Month: September 2022

Friends

Posted on | by Carmen Butcher

I translated Brother Lawrence. I entered some dusty and beautiful books from the 1600s, and they brought me the gold in my shadow and new friends. Something similar happened with Cloud.

Many of these new friends I kind of knew already. If you count having read all of Mirabai Starr’s books friendship. Isn’t it though, in a way? Do you do that, too? You find one book by someone that really resonates, so you find all they’ve written and devour it?

So here are a few kind friends whom I’m grateful for and whom I met through translation. Here they are in no particular order, each in a few lines, that like the tip of an iceberg just suggest rather than represent the richness they bring into my life and into the world’s. Some hyperlinked URLs are here for those who want to delve deeper into the richness these wise friends contribute to the global community. Today, we can be grateful for their helpful videos, too, that we can find on the internet.

Mirabai Starr, whose way of living teaches me more about beyond-binary life than even any of her amazing books, acclaimed translations, creative non-fiction works, Wild Mercy, and one on-the-way.

Mark Dannenfelser of Contemplative Outreach International, a wise storyteller who also introduced me to David A. Treleaven’s Trauma-Sensitive Mindfulness: Practices for Safe and Transformative Healing.

Rev. SeiFu Anil Singh-Molares of Spiritual Directors International, who brings new life to conversations surrounding translation, spiritual companionship, and trying to live a life of tranquility and kindness.

Jon M. Sweeney, who cultivates meaningful conversations in “Off the Page” at Spirituality & Practice, and in his many books–I’m joyful anticipating his and Mark Burrows’s next Meister Eckhart translation!

Lama Yeshe Rose, who shared with me about her adventures translating Tibetan scriptures, and I’ll never gladly be the same, for what I learned in two hours of our talking.

Aurelia Dávila Pratt, whose A Brown Girl’s Epiphany: Reclaim Your Intuition and Step into Your Power is a wise, powerful book, asking all of us to honor the sacred voice within us and be kind to others.

Renée Roden, a freelance reporter and writer, also member of St. Francis Catholic Worker House in Chicago, whose deep listening and writing skills inspire me, and I hope for future books from her.

Josh Patterson and Greg Farrand who interviewed me for the podcast (Re)Thinking Faith and who gave me such grace of listening and who share their own journeys in ways that give me great hope and joy.

Annmarie Sanders, IHM, who interviewed me for the Leadership Conference of Women Religious (LCWR) and shared such wisdom with me about what women religious are thinking and experiencing today.

Clifford Brooks III, who publishes The Blue Mountain Review, hosts the NPR podcast Dante’s Old South, and cultivates community through The Southern Collective Experience in the best, most lasting ways.

Cassidy Hall, Kevin Johnson, and Carl McColman, who through the Encountering Silence podcast, and in countless other ways teach us all what it looks like to really, really, really pay attention and listen.

Cynthia Bourgeault, a kind friend since Cloud days, is much cherished for how she creates newness from ancient wisdom and listens into the mysteries and brings us all back joy and new ways of seeing.

Shima Bagheri Ahranjani, is also my friend because of the Cloud. She emailed me a few years ago to say she loved the Cloud. Shima is a dear friend, she has a Ph.D. in Persian literature, and she has given me one of the greatest gifts I always yearned for–friendship with someone who knows Rumi in Farsi, inside and out.

And so many many more. Making me so grateful. Little wonder. From the last section of my Introduction to Practice of the Presence: A Revolutionary Translation by Carmen Acevedo Butcher, we encounter the amazing friend Brother Lawrence, who has a way of cultivating friendships wherever he goes:

The best description I know of him is, unsurprisingly, by his good friend and mentee Joseph of Beaufort. It’s from the Profile:

The virtue of Brother Lawrence never made him harsh. His goodness made him gentle. He was a warm, welcoming person. He gave others confidence. When you met him, you felt you could tell him anything. You knew you’d found a friend. As for him, once he knew the person he was dealing with, he spoke freely and showed great kindness. He said simple things, but these were always to the point, and full of common sense and meaning. Once you got past his rough exterior, you discovered a unique wisdom, an openness of mind and a spaciousness beyond the reach of an ordinary lay brother. His depth of insight exceeded all expectation. . . . And you could consult him on anything.

On the pages that follow, you will meet this genuine soul who lives in these words. His authenticity flowed from his friendship with the Presence. His gentleness and warmth, great kindness and common sense, wisdom and openness of mind, which made him a wonderful friend, are the spiritual muscles that his practice of the presence prayer developed, over time.

Brother Lawrence is the reason this wise book has stayed alive through centuries of plague, famine, inequity, inhumanity, religious strife, wars, floods, and our ever-present human fragility. He extends friendship and wisdom to you.

Enjoy becoming friends, and spending time with him, returning now and again for conversation.

Tumbling

Posted on | by Carmen Butcher

Friends have asked me to record these, so I am. You find them on my YouTube Channel: https://www.youtube.com/c/CarmenAcevedoButcherPresence

You’re invited to subscribe there. I also work full-time teaching in College Writing Programs at UC Berkeley, so often there’s a few days’ wait for the recording. I’m mindful to make these pieces accessible to all, so they’re recorded and captioned.

I hope like me this Saturday morning 9/17/22, you have a day now and then in your life you can get up and not be diligent, productive, and conscientious. You can instead stay in pjs and dressing gown for some hours. Saying “nope” to getting dressed, going out. And just listen to your life. Hair askew. For me that means remembering my childhood joy when recording with a tape recorder and pretending I had a radio show. What brings you joy? I hope you can step back at times and just listen to the genuine in yourself, as Howard Thurman reminds us all.

This piece has a few French words and their definitions in English. When I read it, I omit the French words because I think it gets aurally confusing for listeners. If you want to know what’s happening word-wise in that way, though, simply visit carmenbutcher.com/blog.

Now to the piece itself. “Tumbling.” Subtitled: “Between and Among Life’s Everyday Realities.”

During the pandemic’s first summer and beyond, I translated Brother Lawrence’s Practice of the Presence. My new translation of this spiritual classic offers the complete teachings of Brother Lawrence for the first time to a wide-ranging audience, and it has been praised for its accuracy and inclusive language. Why do you think being mindful of our language use in everyday life is considered by some an essential spiritual practice?

That’s a question I hope readers will ask with me. I ask it daily. For me, everyday use of language is an essential spiritual practice.

Words matter. Mary Oliver says of writing as craft: “As a carpenter can make a gibbet as well as an altar, a writer can describe the world as trivial or exquisite, as material or as idea, as senseless or as purposeful. Words are wood” (Winter Hours). Baked into some religious writing and translating, regardless of the original’s mystical beyond-binary perspective, a rigid binary of sinner-saint, bad-good, evil-virtuous, devil-angel, wrong-right, woman-man, and others can fabricate a hierarchical world where someone is up and someone is down, someone is in and someone is out, some of us are “us” and some of us are “them.” But as Lucille Clifton reminds all of us in her poem, “All of Us Are All of Us”: “oh all of us are / all of us and / this is a poem about / Love” (The Collected Poems of Lucille Clifton 1965-2010).

Reflecting on the friar’s graceful, grounded use of words, we remember he had no chance for a formal education and lived over forty years with a disability causing him to limp and experience constant pain. His language in my translation grounds us in love awareness, as the original language does, and reading him mimics meditation, and is itself an act of meditation, as with the Cloud of Unknowing.

Reading the friar’s organic teaching in the original Early Modern French feels like drops of dew sparkling in the sunlight on the web of wisdom. It’s an awakening experience of reflecting on the friar’s graceful, grounded, loving use of words. Their histories or etymologies affirm his kind, beyond-binary wisdom. In his emphasis on and repetition of amour,for example, he brings to mind fourteenth-century English mystic Julian of Norwich. I call him the “friar of amour.” And also, sometimes, Nic, in my mind, from his first name, Nicolas Herman.

Brother Lawrence’s intentional use of two French verbs—manqué (“fallen short”) and “tomber” (“stumble”)—teaches how we cause harm to ourselves and others, and can heal from this in the liminal loving spaciousness created by practicing the presence prayer. In a conversation the friar tells Joseph: “When I know I’ve fallen short (manqué) or been distracted, I accept it, saying: That’s typical for me. It’s all I can do. If I have not disappointed or been inattentive, but instead have done well, I thank God for it, and confess that this grace comes from them.” His choice of manqué communicates grace as embodied.

Past translations use a binary term, “failed” for manqué (“fallen short”). In the 1600s manqué is “lacking, missing, inattentive” (“lame”). The accurate “fallen short” shows the friar’s understanding of grace. Also, knowing the word’s history is profoundly illuminating, because manqué is from the Latin mancus “maimed,” as Brother Lawrence was by war.

In Letter 2 the friar uses another verb of embodiment, tomber (“to tumble”), to describe his earliest difficulties with his monkey mind and the presence prayer: “During this period Ioften fell (je tombais-I fell), but I got back up immediately.” His nondualistic eye also shows when he repeats this verb in describing to Joseph his earliest difficulties at the monastery in Paris when he regularly spent the entire time set aside for mental prayer “rejecting thoughts and then tumbling back (retomber) into these same thoughts” (“Second Conversation”).

The friar’s nondualistic view of “sin” is also crucial to understanding his beyond-binary mindset-heartset-soulset-selfset. He doesn’t see sin as a permanent or underlying badness of self, nor as a persistent consequence of something some have named “original sin.” The friar’s internal compass is set on “original blessing” instead, on God’s kindness and goodness and on the kindness and goodness of each person and of all of creation. Just once he calls himself pécheur “sinner,” from Old French pécher. In that one rare time, we are also reminded that pécher is from Latin peccāre / peccō “I walk, fall, stumble” from *ped- “foot.” So even pécheur sees that he is writing of his stumbling, doing acts of harm/péchés, and then he writes of asking forgiveness of Love and of atoning, changing, to become one of “the wisest lovers of God.”

The friar’s somatic wakefulness also shows in his use of grounded verbs like “tenir” “hold” and “attention” (“stretch toward”) Love. These show he integrated the presence prayer with his job as cook—making soup, peeling potatoes—which was work he detested (had an aversion to), and with his job as sandal maker—repairing some 100 pairs of his brothers’ sandals: “I fill myself up/m’occupe only with always holding/tenir myself in that holy presence, where I hold myself/me tiens through a simple stretching toward/attention Love and through a general and loving/amoureux looking again/regard at God.”

The friar’s vocabulary is kind also in using words like “friend” / ami for God and telling us to “work gently” / travailler doucement where the root of ami is “love” and the root of doucement is “sweet.”

The friar’s kind vocabulary also imagines the relationship between humans and divinity in beyond-binary terms like reduce/réduit, a being “lead back,” the act of “returning” to Love, as conversation/entretien, “a stretching between two or more people” with Love, as contentment/“a stretching together” in Love, as being distracted/“pulled away” from Love, as perfecting Love/“doing acts of love thoroughly,” as respecting God/“looking at again,” as being absent/“away from” Love, and as knowing Love’s presence/“being right in front of.”

When you get into the weeds of Brother Lawrence’s words, you see why, as his good friend Joseph of Beaufort said in his eulogy for his friend (Last Words): “The more hopeless things seemed to him, the more he hoped”:

From this living faith came [Brother Lawrence’s] certain hope in God’s kindness, his childlike trust in God’s providence, and his total and all-embracing self-surrender into God’s hands. He did not even worry what would become of him after his death, something we will see in more detail when we consider his attitude and the feelings he experienced during his last illness. During the greater part of his life, he was not content with basing his salvation passively on the power of God’s grace and the worth of Jesus of Nazareth. Instead, he forgot himself and all his own interests, and in the Prophet’s words, he threw himself headlong into the arms of infinite mercy. The more hopeless things seemed to him, the more he hoped. He was like a rock that when beaten by the waves of the sea becomes a stronger refuge in the middle of the storm.

To learn more about my new translation, see the homepage (https://www.carmenbutcher.com/) and the books page of my website (https://www.carmenbutcher.com/books.html) for how to order it.

Etymons

Posted on | by Carmen Butcher
On a blackboard we read: Latin Cantare "sing" How many words below do you find related to "cantare" for “sing”? No need to say which words, just how many you find. I’m enchanted by their chanting and that descant. it's like an incantation. Mornings on our farm, a cantata by three chanticleers woke us. The sailors are singing a charming, sea-salt-accented chanty. I recant chocolate, recant never said. Answer: 11 here. enchanted chanting descant incantation cantata chanticleers charming accented chanty recant recant.
Latin “cantare” means “sing”

Just wondering what would happen, if, in a world of disinformation, we went back more often, as we do for morning coffee or tea, to the ur-origins of words, and were more mindful of these? What if we cared about word origins or etymons? That kind of wondering always leads me to talking about a favorite mindful practice of looking up word etymologies, or word histories.

If you like even just the sound of “etymons,” we’re immediately friends. If the words Oxford English Dictionary make your heart sing, same here. If it makes your day, seeing in the OED that etymon comes from the ancient Greek ἔτυμος for “true,” I get it.

Which takes me back to the dyslexia I grew up with, undiagnosed until self-diagnosed in my late forties. What became for me over decades a kind of mindfulness practice began in a life-altering disability. Not unlike Brother Lawrence, Hildegard, Julian of Norwich, and other friends I’ve spent much time with, deep in their words, translating. All had disabilities and/or severe illnesses that they met with contemplative attention and intention.

How I found out was helping a student with what I thought was just life, when he said, “Thanks so much. You’re the first teacher to be patient with me with my problems. I just got diagnosed with dyslexia.” Lightbulbs went off for me. All those difficulties reading my whole life, explained. So I began reading about dyslexia and also discovered poet Philip Schultz’s struggles which resonated, as described here.

Looking up word histories slowly imbued with weight and less instability the always-moving-on-the-pages letters and words, and it became more possible to read with less trauma and less stress and more clarity of comprehension.

And for that I can largely thank my favorite teacher in college, Wilson Hall.

Mr. Hall was calm. He was funny. He was brilliant. He saved my life.

I was so shy. I had to make a certain GPA to keep my scholarships, or go home. I worked as a secretary to buy books. One religion teacher required we buy ten expensive books. I don’t think he ever considered that some of us could not afford that.

For many reasons, then, such as being there on scholarship and not wanting to be sent back home for questioning the authorities around me, I did not speak up in class. One day in German, Wilson said something, and I was curious, so later I looked it up. I discovered that what he said and what I found didn’t match up. I thought that was interesting and nothing more. Words fascinated me, even though they had also caused me such grief.

The next day in class, Wilson said, “Did anyone look up [whatever it was]?” I said nothing but I had. The silence spun out. Then Wilson looked disappointed, so I inched my arm up with an awkward hand at the top.

“Carmen?” his face brightened. “What did you find?”

Oh, no, I couldn’t say, You were wrong yesterday. So I kept looking studiously down at my desk and said very quietly and as a mere statement of fact: “I found out that [whatever it was I had found out].”

Wilson smiled. I heard it in his voice, so looked up to see. He was beaming. “What Carmen is not saying is that she looked it up, and discovered I got it wrong yesterday, and what she just said, is right.” Then he talked a long time about questioning everyone and everything and looking things up as my brown face warmed and reddened, or so it felt.

That experience blew my world open as far as learning goes. I’d never had a teacher say they got something wrong AND had looked it up, etc.

Wilson talked all the time about word histories, and I asked him during one year of many of my knowing little sleep, daily painful anxiety, and severe depression, all undiagnosed, if he would let me take an independent study course in etymologies with him. He said yes. After I graduated, he made that into an official class.

Because Wilson drew all these mountain peaks in class one day on the board, and put different-looking words on top of them, and then went underneath and showed how they were all connected by a same root underground. From that moment, I was gone down that rabbit hole. Forever.

Wilson also liked to ask how many pillars there were in the most passed by building on campus, and NO one could ever say how many. He would look out the window all the time and muse and kind of talk to himself about Emerson and Thoreau and Whitman, his favorites, and say to us who were behind him in the room: “Just remember. When they pass around the purple kool-aid, be the ones who don’t drink it.”

You never ever forget such a teacher. So thankful for Wilson Hall. He later went to Emory in Integrative Studies for a Ph.D. He went from Mr. Hall to Dr. Hall to Wilson for me.

To return to the chalkboard meme above, we read: Latin Cantare “sing” / How many words below do you find related to “cantare” for “sing”?

I’m enchanted by their chanting and that descant. It’s like an incantation. Mornings on our farm, a cantata by three chanticleers woke us. The sailors are singing a charming, sea-salt-accented chanty. I recant chocolate, Carmen never said.

Answer: 11 here. enchanted chanting descant incantation cantata chanticleers charming accented chanty recant Carmen. All have roots in Latin cantare “sing”–of course I only know some of these connections like accent and charming because . . . I looked them up!

Thank you again to all who guessed earlier on social media!

MIX

Posted on | by Carmen Butcher

Thank you to Sean for adding a “Contact” block here to my website and under “About,” so if anyone wants to ask me onto a podcast, to lead a retreat, or give a workshop, you can easily get in touch.

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When I was growing up, good women were seen-not-heard, so lately life’s been an adjustment. To be asked onto podcasts as Practice of the Presence was birthed, not only to be asked about Brother Lawrence but also about my own journey, has been both YAY! and WTF. In for a dollar, in for a gold brick. . . .

You’re invited to listen in. Josh Patterson and Greg Farrand–Josh and Greg–on (Re)Thinking Faith got me to talking about everything. Listen here to the (Re)Thinking Faith conversation we enjoyed. It’s magical what active listening will do. Thank you both! But imagine being asked what you think about taboo topics growing up when a part of you, despite all your True Self work and Shadow work, is still a wounded 5-year-old. Much loved, but still 5 and still recovering.

To talk freely as I did with Josh and Greg tells you A LOT about Josh and Greg. And their wise kindness. Because I suffer from, live with, and try to practice-the-presence my way through (also breathwork-my-way, see-a-therapist, chant, listen-&-be-kind-to-others, and go-for-walks) through severe anxiety.

This severe anxiety is like an inner blindness so real it’s hard to describe to others. I don’t remember saying this and only know because Josh and Greg later posted this cool computer-coding meme with a quote by me: “Christianity has a lot of beautiful treasures that have been buried under binaries….and binaries rarely work.” It’s here on IG @practiceofthepresencebook.

Kind listening draws out of you what you didn’t know lay in you. That is such a powerful experience to have about the ocean of interdependence we all swim in, live, move, and have our being in, and that includes with all creatures, even and especially the roly-poly walking on the sidewalk that I try not to step on.

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Kind listening also happened on Encountering Silence with Cassidy Hall, Kevin Johnson, and Carl McColman. Afterwards, when they posted two beautiful memes with my quotes on them, I learned I said: “I’ve always had a special relationship with trees. They feel like the keepers of silence.” And “I was able somehow with the silence to hear the self compassion.” Those are here and here. In my experience lately, I’ve decided when others actively listen to you and you dare risk being open yourself, prayerfully and mindfully, it’s not unlike walking out into the listening forest, silence embracing you with its ancient loving openness and anything truly can happen then. Listen here to the Encountering Silence conversation.

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It’s easier to say to students: “Get out of your comfort zone. You only live once. Be open to discovery in my class. Invest in yourself. Honor your voice.” Than it is to do it yourself. This summer I helped do interviewing for the Mystics Summit for The Shift Network. With dyslexia and anxiety, I made notes upon notes and did a mountain of research to ensure I pronounced names and words right and could listen well.

I also reached out to a stranger-now-a-good-friend, Emily, who said yes to helping me get the word out about the friar and his wise teachings in Practice of the Presence. For three months Emily (also a busy, successful playwright) taught me SO much about getting out of my comfort zone, answering my questions with the following: “Yeh–you can’t do that on your desktop–IG’s a mobile app–gotta do it on your phone.” And “Yeh–you can do whatever you want with that.” And “Just be authentic.” (The last two were advice for how to handle an IG Live Launch for the book.)

Because of Emily, I had the courage to learn how to use Canva and Headliner on my own. Truth is, having things go wrong is part of the process, and just pressing this and that and trying again gently, as another friend recommends, is really helpful.

With Canva and this newfound courage, I began this month to make and post on social media my own mixes of my translation with art, including choosing colors, backgrounds, fonts, and more. I have a plan. I started at the beginning of Practice of the Presence, picking quotes that stand out to me as helpful or beautiful, and it’s been very creatively fulfilling. In fact, it’s a lot like lectio divina. Focusing on individual words and also how they work together. Meditating on them as I create them. It’s satisfying to my soul.

With such friendships, old and new, old (middle-aged) and young, I also found the courage to start adding videos to my YouTube Channel (at 100 followers I can customize the URL for it). Until then here is my YouTube Channel’s bitly link (it’s bit.ly/CarmensYouTube).

I am thankful over and again because all summer I have experienced how active listening is what we most need, and I rededicate myself daily to trying to be an active listener.

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So many people have written or messaged me to say how much my translation of Brother Lawrence means to them, and for that, I can say, My prayers were that the humble friar’s wisdom might be kindness and calmness in the world as well as gently disruptive, helping us all become more embodied compassion.

One kind friend posted a quote on Facebook that perhaps I said in the (Re)Thinking Faith podcast (I’m not sure where he found it or heard it): “I just want to be as good of a human as my cat, Tao, is a cat.” And this is true. He said, “That was such a gift to me this morning.” And my heart is full with such kind community.

I’m also exhausted from the launch activities. But being kind to myself and recovering. You never knew or rather I never knew that publishing a book these days has as much to do about getting-the-word-out in our Horton-hears-a-Who-world as it does about countless hours invested in researching, writing, and revising it. To the amazing friends, launch team members, who helped me do this, thank you again.

For an introvert with an extrovert interface, that kind of getting-the-word-out does not come naturally. Even with such a good thing as the friar and his work. You know, introverts prefer communing with ancient spiritual classics and this morning’s snowy white egrets in the marsh.

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Yes, this blog is a mix. Life is also a mix. Grateful for the mix and the intermixing of it all.

I’m so grateful for my family and my friends and for the kindness in the world.