hands of those who strummed its strings to hands of the joydreamer who cared enough to restore the song within it.
Original artwork courtesy of Stephanie Clifton
a.k.a. JoyDreamHer of JoyDreaming Life Art Studios ™.
Such a beautiful little story, Joe!!! Thank you for conjuring up such a sweet tale of a guitar who had been so long forgotten! Long live MESSENGER OF PEACE!!!