Dia Calhoun's Blog, page 4

7:30 BELLS: After the Wind, a Presence

This morning I had a resonating experience on the river trail. I was surveying our damage from the typhoon remnant that blasted the Pacific Northwest this weekend. The Nisqually River Valley funnels big winds. During the storm, I held my breath several times, hoping the trees stayed in the air. They did—except one across the river. The apocalyptic forecast didn’t materialize—here.

As I dragged fallen branches off the trail, I heard a flock of birds crying. Most of the birds had already left for the winter. I looked up. Hundreds of sparrows fluttered and flapped in a big Douglas Fir. 
And then I saw why.

An owl perched on a branch, same gray-brown as the tree. Only white spots gave it away. And the owl was looking straight down at me. 
What a face! What an enormous face. He was a winged head. I’ve heard owls hoot here at night but have never seen one. Had the storm brought him out? Or had it brought me out to meet him?

We considered each other soberly, steadily—me looking up, the owl looking down. I was being measured in ways I couldn’t fathom. Would never fathom. That quality of fixed attention —for the first time I understood why owls are associated with wisdom. I understood this not from a book, or picture, or video, but from vivid experience.

This elemental way of experience the world so often eludes us. Listen for the unusual—like the gathering of sparrows after a storm—often a signal that something is different. And then take the time to stop and look up. Maybe you’ll meet a presence you’ve never met before.

7:30 BELLS: Venturing Forth Alive into the Fullness of the Day

In the middle of the night, I woke to a plaintive, bugling cry. I sat up and looked toward out the open window toward the woods. The cry stopped. Seconds later it came again. Loud, and yet distant. Across the river? An animal to be sure. But what animal? An elk perhaps, but perhaps not.

We watched. Shone the flashlight. Listened as the cry repeated. After ten minutes, it stopped. I snuggled back under the blankets, feeling oddly alive from the night’s mystery.

The next morning was a brilliance of sun and wind. A perfect day for a walk. I strode across the field and woods. Leaves did their final dance from the cottonwoods to the ground. Clouds rushed, full of places been, places yet to come.

I felt alive and full of ringing bells. This moment became life penultimate. How extraordinary it was just to venture forth, to venture forth alive into the fullness of the day after mystery in the night.

7:30 BELLS: Bullet Train or Buggy? Let the Vehicle Determine the Goal

Our goals and road we take to reach them are inextricably mixed. We envision the destination—the treasure, the shining city—then plan what road we need to take to get there. But do we ever consider the vehicle needed to travel down that particular road to our chosen destination? There are bikes. SUVs. Gilded carriages. Electric Cars. The vehicle we travel in determines our experience of the journey.

So what’s the relationship between the destination, the road, and the vehicle?

Consider the bullet train. If you choose a bullet train, you’ll speed to your destination on an undeviating track laid down by others, with a machine pilot. The landscape will be a passing blur. The bullet train can’t go down a winding country road. Can’t stop for scenic surprises. But it can get to the city fast.

Some destinations you can only reach in particular vehicles that travel on particular roads. Your chosen vehicle and your chosen road determine the types of destinations (goals) you can reach. A bullet train usually goes to cities. A horse drawn buggy would take years to roll into the shining city. But it can navigate narrow lanes and secret byways. Stop and start where your interest calls. A bullet train can’t.

How I journey down the road has become more important to me than the destination. Because the journey is all the hours of my life. It’s my experience of life. So I’ve decided to stop planning my life around a destination. Instead, I first choose the vehicle I want to travel in and the kind of road that suits it. Then, I choose my destination based on the way I prefer to travel.

And all other choices flow from that.

7:30 BELLS: The Return of the Bells

Dear Reader,

After a summer hiatus, weekly 7:30 BELLS posts will return next Tuesday. I've missed writing them. I hope you spent a summer of glory hearing your own bells--hearing what makes your ring, resonate, and feel alive.

The changes of fall are in the air. Until next week . . .

Chime of the Day

May your writing always feel like this. 

Choosing How to Connect: Second Annual Mouse House Retreat on the River

A glorious day here at River House on the Nisqually, with many of the writers in my Mouse House writers group. 

We wrote along the river. Ate strawberries picked that morning in my garden. Dodged a thunderstorm. Drank wine and hot chocolate huddled in the living room. We talked all things writing. Most of all, we came together in person instead of through screens.

With all the bombardment of  possible connection, we have to continuously and mindfully choose how we want to connect to the world. And what is most important for us to connect to, be it our writing, our readers, our family, or outward careers, our spirits.


  Lois Brandt

 Dave Patneaude

 Dori Hillstad Butler
Janet Lee Carey, Laurie Thompson, Kathryn Grace Bond,  Lois Brandt, Dori Butler, Dia Calhoun,  Suzanne Williams, Dave Patneaude
What a joyful day. Thank you all for coming. See you at the third annual Mouse House Retreat on the River!

7:30 BELLS: Dwelling--The Birth of a New Novel

Dear 7:30 Bells Readers,

I wanted to let you know why there have been no new 7:30 BELLS posts for several weeks.  I've been writing all summer in a white hot heat, writing a new middle grade fantasy novel. The bells have been ringing and ringing for me as I write, so loud and sweet I can't hear anything else. Never before have I felt such joy or passion in writing a new book. I'm on the beam. I am the beam.

7:30 BELLS posts will resume. But for now, Social Media, networking, blogging is all sidelined. I'm focused on "connecting" -- my imagination, heart, and energy with this new work being born. This new work needs me to dwell and to dwell and to dwell with it. Nothing else matters.

I'm a writer first!

7:30 BELLS: Numinous Bells

The vibrant feeling of being alive rushes in when elements blend into a numinous image. Like this water from our sprinkler dancing with the sun and wind, bejeweling the garden trellis.

The spray looks like some mystical being becoming suddenly, momentarily visible.

I stand, watching the water sweep in circles. No two moments are the same. They come and they go and they are gone--even though the sprinkler, like the day, like the year, like life and death, comes round again.

Don't miss a moment of it.

7:30 BELLS: The Best of the Bells: Sunlight and Moonlight

Occasionally I run past favorite 7:30 BELLS posts, like this one, from last June.

In the field southeast of our house, daisies grow wild. Last night as I walked through them in the moonlight they shone—luminous, white-skirted, acres of them kicking up a can-can in the windy moonlight.

Enchanting, yes. Bells, bells, and more bells.

Then, the next morning, I walked through the field in the sunlight. Dazzling, bright, the daisies still kicked up their skirts in the wind, but now I saw their golden hearts revealed.

There’s a time to be luminous and mysterious. A time to be bright, bold, and flash your heart at the world. Sunlight and moonlight together, two things we never see at the same time, create the whole story. Look and keep looking, at every hour, in every light, for parts of yourself you can’t see all at once. Then knit them together in the wind to see your whole rich story.

7:30 BELLS Posts run every Tuesday.

7:30 BELLS: Mystery Startles Us Awake

Tonight, when I walked the meadow at dusk, clouds played a dark melody on the sky. It was beautiful enough. 

Then . . .a train whistle blew. The brass coming in. I stopped, listened. Then listened to the echo. And again the whistle blew and echoed. And I stood transfixed.

I'm not the first to be transfixed by that plaintive sound. But I wondered, why did it make me feel so alive? And the answer was simple. Because it was laden with mystery. 

Mystery, wonder--the things we feel but can't quite name--can't pin to any rational explanation, startles us awake and makes us feel alive.

Think about the mystery of that: What we don't understand makes us feel most alive.