I am returning to the hive on a regular basis with pollen and water and taking out poop and the detritus of regular hive activity. I also feed. Around me are workers and drones. Sometimes I am one, sometimes the other. Sometimes I am very far afield and a bit lost looking for feed sources that I can bring back home with a cool waggle dance of joy and sharing. I am a bee in this landscape. Sometimes I feel like a queen who wants to re-hive. Right now I am a scout be for the hive, but I want bring home the food in the very near future. This feedforward work is part of that personal and professional desire.
So I am a worker bee today, finding a source of food and doing my little waggle dance to orient you toward it.
Also, in line with my feeling that rhizo is practice and action and being, I salute Steven Pressfield’s Lunch Pail Manifesto. I am a working class dude. Been doing hard work since I was 11 years old. Maybe that makes me as stupid as Boxer in Animal Farm, but it makes me something. Here goes.
Here is a response Hackpad for those who wish to respond. I don’t agree wholly with the manifesto, but I think it is good starting pad for discussing what it means to write, be a writer, share writing and keep writing. Just click on any bulleted hyperlink and add kibbitz away.
I am thinking out loud in this post about of the word ‘practice’ in the title of our little adventure: Rhizo15–a practical view. Yes, I want practice. I have been following the weeks’ adventures from the margins with poetry and guided journaling and multi-modal summings-up. These are the techne, the craft, the ‘know-how’, that I seek for these six weeks. Then there is the episteme, the ‘know-what’, the book knowledge which I also care about but which I think is always trying to take the high ground. There is content everywhere in the community (Facebook, Twitter, G+). We are all filling that categorical pail as Aristotle would have it. It is inescapable.
These online worlds we occupy are pails of content yet we want them to be rhizomatic, where everything is in the middle and nowhere simultaneously, uncontained and uncontaining. Lakoff and Johnson have written about how these metaphorical schema aren’t just the spawn of language. They are conceptual, hence biological to the core.
We have ‘bounding surfaces’ with ‘an in-out orientation.
We see other ‘things’ as having the same orientation, with an inside and an outside. For example, I see my sheep as inside the fence and the coyote as outside.
This territoriality, this constant default schema, is ubiquitous AND allows us to quantify what is inside whether that is an acre/hectare or a cell in Excel or a bee in the garden.
What we see is bound into a container, hence the idea of a visual field.
Events can be containers. For example, the Kentucky Derby on Saturday is an object, but I can tell you from growing up in Louisville (see, another conceptual container)that while we consider it as an object it also exists in time as well and outside (damn it, you can’t get away from it). How do we conceptualize the Kentucky Derby rhizomatically in the face of this container bias?
Activities can be containers. How did I get into teaching? The teaching contains many activities inside it. Is rhizomatic learning inside of it? Contained within it? We are blindsided by this bias. We approach teaching and learning as if they ‘contain’ and have content, then we ask whether ‘content is people’? If no, then where does the rhizomatic consciousness fit? Is it outside of the container, post-content, post-contextual? The default might be why we feel such cognitive dissonance when we try to categorize what rhizomatic thinking is. When we define we are trying to put it in a proper logical container.
Even states of being can be viewed as containers. Being in love, out of love.
[Lakoff, George, and Mark Johnson. Metaphors We Live By. 2nd edition. Chicago: University Of Chicago Press, 2003. Print.]
Russell called this containing box ‘the laws of thought’:
[“Law of Excluded Middle.” Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia 30 Jan. 2015. Wikipedia. Web. 30 Apr. 2015.]
Is the rhizome logical? Or must we be content with content as a conceptual tool? I suppose that is why almost all of my dealings with rhizomatic learning have been tied into creative action. Perhaps the rhizome is in the act, in the being and not in the containing. The content often feels like the least bit that I wanted–the smoke from the fire, not the warming fire or the wake from the ship not the motive force from propellers. Perhaps rhizomatic learning is in practice and when we contain it, well…it disappears. The rhizome is the zenmonk pointing to the moon without naming it
because the word is not the thing
I am contentualizing here, so I stop with a haiku to point to the moon instead of naming it. Damn it, I just named it.