Every shaman, medicine man, prophet, guru, yogi spiritual magi and genius admits freely to the value of isolation. In this human condition, a purer, keener, inward eye is opened, focused and interpreted which is normally only one of many sources of perception. It may be considered that we as the human creature, have been working diligently and soberly since the age of accountability (conceptualization of ourselves amidst equal beings) on the interpretation of reality, and that the theses of this research are the lives which we inhabit.

The recipe of our weaknesses, strengths, loves and hates, desires and shunnings, pains and pleasures is so intimate a story that to taste it must be to live it. When we accept a responsibility, assignment or idea it inhabits us, and our subconcious is enlisted to lay our skills and abilities most effectively to it's realization. So the caliber of the master's thesis must be.

It may be an intricate thumbprint, or a flash dump of all we know...perhaps a mirror adeptly angled to reflect the knowledge of the world on our topic with our voice as the narrator/curator of the precious knowledge of others. It may be a stream of consciousness mind dump that snarls and entangles our fore-brains like a spider who ejects silken strands but cannot manipulate them and is rendered bound by its own defense.

Whatever their source and form, isolation is the 'sorting hat' of ideas. Take heart, if we can concieve them we already know there is within a thread of sense--we have already hatched the understanding we need to express how we feel the topic is. Here is the trick for me, feelings do not obey rules, they just are and can blur, distract, confuse and blind while they simultaneously, enlighten, inspire, justify and energize. I have to ride the waves of how I feel in order to find the path to my own interpretation.

Excitement, verve and intensity are tools that perform the best for me--but these require desire energy and focus. Saying--or writing--these tumultuous processes opens my inner eye, and the isolation I have found in the wee hours of the morning, just me and crickets, and candles, are paying dividends in clarifying what I want my master's thesis to be--and what a deeper part of me needs it to be.

So, as the weeks race by, those of you who have seen my projects of last class will recognize that my evolving thesis will be posted on my website project. My time is split between finding what I want to expose and learning web tools I need to launch it into my portal. I am actually thrilled to have an open project to refer people to, and to shift and change and inject with creativity and life. The end of this project will hopefully never arrive, but a serious break is bound to occur after 2099, as I am focusing on the voices of the 21 century!

I have enjoyed sitting back and observing the dynamic and fruitful results of collaboration in this program, but confess that my quiet isolation has been my closest companion throughout. I share to feel, feel to think, think to write and write to share--this closed circle is a little bit lonely, but rest assured, every time I read you all, I feel you, and every feeling renders more access to who I am.

In a nutshell, your voices are entwined with the very roots of my thesis. Thank you.

The Interactive Thesis-The Evolving Thesis

“All good education must come to an end.” A falsehood, to be sure, as education is likely an eternal proposal. However, many milestones are passed as the journey progresses, and like rest areas on a road trip-some are essential. The Master’s Thesis is one of these crucial stops. With a little planning, the time at this stop can be a little like a fascinating day trip into a given region. Excitement builds as the mundane patterns of the freeway are left behind, the windows come down and local air fills the vehicle. Sights and sounds become more personal, intimate and alluring. When the little nook or cranny is found, curiosity is replaced with a nagging urge to plan the next diversion…

In education, especially the education of one’s own mind, research into a specific topic is an important way to develop the discipline to carry ideas through to fruition. It also renders in-depth knowledge leaving the researcher well suited to carry the theme to the event horizon, or cutting edge, of knowledge. So, a Master’s Thesis inserts itself comfortably between oneself and every other thing of importance in the given life. All normalcies are replaced with the ravening madness of a maven possessed. A truly exciting time of discovery awaits those so inclined to undertake this formidable yet rewarding expedition.

In order to fully extract all of the voices the internet’s connectivity has to offer, I am going to build my Master’s Thesis with the help of anyone who wants to throw in on it. The essential format of this evolving thesis is absolutely undefined. There are a number of ways to leave your thoughts: e-mail, comment here, comment on either of the website links (Writetime Inc. or maxquayle.com), or Facebook. So, I need to get the down low on utilizing tools such as Facebook, youtube and specifically the website builder on godaddy.com. Look for building excitement ahead, and thanks now for all your help then. Both sites are under construction, but links are up and comments available

Thrashing Through the Woods

Q: How many times must I set out on an aimless morning ride and end up blazing new trails, climbing unnamed hillocks and thrashing through thickets of underbrush before I become tamed to the allocated trails?

A: Every Time! What is an unexpected terminus, but a new beginning? What is a river but a quest for a ford? What is a right, but three subsequent lefts?

Take today, for example, I grabbed a water bottle (this is key...), rode with my second grade daughter to her school. Was required to dismount at no less than two stop guard crossings, and was asked to step back until the "all Clear" was sounded, at the last. After successfully delivering my little girl into the dry decorum of the Walker School...I was free.

I had previously explored the west side of the Merrimack River, near Concord NH, as far north as Sewall's Falls but had not yet landed the east. I set my bars northward and threw three miles behind me as I made for the Sewall's Falls crossing. An easy plunge greeted me to the left of the old one-lane bridge over the falls and I ditched the stark, bright pavement for the dappled-dim of the riverside undergrowth. Soon back on the trail I had not had the time to complete before, I geared high and cut a fine breeze through the cool, river laden morning air--turning, bouncing and hopping it up.

A sudden, sharp left-hand hook dumped me way too soon onto the old rusty track of the disused Boston and Maine, leaving me twitching for more grind. Now I have logged many miles of track riding over the course of time, and not one foot of it brings a smile to my mind. Looking what seemed a straight two miles through an enshrouded gravel and track covered path did not sate the burn of the last mile of great New Hampshire trail riding.

At this juncture, a decision was presented, simple and true: Go on or back. There is no shame in retracing a good trail from it's end, I just don't willingly do it. I hitched up my seat and set a course for a hoped short shot to an underpass. This was a good day, within a mile a dirt path swung in from a corn field and I left the rear bashing endurance for the cool field-side run. Within minutes I heard automobile sounds and recognized the the terrain: Exit 17 off 93 North, the trestle, and Hannah Dustin Memorial statue. Riding the rickety old train trestle was unnerving but do-able and I left Hannah standing westward watch over the graves of the braves she slew.

Now committed to threading my way some 8 miles southward toward Concord I gladly forded the river by bridge and was leaf-slapping and grit-toothing within minutes. My location was the east bank of the Merrimack river, southbound from exit 17, west of the freeway. A narrow corridor exists or varying widths from this point all the six miles down to exit 16, east Concord, NH. I was greeted by another set of train tracks almost instantly, but my trail veered away from them and cast me ever closer to the cool, quiet river's flow.

On other days, a white-tail deer, covey of partridge or at least a Blue Heron or two accompany me (at least within eye shot) on these bush treks, but today a deepening silence gripped the shore line. To my disappointment the next three westward trail spurs terminated in sheer cliffs, deep cloven chasms or jungle-like thatches and re-tracing became common place. after the third abrupt donut-hole, I resigned myself to the mile or two return to the bridge and a long, if hotter southward ride down Mountain road, in Pennacook, NH.

Fact is, not every thrash is blessed--but I hold that there is a charm to be found--on a spur of the moment ride, and today's high was definitely the 3 mile race down the backside of Mountain Road and into Concord proper. I'll admit the write up is fun, the review sometimes lives before my eyes, but the clock is already ticking down until I shoot the overland route over to Bear Brook State Forest and spin some trails out that way...The call will never be silenced.

I ride the heck out of a TREK 8900, hardtail with Rockshox, and Shimano XTR components, a touch of style is captured in my ICON cranks, post and stubs. Fire-engine red with black and silver highlights. Best bike I have ever owned.