Enter the Rhizome: Roots Take Hold

I’m checking out a new P2PU offering by Dave Cormier (whose work around open learning has inspired many) around Rhizomatic Learning. It’s a term I heard folks using during our Making Learning Connected MOOC but I have not yet come to fully understand it. I had the sense that it means a circular learning pattern — where ideas spark ideas spark ideas — and there is a keen unfettered world of discovery to be had, if we can only be open to anything.

Or, you know, something like that.

So, in I go.

First, Dave’s great introduction is here but I popped it into Vialogues to add some comments. I invited others in, too, but we’ll see if anyone takes me up on it.

Earlier in the week, I read some posts by Dave and looked up the word (online, of course) and then began to consider Rhizomes in terms of a poem. Here you go. (The poem looks more polished here).

Rhizomatic Journeys: Roots Take Hold
By Kevin Hodgson

buried here
beneath the ground …
… roots take hold …

fingers like fibers
reaching out ….
… roots take hold …

interests collide
paths, align …
… roots take hold …

we move in starlight, together,
here in this undiscovered country
navigating without maps or stars
or compass points north

we close our eyes
sensing if not seeing …
… roots take hold …

move into the unknown
community as nodes …
… roots take hold …

discovery as learning
learning, discovery …
… roots will take hold …

we learn our way, together,
here in these distant connections
nurtured with passion and interest
our compass points north

And I did a podcast, of course.

You come, too.

Peace (in poetic understanding),

PS — Terry Elliott took my poem and did something cool with it. I’ll share that out tomorrow. But I am starting to envision rhizomatic thinking in terms of my own views around remix culture and collaborative learning, and how the threads — though disparate and global — can begin to come together to make meaning out of the parts.

One Comment
  1. Google: Touches of Sense.

    Lost poets refound.
    Joy unbound.

    Sound mate!

    Forget sales!
    Sail, sail.

    Poetry in motion, poetic justice.
    Power in piety, priapic supplice.

    Rythm entanglement, dance release.
    Weeds weave a gardeners’ fleece.

    Clownery feared, comedy suppressed.
    Hope lies ahead of rulers redressed.

    Nonsense, substance, nature resists.
    Meaning absurd our pleasure persists.

    Rip into the establishment.
    Puncture its pride.
    We are hunters after its hide.

    Hunters well-hidden.
    Prey forbidden.
    I’m a vegetable, a foolish dunce.

    But they learn fast.

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *