The past few weeks had been relentless.
I had taken over as lead of a cross-functional program.
It was positioned squarely on the fault line between two departments.
Ever since the pressure had been constant.
Not operational pressure – political.
It was a bright day, softened by gentle warmth.
I walked through my village on my customary distress route.
Green pastures on one side, cows grazing without urgency.
On the other, tall corn standing dense and patient, almost ready for harvest.
Despite the calm, the events of the past weeks refused to loosen their grip.
Both functions were led by capable, influential leaders.
Publicly, both endorsed the initiative.
Privately, each regarded it as a threat to their influence, their budget, and their future succession.
Within a week, the pattern emerged.
Meetings were cordial.
Decisions unanimous.
Actions nonexistent.
Requests vanished into “further review.”
Data was questioned selectively.
Each side waited for the other to blink.
I was instructed to proceed, yet cautioned not to move.
Escalation was impossible.
Both leaders held equal rank.
Both were my superiors.
Both were locked in a silent rivalry.
Choosing one meant alienating the other.
Neutrality produced paralysis.
I was accountable for outcomes, yet any movement risked being interpreted as alignment. Weeks passed.
The program remained suspended.
It became evident that my role was not to deliver progress but to absorb a political force.
The truth was simple: nothing would move until the balance of power shifted.
“Water does not avoid gravity,” he said. “Nor does it resist it.”
I cannot say when he arrived, but he was there, beside me, in white robes, a subtle presence.
The scars near his right ear were visible.
Old. Earned.
“It aligns with gravity completely,” he continued. “Falling where it must.
Spreading where it can.
Pooling only long enough to continue.”
“You endure,” he said, “not by confronting political force,
but by recognising its direction and moving intelligently within it.”
Watching the cows graze – unconcerned with territory or precedence – clarity settled in.
I separated what had to move from what could not.
I framed progress as preserving what already worked, not promoting what was new.
The functions needed to experience continuity, not displacement.
Risk was shared without attribution.
Movement occurred only where pressure had already equalized.
Small, reversible steps that neither side could claim nor reasonably oppose.
We sat together for a while. No counsel. No instruction. Just presence.
Gravity had not changed.
But I had learned how to move within it.
Perhaps those scars did have stories to tell.
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