Turning and turning in the widening gyre
The falcon cannot hear the falconer
~ William Butler Yeats
It would seem that the falcon cannot hear me. Or perhaps she has chosen not to listen. My well-trained falcon, my keen-sighted falcon: she has rejected the commanding voice, the path of obedience, and soars out of reach, watching intently, waiting.
She is a part of me, and trying her best to have me listen to her for a change. Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold; / Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world. (Yeats, again.) This is the way it is, now. This is the way it has always been, under every veneer of illusory control.
The habit of directing the falcon runs deep. She is having none of it. She won’t let me sleep at night. She will break me of this habit if we both have to turn and turn and turn until we go mad.
Unclench the fists, the jaw. Set down the snares and the clever rationality. You will well up with tears again and again. Expect it. Your skin will crawl and your heart will plummet. You will keep coming to this place, this anguished mountaintop where the falcons soar, until you are rearranged. The center cannot hold. You must accept the centrifugal force that pulls you apart.