Madeye sits alone in his office in quiet contemplation, palms folded, pose relaxed. He calmly plays through the events of the last week. Although analytical by nature, he often defers a final reading of events until such a time as the passion has drained from a situation.
As his mind thumbs nimbly through his recent memory, he finds himself wondering “why is it that letting go of something is so hard?” When all good sense and valued advice says to slacken the jaws, to release the pit bull grip he finds it so difficult to do. Is it the fear of falling that drives it, the fear that he will plunge into the pit and to death?
He thinks not. The moment of release is always supremely cathartic, joyful almost. His mind knows this but still the body refuses to comply. Perhaps it is a stubborn refusal to admit defeat that leaves him, like the Japanese soldier found in the jungle two decades after the end of hostilities, fighting for something that long ago lost it’s meaning, it’s relevance.
Whatever the driving force behind his own intransigence, it matters not. The grasp is loose, the fingers unlocked, his trajectory commenced. He has passed the point of maximum elevation. It is no longer important where he came from, only where he is going.