Into the Ether

Reading a deep book. "The Lightness of Being", by Nobel Prize-Winning Physicist, Frank Wilczek, is at once about the most minute and finite particles conceivable and the grandest possible scale of all known multi-verses. His assertion is simple, there must be energy and forces at work in every dark corner of real time and space--the "ether", he has decided is the source of answers to a unification theory. Under the heady influence of his far reaching ideas I have been introduced this past week to the Ietherpad. This interactive document sharing program has been dry run through the professional writing cohort to which I belong, and I for one am reeling. If, like the theory of Quantum Chromodynamics, this tool is beyond my initial comprehension, I reserve the right to retract the following criticism at a point of enlightenment in the future:

As the various users log in and view/edit the same document, they all must choose a color for their font. The palette it only pastel, and some colors simply should never be blended. The stark white space in conjunction with the soft pastel fonts use sends my eyes blurring. Also, aside from the colors and a key on the side bar, no identification of who is who can be found. So, document editors must nest their name into the lines they change. All this is manageable, until one returns later to find their color is no longer available and they must start dialogue in yet another hard to see hue. Chronology is not readily discernible, but can be shown in a real-time tool which plays the changes in the order they were made before your eyes. In all, the technology captures a powerful group-editing freedom, yet there are enough hitches to keep students hopping. Unlike the ether, which is purported to contain a grand unification, Ietherpad may have a long hold in a beta-state.

For solid analysis of writing, the SWOT protocols are offered as sieve of knowledge. Strengths, Weaknesses, Opportunities and Threats loom as the spine of any successful endeavor. Intuitively speaking, any writer passes all four of these categories under their all-seeing eye (along with audience, tenor and a hosts of myriad details). Taking the time to brainstorm out this four part application is a guarantee to press a written piece into the next order of effectiveness.

4D and Surviving

It is highly recommended that all males who achieve the landmark age of 40, receive a careful, thorough physical examination. There is some sort of expiration date inexorably connected with this age, for if one does not seek said exam, many previously taken for granted body functions are prone to cease. For me it was my lungs, yep, both of 'em. Though my blog posts might outline a fairly active year of cycling, hiking and the general upbeat voice of a healthy middle-aged man, the truth is last year was the laziest of my life--and I have paid dearly.

The early onset hot, dry summer, sapped much of my cycling surge, and for what ever reason I only hiked one New Hampshire peak (Mt. Mcgalloway, in the way north country). The price for this relatively sedentary summer reared it's head as I sloughed through a difficult outdoor construction job this past winter. Fighting the teeth of the wind on New Hampshire's spit of coastline, Hamptoin Beach, proved to be a game of survival that nearly overwhelmed me.. During the often brutal and constantly raw winter months, undisciplined body slowly succumbed to a deep case of bronchospasm. Big deal right? Well, for me it was. At peak inflammation I literally could not walk across a room with out stopping for breath, and I often prepared myself for the moment (impending doom) that I simply would breathe no more.

I am now nearly recovered. The toll was two weeks lost wages, 20 pounds off of a lifetime max of 165 pounds, several thousand dollars in medical exams and treatments, and a few costly forays into the wild and untamed world of holistic medicine, which combined in me to create a new found and sacred appreciation for my health. Having lived the active, footloose life of a healthy, satisfied man--with on-demand stores of pure and potent energy--I never thought I would sit in a chair and not care if I got up at all on a given day. I shall never forget the weight of the cinder block on my chest each morning at 4 a.m. which commanded me to throw off exhaustion and get up before its weight crushed my lungs.

Today I am on about 80 percent normal, I sleep a little more in total, and a touch more deeply. I eat carefully, and more often--with an eye toward healthy and an inner ear listening for my body's cravings (cliff bars and bananas this week, grapefruit and broth last) I am off meds and feeling the old me in exhilarating flashes. My humor is well, and my family knows me again. I do not let a evening end without fervent appreciation for the health I have and a deal of fond hope that it may last as long as possible. I am a grateful man.

Freestylin'

Nothing so nice as pulling the bike out on the first warm day of the year-except perhaps, pulling out a *new* one (see it sparklin'?). As temperatures raced to catch the dew point today, the mood struck for a little bit of trickery. My youth was paid in the currency of time in, or slightly above, a BMX bicycle seat. The hours there spent honed reflexes, sharpened depth perception and caused no small stir in the neighborhood's traffic patterns--and tonight the air was laden with the thick of new spring. Breathing deeply I felt the after-dinner tug of a little play.

Rolling out the trickbike, there was an electric twitter in the trees, all the neighboorhood kids peered over to observe the potential disaster of a forty-odd-year old on a Haro. I fastened my hemlet carelessly and began to study my latest acquisition against the crucible of gravity. A wheelie, and an endo or two, brought young blood coursing up from the deep wells. Logic clicked, patterns were dusted off and presented by a mind reeling with the fun of a little biking. My moves began to smooth and one young man, truly gifted with sight exclaimed " Hey, that was a TRICK!" A small group now sat tranfixed as my old retinue unfolded in fits and spurts before them.

Old school is more than my Alma Mader, its my gnarly roots. What fun! (yes, still intact).

Uncommon Threads

A look at the variety of sources of inspiration reveals infinite connections. The 'prompt' as it is called is a technique which can yield some very creative work. For example, a teacher may assign a group of students the following sentence fragment: "There were a thousand reasons to turn and walk away..." The ventures from this launching pad will certainly be as diverse as the minds that write them. Another source can be the complete written work of another. As a writer is read the reader may take his/her voice and make subtle changes in their own speech tendencies and word choice--like many do when introduced to a foreigner with a rich accent. For the purposes of online learning, Inspiration is often required on-demand.

Whether reading a droll post which requires a creative infusion, enjoying a well written post and carrying the theme to the next level or simply pointing out something which seems obvious that no one has yet commented about. These all cultivate a distinct learning environment, a place where ideas rebound and resonate and engaged writers let the muse run free. Unburdened by requirement to produce anything of lasting substance, the modern student can literally live on inspiration without getting a whole lot done. Course requirements are met, colorful tone and text blend to establish--or maintain-- voice, and all are entertained.

Can this inspiration-based existence fulfill the need for deeper--or as it has been dubbed, 'higher--learning? Does the exchange of ideas in a creative block count for knowledge gained? I think it does. As we delve into opinion and seed conversations with our various influences a remarkable symbiosis emerges. Where a writer or two can exchange ideas, a host of writers can establish entire thought planes, and the diverse interactions between them truly require a reliance upon flexible, crafty and careful literal tact. The future of online learning may soon be tamed and canned and spent, let us now indulge in the organic, boundless revelry to which we aspire.