Nobody is the system

A Sunday park stroll.

“Excuse me, there. I’m looking for the system.” Somebody needs to have a chat with them given how things are going. I rehearse my thoughts before making them audible.

I begin with an innocent tree because they saw lots passing by. An old oak points towards an old lady. I shake my head in disbelief. We are past blaming older generations, aren’t we? Are we? Are we.

I continue. I find a man, but man says, “not all men”. I wonder where all men are then, and when and where he had left them all behind. Or is he all men, in which case I could ask. But when I try, he gestures at my outline.

A person of power - robes, certificates and titles in the bag - sits on a park bench. “Excuse…” - I want to say, but while I approach I spot the label: neutrality. It’s a neutral bench. I know these ones – when you get close enough, they disappear like an oasis in the glimmering heat.

A pigeon crosses my path. Recently I read that they are among the top ten most intelligent species in the world. But as crows are the real spies, they must be pedestrian gossip. They sense my arrogance and do their circle-y Gurr-Gurr while fighting for breadcrumbs.

A pond and boats, water crinkled by wind. Someone mentions boats too small to hold the ones who step on soil they did not grow roots in. Surface crawling, holding on to survive. All that holds them must be them, that system, suffocating. Squeezed - who is, who gets to breathe?

I hear a loud squawking goose: BAH BAH BAH. Quite fat, lustrous, long feathers while waddling along. Must be owned by richness, I suppose. Provides Foie Gras and feasting dinners, inviting the residents of neutrality benches because anything fits their taste palates. Goose stands behind a fence, which makes this private property anyway. My vocal cords will break when attempting to shout loud enough to ask them – no, my voice will not be locked into silence.

Who then? Kid playing with ball, kid playing with sticks. Dog, must be dog, chasing squirrels. Squirrel, must be them stashing away nuts like there’s no tomorrow. Nuts, must be them, falling off trees – detached as if they can survive on their own.

Everything starts to move. Stepping forward. Stepping back. Air swirling. Hairs tingling. Silence creating bowls. Words filling bowls. One rhythm. Two rhythms. Same rhythm. Ball bouncing. Stick dragging. Dog chasing. Squirrel fleeing. Forward. Back. Forward. Back. Calculated. Comfortable.

Nobody stumbles; stumbling is nobody. Passing by, by passing. System synchrony.