CÆDMON’S HYMN

Cædmon’s Hymn is the earliest surviving Old English Christian hymn. In this way, it is a wellspring of the Christian contemplative tradition. It’s themes echo Psalm 19 and others. The hymn praises Creation and God as Creator who made the skies and also “middengeard” (“middle earth”) for “eorðan bearnum” (“earth’s children”). From the late 7th-century CE, this hymn comes from the Whitby monastery on the northeast shore of North Yorkshire of now England. Whitby was known then as Streoneshalh. Our only source for it and for Cædmon’s life is Bede’s Ecclesiastical History of the English People.

I’m thankful that Abbess Hilda at Whitby monastery recognized Cædmon and invited him in. Cædmon was not someone that everyone in his day would have recognized as having value. He was born into a life where education was not a possibility, and Cædmon could not read. He kept cows at the monastery. I picture Cædmon and know he suffered very cold winters at Streoneshalh, taking care of livestock.

We hear that Cædmon couldn’t make music, and so when the harp was passed around at the end of a meal, he never played it nor sang. He left the table. But one day he had a dream, and in it a nameless, mysterious “someone” (quidam) asked him to “sing” something. Cædmon protested, saying he didn’t know how to sing, but this quidam insisted in his dream, and Cædmon asked, in essence, “About what?” and he was told “Sing about Creation.” So Cædmon sang about Creation and in praise of God the Creator.

The song he sang very much reminds me of my early childhood days of being in a church choir in Decatur, Georgia. We sang in praise of Creation: “This is my Father’s world, and to my listening ears, all nature sings and round me rings, the music of the spheres.” I now sing it and sometimes include “Mother’s” in “Mother’s and Father’s world” or “Parents’ world.”

Cædmon had miraculously received the gift of religious song, in a dream, and he became (like Brother Lawrence) widely known to the monks as a faithful and inspiring Christian mystic. According to Bede, Cædmon also composed other religious stories and poems which demonstrated his gift to the monks. But the only surviving one today is the nine-line “Cædmon’s Hymn.”

Because no tape recorders existed in the 7th century, when a melody emerged for it two decades ago (while swinging my children on the playground), I’ve been singing it very often ever since. As meditation. It is calming, and I love its theme of gratitude for Creation, for earth and all earth’s creatures. Every day I’m grateful for the miraculous gift of Creation.

You can listen to me sing it on my YouTube Channel here.

After I sing “Cædmon’s Hymn” in Old English, I sing it in my modern English translation.

Nu sculon herigean      heofonrices Weard,                                           

Meotodes meahte     ond his modgeþanc,                                             

weorc Wuldorfæder,     swa he wundra gehwæs,                     

ece Drihten,     or onstealde.                            

He ærest sceop     eorðan bearnum                              

heofon to hrofe,     halig Scyppend.                                                      

þa middangeard     monncynnes Weard,                                               

ece Drihten,     æfter teode                   

firum foldan,     Frea ælmihtig.

Now let’s sing everyday Mystery,

Maker’s matter and kind mindfulness,

our Parent’s gift of Creation and their Presence.

Our Friend made each wonder’s beginning,

first they shaped skies as a roof

for all the earth’s children.

Then sacred Shaper, present Friend

made the middle-world,

the solid ground

for everyone.

For these gifts we thank the kind Beloved!

This was recorded during an atmospheric river. So you hear the sump pump go off for a few seconds and also at the end you slightly hear some rain pattering down.

My translation makes the language more inclusive while cleaving to the original spirit and the words’ etymological roots. You can see the literal translation below if you wish.

Literal Translation:

Now let us praise the Heaven-Kingdom’s guardian!

The Creator’s power and His thoughts.

The work of the Glory Father, of each wonder,

eternal Lord, who established a beginning.

He first shaped, for earth’s children,

Heaven as roof, holy Maker.

Then middle earth, humanity’s Guardian,

eternal Lord, next prepared

the solid ground, almighty Lord!

Another Translation respecting its spirit and linguistic core and shared May 18, 2025 at a Center for Action and Contemplation (CAC) gathering with James Finley, Brian McLaren, and Pico Iyer:

Now let us praise the Shepherd of heaven’s field,

the Maker’s might and wise mindfulness,

the work of our glorious Ancestor, eternal God,

who authored each wonder’s awesome origin,

who first shaped skies as a roof for all of us

children of the earth’s sacred dust, holy Creator.

Then the Shepherd of humanity, eternal Love,

made middle earth our house and home,

the gift of ground for everyone, we praise you, kind Beloved!

Hide-and-Seek Divinity

When I was a stay-at-home mom and our daughter was almost three, she loved to play hide-and-seek. One time in Mountain View, California, she and I were playing hide-and-seek, just the two of us, on the dusty, shaded playground a short walk from our rented townhouse. School had just let out, so we had the playground mostly to ourselves. I hid first, and she found me fairly easily. Various anatomical parts of me stuck out from behind a skinny pine tree.

“Your turn to hide!” I sang out, and off she dashed with that nervous look that is the excitement of possibly “being found.” I just saw her back as she pumped her arms and scampered off, head down, searching for shelter.

I was a stickler for following rules then, and, as the oldest of four siblings, I always was; so I turned my back to my toddler and dutifully counted slowly to twenty, out loud. Then I turned around and started searching. I was serious about the search, too. I looked behind the slide, behind the skinny pine tree, behind the bushes, and just as I started across the playground, still searching, out dashed Kate yelling, “Surprise! Here I am! I found you!”

Huh? I said to myself and started to explain to her that that is NOT how the game works, when I stopped and thought, In this surprise is some spiritual lesson, but I’m not sure what. We played several more times, with her “hiding,” only to jump out sooner each time, shouting, “I found you!”

Decades later, I think back on this hide-and-seek game with my then toddler. By temperament, I spent the first fifty years of my life as a rules follower, someone preferring order, but over the years that preference has given way (often whether I’ve wanted it to or not) in the face of life as it is truly lived. My natural temperament that yearns for routine and schedule and predictability has eroded in the waves of living and loving imperfectly, as a wife and as a mom and then as a tenured professor, writer, speaker, now an adjunct professor, and the sand of my once seemingly ordered life has been carried out to sea.

I turn to scripture, wise books, and poetry for nourishment as I always have. They are lighthouses on the rocky part of the shore, faithfully there no matter the weather.

Over time, I forgot those playground games with my daughter. Then, one day not too very long ago, I found myself translating the fourteenth-century classic on lectio divina (sacred reading) and contemplative prayer, The Cloud of Unknowing (also here). In Chapter 46, I read words that reminded me of those hide-and-seek games with our daughter:

And don’t be hard on yourself. By that, I mean don’t overtax yourself emotionally or physically.
Choose to be enthusiastic instead. This discipline [of Bible meditation and contemplative prayer]
doesn’t require brute strength, but joy. As you increase the joy in your contemplative work, you also
increase its humility and genuine spirituality, but if you force it, your efforts sink into a crude
physicality. So beware. Remember that anyone approaching the high mountain of contemplation
with a beastly heart will be driven away with stones. . . . That’s why you should be careful. Instead of
being stubborn as a mule, learn to love with gentleness and joy, kindness and good manners.
Cultivate self-control of body and soul. Accept the will of our Lord gracefully. Never lunge for it like
a hungry dog. Even if you’re starving, don’t be a greedy greyhound. Don’t grab. Let me suggest
how you can do this. I’m going to advise you to play a sort of game with God, seriously. Pretend
you don’t want what you want as much as you want it. When you feel that beast, desire, stirring
inside you with tremendous power, restrain it. Act as if you don’t want God to find out how much
you long to see him, know him, and feel him. Hide all that. Perhaps I sound like a child making up a
game, but I mean it. I’m confident that anyone with the grace to put my advice into practice will
eventually experience the joy of God’s playfulness. God will come to you, the way an earthly father
plays with his child, kissing and hugging, making everything alright. (105-106)

“God will come to you, the way an earthly father [or mother, I say] plays with his [or her or their] child, kissing and hugging, making everything alright” — this wise observation reminded me that my toddler daughter was so confident I would find her that she didn’t even try to hide well. To her, the joy was in not quite hiding and then bursting on me as soon as I began searching. She has always loved to surprise me with her unique presence. Would that I were that child with God my Parent, I thought.

In devotional literature, it’s not unusual to find this hide-and-seek image. Often ancient Christian writers use diction and description to suggest that our relationship with God is not unlike a game of hide-and-seek between parent and child, which ends with the parent’s “finding” the child and covering him, her, or them with kisses and hugs.

In the thirteenth-century spiritual guidebook, Ancrene Riwle, another anonymous author writes, Ure Louerd plaieth mid us, ase the moder mid hire junge deorlinge. (“Our Lord-God plays with us as the mother with her young darling.”) The Ancrene Riwle passage then describes a hide-and-seek game in which God our Mother hides. Her child cries out, “Mother! Mother!” and God jumps out with open arms and cluppeth and cusseth and wipeth (“hugs and kisses and wipes”) our eyes. The Ancrene Riwle author uses this image to describe the experience of how God withdraws or “hides” His grace from us for a time, before returning to “find” us.1

The hide-and-seek image is used, perhaps, because it suggests the intimacy of those who play this child’s game. In the classic The Spirituality of Imperfection, Ernest Kurtz and Katherine Ketcham tell a story that helps me understand this experience:


The Medzibozer’s grandson, Yechiel Michael, was playing hide and seek with another child. He hid
himself for some time, but his playmate did not look for him. Little Yechiel ran to Rabbi Baruch and
said amid tears: “He did not look for me!”
The Rabbi said: “This is also God’s complaint, that we seek Him not.” (107)

But perhaps this next story from The Spirituality of Imperfection best helps me understand those games of hide-and-seek with my daughter and also my own dark, difficult, and despairing life experiences where I felt that God was “hiding” from me.

The story is told of a young girl who loves to wander in the nearby forest and one evening becomes lost. Her frantic parents gather their friends and search for her. She herself has become very anxious, after trying several different paths to return home to no avail, and she eventually falls asleep in a clearing. The searchers as well become exhausted and many stop looking. Her father, though, continues searching through the night.


Early in the morning, the father came to the clearing where the girl was asleep. He suddenly
saw his little girl and ran toward her, yelling and making a great noise on the dry branches which
awoke the girl.
The little girl saw her father, and with a great shout of joy she exclaimed, “Daddy, I found you!”
(108)

Kurtz and Ketcham write, “[W]e find what we are looking for only by being looked for” (108). “[W]e find what we are looking for only by being looked for.”

As we played together those many years ago, my toddler daughter found what she was looking for, the assurance of my searching for her, by jumping out and surprising me, upturning the “rules” of hide-and-seek because she could count on my being right there.

Sometimes, when I’ve felt in hard times that Love’s face is turned from me, that God who is my best friend is “hiding” from me, what jumps out at me is often my husband’s listening, a hug or a kiss from my children, a verse or poem, a loving friend checking in, a kind stranger, a deliberately intentional wise comment, my spontaneous wonder before a newly white dogwood or while listening to a poignant podcast, and God says, “Surprise! I found you!”

Or maybe I say, “Father/Mother/Parent/Love, I found you!”

Sometimes, in mutually loving relationships, it is almost impossible to tell who does the finding and who is the found.

So I keep praying that I embrace the grace to keep on seeking. Is the seeking the finding and the being found?

I pray to live in the middle place of Christ’s enduring, loving mystery where grace and seeking meet, in that liminal middle space of the numinous Now.

1. Find this passage in Nicholas Watson’s Anchoritic Spirituality (Mahwah, NJ: Paulist Press, 1991, page 132). This piece has been revised after being resurrected from my former iteration of this blog (2011).

Ask Your Professor

Every semester, all semester long, from Day 1 and sometimes before Day 1, I give my students surveys. Survey means to “look over,” but actually I think of them more as “listening tours.” I plan countless hours, pouring myself into course design and then into the time-intensive buildout on Canvas. Then I meet students, listen to them through surveys, in conferences, and in other ways, and then day-by-day tailor-make my courses to fit the actual individuals in them. It takes more work and isn’t always easy, but it’s worth it.

This semester I taught 3 courses, two of which were Advanced Research CWR4B, designated as fully online for students who are immunocompromised or are dealing with other challenging illnesses and precarities. They are a wonderful two sections of students, and we’ve had a good semester. But several have gotten COVID, there’ve been deaths in the family (not uncommon anymore), and they’ve known other hardships, family emergencies, and other stresses.

One survey that is pretty much given every year about this time is my End-of-Year survey. Students do it and upload it as an assignment. I give them time to do most of it in class, and most finish in the 20-30 minutes we take for it. The survey contains these prompts for my students in Advanced Research CWR4B:

Please respond to questions below. When done (only one thoughtful sentence each, please), upload your survey on Canvas:

  1. Who are you? (one thoughtful, detailed sentence only, per prompt, please)
  2. How has the research you’ve done influenced your understanding of who you are–how has it shaped, changed, or affirmed your identity?
  3. Of all you learned in CWR4B, what most surprised or delighted you to learn, and/or what are you most proud of that you’ve accomplished in CWR4B this semester?
  4. What did you learn about the research process or about libraries that will stick with you longest as you go forward in your remaining time at Cal as well as into your career? Also, please just add “yes” or “no” here: Did you meet with a librarian one-on-one? If so, with whom, and how did that one-on-one meeting help you become a better researcher? If not, just write “No.” It was not a requirement–I’m just curious.
  5. During our many in-class and on-Canvas discussions, what is one story/experience you learned about another classmate or from another classmate that really changed how you view the world or research? You may omit or include the classmate’s name, as you wish.
  6. What class activity or assignment most helped you understand how to navigate the library’s research treasures, and what work that you did on your own most helped you understand what it means to research?
  7. What was your definition of research coming into CWR4B, and what is your definition now of research here in our last weeks of CWR4B? 
  8. What do you yourself most need and want to do to finish strong in CWR4B? 
  9. What can I most do to help you as our semester together ends?
  10. A question about online class delivery, to help me help future researchers / students / R4Bears: To provide accessibility to all students, our CWR4B is designated as a fully-online learning/class to help students with immunocompromised health and/or other challenges. What is the one most difficult aspect of a fully online course that you find most difficult, and what can I do about it to make that aspect better?

I remind students of my rationale in this way: “Metacognitive activity is a strong component of any excellent researcher’s toolbox (as are empathy and compassion). You know I’ve listened to you through surveys since Day 1 and all during our time together. Here is another chance a) for you to reflect on your personal journey and identity and b) for me to listen to you and to learn more about you and how you learn and what you’ve learned. So these surveys help you, they help me, and they help future students.”

I decided to mix it up a little this year, and led in to this End-of-Year survey by asking them the class before it to answer these two questions just in the Zoom chat: “What keeps you grounded, and If you could ask me anything as a Cal professor and/or as a human being, what would you ask me?”

Here are questions from two classes of first-year students and sophomores. Their questions were so sincere and wise that they brought out in me not just ad hoc comments in the next class period (the class where I also asked them to take the End-of-Year survey) but made me sit down, take handwritten notes on my ideas for responses, and then type them up, and then revise them. I also recorded them because I only had time to read each class’s questions and my responses, since this time of year especially we have much to get done in class. If you’d like to listen to this 25-minutes “Ask Your Professor,” it’s on my YouTube Channel at “Ask Your Professor,” and you’re invited to subscribe too, once there.

  • If you could go back and do anything different during your time in college what would it be/ why?
    • Worry less about grades. But it’s complicated by the system. Studying in high school with hopes of college was my way out of trauma. My academic scholarships that paid for college were dependent on maintaining top-notch grades, so that complicated my life and added stress. People told me later I had the first 4.0 in college history. My alma mater was founded in 1873 and was known for academic rigor and grade deflation. Eventually, my whole identity was tied up in a 4.0, and that wasn’t healthy for me. I did read and learn a lot, though, thankfully. Good grades were what would enable me to get an education and change my dicey home and socioeconomic circumstances. That stress contributed to panic attacks and recurring stomachaches.
  • What has been a memory that has impacted your life? Has this influenced  why you wanted to become an educator?
    • I’ll never forget when I went for my college interview. Dr. Paulina Noble, an English professor, interviewed me. She must have seen a skinny brown kid who was shy, hunched, not confident, but here’s what she said to me: “You have smart eyes.” I carried that comment with me like a powerful secret, wore it inside me like a magic cloak for years, never forgetting her words. This small award-winning liberal arts college in northwest Georgia offered me the most in scholarship money, so of course I chose it. That and for Dr. Noble.
  • Was there a turning point in your life that guided you to be where you are (career wise, mentality wise)?- open to interpretation
    • I don’t know what age I was because there were many growing-up years that were and are a blur time-wise. But I remember sitting cross-legged on a rough-textured, late-1960s-era, garish orange carpet, quite worn but always clean. I was high school or maybe college age. This is my childhood bedroom. Suddenly I realized I had to forgive someone because if I didn’t it would be mortally unhealthy for me. And I asked the Universe for that. Help me forgive x-person for x and x and x and x. I don’t want to, but if I don’t, I’m worried for myself. I don’t know how to either, but help me do it. Somehow. I felt a shift. New space opened. I can’t explain it, and it took time, and honesty about my experience, and new boundaries, and it was hard, but after some years, it was done. In some ways, it goes on even into today, because healing from trauma takes ongoing self-compassion, much learning about and honoring of my voice, much meditation, and lots of healthy community.
  • Could you give us one piece of advice as college students?
    • Trust your gut.
  • Who was/is your role model and why?
    • Well, at 6, it was Batman. The cartoon version from the 1960s. He had genius-level intelligence, was a master detective, a master escapologist, was in top condition physically, was a martial artist, and fought for good and for the underdog—all things I wanted and felt I lacked. Later, my true role model has always been my first and longest best friend, my mother, who exemplifies that person who believes in you, no matter what, and who tells you, always, that they believe in you 100%. She has always seen people as people, never valuing a CEO or a Superintendent or a wealthy person over a cleaning person or a teacher or a person who is homeless or poor. She treats everyone with respect. Her model taught me a lot about kindness. How kindness isn’t earned by some rules that change depending on whether someone is “useful” to another or not, but that kindness is given to all. My mother is the type of person whose heart aches knowing that one person in the world is hungry, without a home, without healthcare, and without love, so that sticks with me, because she has lived out that concern-for-others her whole life.
  • It honestly surprises me that some educators care a lot about their students (you!) but others just teach the course material and provide minimal support. How would you inspire other educators to provide the care that students appreciate and need most times?
    • Thank you, first. Your kind words encourage me. I don’t know how to do that, how to inspire others in this way. I think that intention matters because as a teacher, there is so much listening involved, and no matter how much you plan and prepare (which for me is countless hours), you have to be a kind of jazz musician, where you also are willing to turn up, listen to your students and their situations and strengths and needs, and then respond in the moment to those unique human beings who make Cal great (you all). That means you have to be willing to revise your carefully planned curriculum as you go, rather like an experienced, much-practicing-beforehand jazz musician riffs. Michelle Obama said in an interview, “Don’t hug unless you mean it, because people will know the difference.” Her words made me think: “Don’t teach unless you mean it, because people will know the difference.”
  • If you could have any other career what would u have done?
    • Race car driver in Europe or a therapist.
  • What’s your least favorite part about being a professor at Cal?
    • Grades. I could write a paper or even a book on how I think grades are tied to an ancient oppressive system that doesn’t encourage learning; however, I teach composition, research, and public speaking, where students aren’t learning how to do heart surgery. I do think we are learning comparably important skills: how to spot mal-, mis-, dis-information, how to respect each other and have cross-cultural conversations, how to be good citizens, how to cultivate healthy community, how to honor your voice, and how we can contribute to the Common Good.
  • What is one piece of advice you would give a college student for the future?
    • VOTE.
  • If you decided not to be a professor/writer, what do you think you would be doing right now?
    • I’d be lonely, because students have brought such meaning to my life! (I really like how you put together “professor/writer” here in your question.)
  • What is the best gift you’ve received?
    • So many. Life. My children. Sean.
  • Did you face any hardships while a student and female that made you question your profession/career? If so, how did you overcome it? I’m interested in stories of overcoming adversity from a female perspective.
    • My father told me I couldn’t go to college. He said he had three children behind me, and he couldn’t afford it. He wouldn’t help me, and I shouldn’t even apply. I was a senior in high school. So I used money from my job at Granny’s Fried Chicken and quietly applied to three colleges, and it was so expensive to do that. I was the fast-food restaurant’s opening employee, getting there at the crack of dawn to set up the ice cream machine, stock out the restaurant, get the tator tots ready to go for deep frying, chop the coleslaw by hand with a huge knife, sweep the parking lot, and get the cash registers up and running. Once I made it into college, I worked as a secretary to a professor to earn money to pay for my books. This was 1979, and one semester a professor had us buy 8 books, all expensive, and my book bill was $400, which for that time was hugely costly. I looked it up. That’s about $1,650 in money today, for one semester’s worth of books. And all during my years at college, there was hardship at home. I treated schoolwork like it was a job. I worked hard to stay in school and was stressed 24/7, but a few kind professors helped me keep going, too. I’ve never forgotten them or their kindness. I try to pay it forward.
  • What are some of your favorite books/ books you recommend to read!
    • There really are too many to mention. I’ve spent countless hours reading. Some of these are from my growing-up years. Pippi Longstocking. The Alchemist. All of Carl Jung. Flowers for Algernon. Anne of Green Gables & Percy Jackson, which I read to our children. Watership Down. Kon-Tiki: Across the Pacific on a Raft. Tolkien, especially The Hobbit. All of Mary Oliver, poetry and prose. Diary of Anne Frank. The Outsiders. Heidi. The Little Prince. All of D. W. Winnicott. All of Ann Ulanov, especially Primary Speech.
  • What was the worst piece of advice someone gave you?
    • An English professor at my college whom I looked up to told me when I shared my desire to write children’s books: “You don’t want to do that.” Then told me: “Here’s why you don’t want to do that.” This professor’s response helped me see what not to do. I would listen instead.
  • A piece of advise for finding your passion
    • Be self-compassionate. Be kind to you. Listen to your heart. Be with people who support you 100%. Don’t be shy about telling people what you bring to the table. Hone your public speaking skills in your downtime, even if by practicing what you’d say if someone asks you: “Tell me about yourself.”
  • What is one awesome thing about being a professor that you’ve discovered over the course of your career?
    • I realized over time that what I say to students and genuinely mean, and what I hope for students (which is that you self-actualize and succeed), I also hope for myself. I only realized that fairly recently. Cal students taught me. So I truly mean: “Honor your voice. Contribute to the Common Good. Go forth and conquer, O ye mighty ones.” And also I think, I’m reminding myself of all that.
  • What is your dream destination to vacation at
    • Georgia—to see my family. Next—Anywhere in Hawaii.
  • What keeps YOU grounded?
    • Meditation. Breathwork. Walking. Walking meditation. Being out in nature. I go to the marsh to see creation’s beauty. I go to remember I can’t fly and how beautiful bird flight is. To marvel. Family and friends keep me grounded.
  • What do you think Cal can do better?
    • Listen to students and act on what is said.
  • What’s the most interesting thing you have experienced or the most interesting interaction you’ve had?
    • Standing before the Grand Canyon. That awe is profound. And I’ve had the joy of meeting a lot of people (especially authors) I respect and admire who are also famous, but that’s not what stays with me in the end because everyone is just a person, no matter how accomplished. So here’s my story. When I was in graduate school, my brother was in a severe wreck, he and his friends hit by a drunk driver, who died. Two of my brother’s best friends died. They were in their late teens, early twenties. Gone. I left graduate school at UGA for a week to tend to him. He had nearly died. I was trying to make all As since that was what was expected, and UGA had just shifted to a new way of testing Ph.D. students, and a lot of my friends had failed out of the program, which was distressing. It was all about intellect and analysis, and the stress to perform was heavy. At the end of my time in grad school, I was inducted into Phi Beta Kappa, so I made it, but this was during my Master Degree, so my success was by no means assured yet. Meanwhile, my brother had a cracked skull from the wreck and a chip had come off of it. I saw it. He was also in a back brace, sleeping on the sofa because it was stiffer and also he couldn’t be moved back to a bedroom yet. One night when he was asleep and I was up watching him, ready to bring him water, and help with whatnot, I was thinking how he almost died. I looked over, and he was enveloped, even cocooned in a white light the likes of which I’d never seen before nor since. A graduate student trained to question everything, I was like, This can’t be. I must be imagining things. So I closed my eyes, turned away, kept them closed for a beat to “reset,” then turned back, and opened them. This white light that I’d never seen before and I’ve not seen since was still there. I did that a third time. Still there. So I stared at it. It wasn’t scary but it also wasn’t earthly. It was Other. All I could figure was it was like my brother had been to the other side, he’d been dipped in it, and he had somehow come back. This light was from that dipping. I still don’t know what it was.
  • Anything I would ask Professor would be what motivates you to wake up every morning? For students it’s to push through schools, or grades, etc. but what is that thing for you?
    • I get up wanting to help students honor their voices and succeed. I am still so grateful for teachers K-12 and professors who did that for me. There were many. I want to help empower and inspire students to invest in themselves and (continue to) contribute to the Common Good. To do that, two things are needed. I’ve got to continue trying to honor my own voice (a work in progress), and I’ve got to figure out new ways daily to listen to my students, to what they are really saying, and then act on that.
  • what inspired you to write a lot of your books on spiritual translations?
    • First, for my own healing. They pulled me to them inexplicably even before my intellect quite knew what they were offering me. The works I’ve translated are widely acclaimed ancient medicine for the soul, self, body, and mind. Childhood trauma led me out into nature, as it did Mary Oliver, the poet. While there, nature saved me, as it did her, and I started meditating, without and before knowing it. The books I translate are all about kindness. They are universal, for everyone. They have global appeal and reach across religious, wisdom tradition, and other divisions, to anyone wanting to know how to be more human (in the best sense of that word). Their authors lived in the 900s, in the 1300s, in the 1600s, and in other ancient times. Though these authors are technically “dead,” they are alive to me, and translating them is what first gave me a community of friends who help me a) deal with my shadow self and also b) discover the gold in my shadow, the good in me and my talents. Since then, I’ve been fortunate, through translation, to make friends with those who are doing this work also today.
  • What’s your favorite part about being a professor at cal
    • You. You all. Period. My students. Learning from and teaching my students. You all inspire me. Daily.
  • what is your favorite part of your career? As an author/professor/translator…what do you like about each job?
    • As an author, I love how writing articles and books helps me be and stay a student. As I’m researching and writing and revising, I regularly experience those moments of “WTF am I trying to do here? What does this mean? How will I organize this?” Genuine confusion. That’s part of the learning process, when done well. So being an author reminds me how students feel starting something new. It makes me more compassionate as a professor. Then, as a professor, I love when a student says, “I see!” after many struggles, and when a student writes me years later to say, “Thanks for the recommendation. I got my dream job!” As a translator, I love how translation requires me to listen actively so that I can hear what the work and what the author are actually saying rather than what I wish they were saying. That means, I only translate texts that are kind and open-minded inherently. Translating is the most intimate form of reading, it’s meditation, and it requires applying all of my linguistic and scholarly skills in an intense way over sustained periods (a marathon of sorts, and one I love, and trained for). Translating, I find that these classic texts translate me to myself. I grow. I heal. I translate these works for everyone, including my students, and I do it with an inclusive mindset, hoping we can find more peace, meaning, and joy in these texts.
  • What’s your favorite way to spend a day off?
    • With my family on a hike in Briones Regional Park. Or, alternatively, with a book and a cup of coffee or tea.
  • I would like to ask how do we manage stress and emotional downfalls towards the end of the semester? It’s been a rollercoaster of emotions this week and sometimes I just feel like I am stuck.
    • I’m so sorry to hear you feel stuck. We all know this feeling, and it’s never fun. The awareness of it is helpful, though, so I applaud you for that. It seems for me the solution is complex—being with family and friends; trying to eat well, sleep, drink water, meditate, exercise (one reason walking meditation is so helpful to me); having a support group I check in on and who check in on me; and going to therapy (is sometimes exactly what I’ve needed)—and Berkeley has student-to-student therapy too (which I learned about from student leaders when I was on the Mental Wellness Taskforce, nominated to that by students: https://cabutcher.weebly.com/support-for-students.html Student-to-Student Peer Counseling at Cal and Lean on Me are two programs you can find there on the collaborative teaching website my CWR1A and CWR4B students made. Please try to be kind to yourself. Also, practicing self-compassion (as researched by Kristin Neff) helps me to no end.
  • What is the best piece of advice you have received?
    • Three come to mind. A student once said about a comment I made in class, “You do you, Dr. Butcher.” I love that. My therapist in Rome, Georgia, said to me often, “Trust your gut. Don’t forget—trust your gut.” That has stuck with me. A wise person once said to me, “Forgive yourself for where you’ve let yourself down or hurt others. Then ask for forgiveness from anyone you have hurt, and atone, do better. Change. Always practice self-compassion.”
  • What’s a piece of art (movie, book, music, etc) that changed the way you looked at the world?
    • Monet. I mean, there are so many movies, books, music, etc, but Monet comes to mind at once. I love how he paints Rouen Cathedral and haystacks, so many of these “same” paintings but at different times of day and/or year, which makes all the difference. He finds the beauty in the nowness of today’s light and this time of day in this season of the year. Those series of paintings are remarkable. When I was a Rotary Scholar at The University of London, these paintings by Monet were exhibited at London’s Royal Academy, I went alone. With Sean. With friends. With family visiting. With friends visiting. I went and went and went. And when I was a Rotary student at Heidelberg eight years before that, right after I graduated from college, I was just an international student from a very rural part of Georgia, Monet was NOT part of my vocabulary, nor were museums. A friend invited me to Zürich, Switzerland, and I went to the Kunsthaus (Art Museum), and there was a wall-to-wall water-lily painting by Monet so all-encompassingly and unbelievably beautiful that before I knew it my usually conscientious, color-within-the-lines 22-year-old self heard an alarm going off. A security guard approaching I darted off realizing I’d touched it without knowing I was going to. Something about Monet.
  • What was your most wonderful experience in college?
    • College was hard for me. Sorry to disappoint, but it was, every day hard for me. I was living through family hardship then, and undiagnosed dyslexia and depression, and putting one foot in front of the other was a gargantuan achievement that cost me so much energy. On the face of it, I looked happy, accomplished, thriving, doing all the extracurriculars and well, but I was dying inside. Among all that, having a kind, brilliant teacher take my writing seriously—Wilson Hall—he commented on my work as I do on yours—gently and specifically. He helped me move from perfectionism in writing to trying to honor my voice. Also, during college we went on field trips for Dr. Hall’s environmental class, up in the beautiful wilderness of northwest Georgia Appalachian foothills. We went hiking and canoeing the rapids, and we all spent one night alone, apart from the group, all by myself, just twinkling stars in an ink-black sky, and that experience has been formative and generative for me, to this day. And I’m very grateful not to be living with depression now and that’s one reason I emphasize therapy and asking for help.

Thank you for asking me these questions. You all rock, Go, Bears!

Please note: I am proudly a lecturer, an adjunct professor, thankful to be teaching at a school that encourages respect for all people, but “Ask Your Adjunct Professor” doesn’t have quite the same snazzy, short ring to it as “Ask Your Professor.”

Chant

Chant. We could sing more.

I sing everyday. It’s my name. Carmen means “song or poem.” Even on days of challenging ways, I sing. I’ve always been thankful to live under and with and through a name that means “song or poem.” It’s like my very name reminds me, “Did you sing today?”

Kindness. We could be kind more.

Every true religion has kindness as its core. Same for every true philosophy and wisdom tradition. One way I listen to the Mystery at the heart of the Heart is I sing. While my brain swirls and loops and careens, like winds in March, my song holds my heart against love and I deepen into tenderness, as I sing.

A friend shared with me the Medicine Buddha Chant. Some 1400 years young, it’s as old as Beowulf. And totally otherwise has nothing in common with Grendel’s poem. It’s a prayer for healing from the fakery of duality. It’s a prayer for the dissolving of negative thoughts. It’s a prayer for the healing of past traumas. It’s a prayer for bringing calm energy.

A friend shared it with me. He’s a Buddhist teacher. I sing it often. Through the marsh. Down sidewalks. Folding clothes. Sitting at the computer. And in bed at night, quietly.

I think of the billions of souls and bodies and selves who’ve sung it before me and who sing it now with me and I with them, together. You see it spelled many different ways when transliterated. Here is what I am singing:

“Teyata om bekanze bekanze maha bekanze radza samudgate soha.”

Here is my meditative translation of that, with my friend’s approval:

“It’s like this. Om, sacred tone of the universe, holy body, holy speech, holy mind. Medicine Buddha, King, Supreme Healer. Eliminate and remove the pain of illness of mind and body, eliminate and remove the pain and illness of spiritual suffering, and greatly eliminate and remove any slightest imprints left on my consciousness by disturbing thoughts, Ocean of goodness and wisdom, may my prayer go to the highest, widest, deepest, in sincere intention, blessing, I offer this prayer and let it go out.”

I also made a short translation and a melody for the original and the English version, and I sing both:

“Teyata om bekanze bekanze maha bekanze radza samudgate soha.”

“Sacred Song of the Universe, heal me, heal us | Deeply heal us where our mind-heart wanders from Love.”

I’m posting these, sung, on my YouTube Channel, if you want to listen, sing with silently, or sing along aloud: https://www.youtube.com/@CarmenAcevedoButcherPresence

Remember, you’re singing for yourself, not as a performance.

The way life really is, for yourself, not performance.

Blessings on you, with love.