With only a touch, a single gold string filled the room. Ringing through the halls, it echoed off the tile. It was a shame, a shame to see a place once so lively and full of people with nothing but a lone harp. Every weekend, a concert would take place here. The halls would be lined with people dressed in ball gowns and suits grasping onto tickets giddy with excitement to see the show. Person by person, they would reach their ticket out and get a hole punched in the upper-right corner.
As the lines of people would pass the box office, they'd file into the theatre and find their seats crossing their legs with the patience of a child in a candy store. While they'd fidget on the edge of their seats, the concerto would file onto the stage a sit in place with the instruments. As the lights slowly dimmed, there is one thing you could still see: the glowing, gold harp. With the gold paint slowly peeling away from the exterior, the light bounced off its brassy body and sent refractures of it across the room.
As the harpist stroked the strings, the smooth, harmonious notes of " La Vida Breve" filled the room… Or did it? Because now in that room sits the lone harp with "La Vida Breve" sitting beside it waiting for its next suitor to grace their fingers across the faded golden strings. Many suitors have tried to claim the prized instrument, but as they play their fingers merely slide across the strings; no vibrance, no passion, and therefore, not the suitor. The suitor, with closed eyes, should be able to grace their fingers across the harp with confidence and passion should be seen with the eye of a blind man.
While the harp holds its place in the room, every once in while someone holds its presence. Slowly strumming the strings, they embrace the notes and feel the music as it courses through their body; however, as the months have turned to years, the prized instrument has yet to be touched. With dust clinging to its exterior, it craved for a special one to graze through its strings, but little did it know that, soon, the wish would come true.
As the sun shone through the arched windows, the harp sat in its spot. Though lonesome and shrouded in dust, a faint glimmer shone about it; however, just the glimmer refracted its light, a faint sound could be heard: footsteps. For so long, these had not been heard and it was almost dejavu. Almost unreal. Now, it seemed a possible suitor had thought to take ownership of the once prized instrument.
With the footsteps nearing, a young woman walked into the room. Clad in a white dress and shined, pointed heels, she walked up to the harp and caressed it. As her fingers grazed the strings, she slowly swayed her body as if entrancement had taken over. With each chord, the notes echoed across the once silent hall and melodiously tuned in with one another. Note after note, she played as if they had been engraved into her brain. It was almost as if she composed the piece herself with the way the notes flew off the page and into song.
Entranced, she continued to sway to the beat as her fingers played to the serenity of "La Vida Breve." Once left to yellow and wither away, the piece now sat on the music stand though not in use in the slightest. It was now being used for its purpose: to find the next suitor. For this player held what the place needed: skill, personality, but most of all, passion. With each note, expression was valid and one could sense the feeling with each graze of the string. It was clear that the harp had now found its true suitor.
Slowly, the cloud of dust lifted off the instrument and the shiny, gold exterior was revealed. As the sunlight reflected off the once shrouded instrument, it was as if life had revived back into the music hall. The once dimmed lights lit up and the tile floors had a new shine to them. As everything came anew, the harpist continued grazing the harp with his hands producing sounds one could not fathom. Ones so beautiful that even people on the streets would stop to listen. Slowly, people began to gather beneath the harpist's window and gaze up in awe.
Years ago, in that same window, the original harpist had grazed his fingers to the same tune. With the same passion, he produced the melody of "La Vida Breve." "La Vida Breve", "La Vida Breve", "La Vida Breve".... Life is short and it was. Just as the original harpist has retired and waited for someone to take his place, someone had. Someone with matched skill, grace, and passion. And was that all he would've asked for? Yes. Yes it was, for only as important as the notes were did the passion make them seen.
As many found beauty in the music of the new harpist, tickets began to appear and sales began to rise; however, as the harpist began to perform there was one thing she realized: though money can be of value, experience and passion are the most important. Through this revelation, she continued to play and not with greed as her assistant, but ease. As each finger struck the string, she swayed along to a new tune each show and with every finished performance came a standing ovation, but one phrase always stuck with her: "La Vida Breve" ("Life is Short").
And that is true, life is short. Life is too short not to discover passion, to not discover your calling. For only you can find it and embrace your true purpose. Whether it be music, writing, discovering, learning, whatever it may be…. Passion is the root of all good and it will lead to greater promise than any other form of craving. If there is one thing you must seek out, seek that. Seek it like the harp seeked for its suitor; like the suitor for her music. Because only as you seek will you find and finding is what is up to you. You have the power to find what gives you entrancement because there is a suitor for everyone's passion.
