Reflections on the Experience of the Lyre Tone

by Sheila Phelps Johns

The singular experience of the tone of the lyre is what has called many to take up this instrument since the first days of its creation, for purposes of soul nourishment and soul connection with others through playing, teaching, or therapy. Over the years, a number of colleagues have shared lovely personal experiences with the lyre tone, so it seemed tempting for an article on this topic to allow more than one voice to sound. I express gratitude to those who helped to create a multi-faceted picture of how the tone of the lyre manifests in the world and how its effect connects us to ourselves, to one another, and to the spiritual world that enlivens our daily existence.

Here follow a few vignettes that elaborate various experiences with the lyre tone through pedagogy, art, and therapy. We begin with the words of Giselle Whitwell: The tone of the modern lyre is unique among all stringed instruments. Because of the way it is built, the tone is able to resonate freely in a given space once it is stroked. We may refer to the resounding lyre tone as free because of a very special quality: it is unhindered from being transparent, which makes it not only soothing and calming but also very quietly present in the listening. Tones played on this instrument are therefore capable of meeting several different needs – those of the unborn child equally with those on the threshold of death, from lullabies to hymns, with limitless possibilities in between for improvising freely.

Julia Elliott frames her observations in the context of shared community experience: The lyre is a uniquely social instrument. It has the ability to connect and resonate with the human being, drawing us warmly into its circle. Whether it is the intimate relationship of a single player with her lyre or an ensemble of players and their instruments, the responsive quality of the lyre’s tone bridges our humanity and makes us feel welcomed. Because of this, lyre players of all different levels can come together and make music in a satisfying and beautiful way. The lyre creates community, and music in community heals us.

Diane Rowley points to the catalyst of the sequence of mostly Raphael Madonna paintings, used in either hygienic or therapeutic settings, that can allow for a similar soul experience: While playing lyre for the Madonna series, it was as if time stood still, the mind stopped thinking and the heart expanded to encompass all the people, energy, and space in the room.

Catherine Read takes the reference to the heart another step, incorporating a fascinating observation Steiner made about dimensionality in the physical experience of playing the lyre: From November 20-22, 1914, Rudolf Steiner gave three lectures entitled “The World as Product of the Working of Balance” (GA 158) in which he reveals some startling aspects of the human physical, etheric, and astral bodies. He describes the working of Lucifer and Ahriman in relation to the higher hierarchies and how the human being is placed between these polar opposites. In the evolution of consciousness, we have worked to balance these opposing forces. This balance relates specifically to the area of the human heart, and from three directions: left/right, up/down, and front/back. If space is opened up in these three directions, a cube is formed in which opposite forces are balanced. Steiner describes how the left/right and up/ down have gradually evolved to have a space, but we now must develop this balance from front to back.

As I play the lyre, I experience the space between the two hands as well as the space between the front and back strings. The two hands, working in a rhythmic and structured alternation with each other can begin to expand the space between the left and right and to create a threedimensional space in the place where the hands meet. The plane that exists in the vertical and horizontal dimensions can be expanded into a three-dimensional form in the area of the heart as the tones sound through the player’s heart and back out into the world .

Margo Ketchum details a ‘heart-warming’ example of the lyre as a tool for finding one’s own inner tone: My husband had finished his teacher training as a Waldorf educator and was ready to begin first grade with his new class. His challenge was that he felt unprepared to sing with the class, as he could not carry a tune — or so he had been told since childhood. As a lyrist, I was able to help him learn music. I put a soprano lyre into his hands and taught him his songs for the circle work. Soon he was able to play like a minstrel and accompany all the class songs on the lyre

By third grade, it became apparent that he was, after all, able to sing on pitch by matching his voice to the tones of the lyre. It was quite remarkable to witness how over time, teacher and students alike could join the sound stream as their natural musicality emerged. And it all began with the tone of the lyre

Sally Willig shares an additional poignant cameo of the lyre inspiring ‘one’s own tone’: My client was an elderly woman – a Holocaust survivor, in declining health, but very awake in her thinking, who shared many childhood memories with me. One of these memories had to do with singing. Her sister and other family members had beautiful voices. Whenever she began to sing, even in music class, the teacher would say to her “Later,” which she took to mean, “Don’t sing now, do it later when we don’t have to hear you.” When I began to encourage her to sing with me, it was difficult for her. However, when I put the lyre on her lap, and showed her how to stream through the strings, her musical-self began to awaken. She smiled and remarked that she was making beautiful music. She could tell when her tone was good, and she felt motivated to make it even better. This was a wonderful gift for her – that the lyre could reveal her inner musician and her ability to produce a beautiful tone out of herself.

A further revelation was gifted to me in the form of a client’s experience of the lyre tone ‘from the other side’: A number of years ago, a father in our school community had a devastating stroke. He was rendered unconscious for months, and many approaches were employed in the attempt to bring him back to consciousness. I visited him with my lyre twice weekly as part of this endeavor, as did others in our school community who sang, told stories, played recorded music, and offered massage. At first, I focused on sounding beautiful melodies, but I eventually settled on certain scales connected with the planetary tones, ordered in accordance with what is known as the ‘incarnation sequence’. Shortly following our session one afternoon, months after his stroke, he quite unexpectedly ‘came back’. I continued my work with him after he returned home, and once he had reclaimed his ability to express himself, he told me of his experience of being ‘elsewhere’, though aware of the care he was receiving at his bedside. Although he knew that he had surely been supported by all of the other offerings made on his behalf, he shared with me that during those months, the only thing that he actually experienced was the tone of the lyre – not any melody or harmony – simply the lyre tone, and he fully believed that this was what had ‘called him back’ .

We close with words of Christof-Andreas Lindenberg, penned over 60 years ago, but echoing and confirming what has been shared out of contemporary experience about the centrality of the heart in connection with the experience of the lyre tone:

The heart in us is a true lyre. Tuning and sounding at the same time, it sings the changing melos of our daily existence. Its very position suggests the attitude of listening as well as the attitude of sounding; an axis neither horizontal nor vertical, taking all dimensions into its force – right-above-back to left-below-front. That is the secret of its seat. And the fourfold structure of its chambers is the secret of its purpose, its beat. Only at times, and not more than dimly, are we aware of its rhythm, and systole and diastole never become fully conscious to him who tries to hear the heart’s polyphonic harmonies, resounding as they do in head and limb: it remains a secret! Revelation is not given through anatomical study nor through the stethoscope or electrocardiogram. Nor is it possible to check the music of the heart by theories on vibrations and sound-waves. The heart may begin to reveal its sound when two people meet in unison and harmony, tenderly prompting: they know – now it is the beat of the bar, now of the melos..... The modern lyre is an example of the highest achievement in combining form and sound. We can feel it as a revelation through this instrument of warmth, and we know now that this is a step to unite – a true communion of hearts.