Bongos

And the playground of life

Just as the buffalo lived in herds, Raymond searched for the comfort found in groups. Of course, he was not a buffalo. For humans the proper term is, ‘tribe.’

Raymond had left all the tribes he had been associated with so that he could experience individual freedom but his natural inclinations kept him searching for a new tribe. Surely there was a tribe out there that would be perfect for him.

He wondered why he and his fellow humans had this built-in craving. Was it a remnant from our distant past when clustering together in groups provided greater protection from carnivorous animals? Was it a need to develop an external locus of identity due to failure of developing an internal identity of self? Was it a crippling fear of loneliness that forced humans to look outwardly and avoid looking inwardly?

Raymond vacillated between searching for a tribe and searching for his true self within. Is it possible to find both? Or are the two things contradictory? To have both must he realize his true self first? Or could he continue that inward search while identifying himself as a tribe member?

This is what he was thinking about as he walked through the park on a beautiful spring day. As he walked the city streets on the way to the park he felt invisible. He felt no closeness to any of the humans he passed and he felt no need to get close to any of them. But that changed when he got to the park.

Raymond sat on a park bench that faced the children’s playground and watched the children play for a long time.

When a small child sees a playground they do not think about it. They just automatically run towards it to play. They may not know any of the other children playing there and that does not matter one iota. They will easily and naturally play with any other small kid.

Are all small children part of a huge tribe of their own?

It is when children get older that they start breaking up into smaller tribes. When they see a playground, instead of immediately running toward it to play, they look at all the other kids searching for someone they know to go play with; someone they are familiar and comfortable with.

Eventually, when they get much older, they hardly ever go to the playground anymore — unless they go with their tribe mates. Becoming ensconced in a tribe, they go where the tribe goes, do what the tribe does, think what the tribe thinks about, and their worldly focus narrows. Playgrounds become secondary to the tribe members and their specific activity. They become like a buffalo herd that moves in tandem and follows the herd mind. The security the herd provides assuages their fears of being alone without knowing their true selves.

Raymond shook his head in an attempt to shed all the thinking he was doing. He continued watching the children playing but without thought.

Soon, parents stood up from their benches and called their children and together they left in one direction while other parents and their children left in other directions. Soon there were only a small handful of kids playing in the sand over by the monkey bars. No kids were swinging on the swings.

Very slowly Raymond got up from his bench and began walking towards the playground. With each step he began walking a little more quickly. Before long he was seated in a swing and was swinging with wild abandon. He felt great joy as the air whipped his hair and face. He was invigorated as his legs pumped him higher and higher. He felt like he was flying.

After swinging for around half an hour Raymond finally got off the swing and headed home. He felt so happy and rejuvenated.

On the way home he noticed everyone on the sidewalks. And they all seemed to notice him. Most everyone not only looked at him but many of them smiled. Some nodded their head at him. He suddenly saw each one of them as potential friends.

Raymond then came to a street corner where four musicians were playing a song. There were two guitar players, a saxophone player and a trumpet player. A small crowd had gathered to listen to the musicians.

Off to the side where all the instrument cases were a pair of bongo drums sat on the ground. Raymond went over and picked up the bongos. He held them up towards the other musicians with eyebrows raised as though asking if he could play. One of the guitar players nodded affirmatively.

Sitting on the sidewalk with the bongos in his lap, Raymond played along with the other musicians for well over an hour.

What a wonderful day it turned out to be.

Copyright by White Feather. All Rights Reserved. This is a work of fiction. Writings of White Feather

Some of my recent stories: