falcons

party people (and those who would not identify as 'party people'):

this is the casentino valley, which follows the route of the arno river south from its source in the appenines towards arezzo. this is twilight. this is gherardo, who goes to art school by day and by night is one of italy's most accomplished falconiers. and this is a falcon. in italian, un girifalco grigio.

last night i found myself at gherardo's house chatting with his parents and drinking coca-cola, watching as gherard set his two prize falcons free to float about on the evening air, watching him swing a logoro - a length of cord with a baby chick tied to a weight on the end, watching the falcons scream down from on high to claw the chick to shreds in midair. their rear claws (which correspond to human thumbs, i suppose), are muscular and the talon is longer and much more intimidating than the others, which were already considerably intimidating. at the last possible moment, the falcon's feet drop down from their aerodynamic tuck to thrust these rear claws into their prey. when i saw this happen in living color, the force of the falcon's descent and the strength of the claws ripped the chick's head off.

it was awesome.

as gherardo eloquently explained, falconry has been an art since the middle ages, with rich traditions in the west and in asia. the logoro he used with the chick was a western design, but gherardo also showed us a logoro that falconers have been using in pakistan for centuries. a length of flexible cane with string on the end, it allowed gherardo to simulate the flight of smaller birds by using a real bird's wing instead of a weight at the end of the cord. he handled the cane with practiced grace; his motion reminded me of flyfishermen. then, he reached into a small pouch at his belt and pulled out another chick, which he pulled apart with his bare hands, throwing pieces to the falcon, who caught them in the air.

it was awesome.

although gherardo has established an obvious intimacy with the birds that he's had for a long time, he was very frank about using hunger as a means to keep his new acquisitions close. the falcon comes back because of the chick, whether he tears it to pieces or whether gherardo does the job for him. in the end, that only increased my appreciation for what these falcons are capable of. birds of prey seem to be machines of desire. when they flew towards their prey, it was as if every feather was perfectly aligned towards their aim, as if every atom of their bodies were drawn effortlessly along their line of sight.

tomorrow i'm going up to camaldoli, a benedictine monastery in the northern casentino valley, and on wednesday i'll be at la verna, St. Francis of Assisi's summer refuge. thinking of the falcons, it makes more sense why monks everywhere take a vow of poverty, and why perhaps St. Francis, who spoke of 'lady poverty' as his beloved, was able to revolutionize the church in his brief lifetime. i don't know if it's 'right' to deprive falcons of food to bind them to you. i've tried to starve a few girls into liking me, and it didn't work very well.

but watching those falcons, i felt free. the grace with which they moved their wings to catch the currents, the speed and control with which they approached, the ferocity of their attack: the air is their element, and they can do almost anything they want up there. being in the presence of that power, i felt a part of it. but also because it's slowly becoming real to me that my desires are my own, that i can make choices. i don't intend to take any eternally binding and highly uncomfortable vows in the next few days, but i want to take a long look at these monks, who have pointed every fiber of their being toward their desire and are living in the consequences. to be really free, does one have to choose to live in desire?