Thoreau

I've often been asked how to pronounce the name of this blog and the origin of "daibew." The pronunciation is the same as that of the it imitates, debut (dA-"byü). It's origin goes back to the days when I was a sophmore in high school and began hanging with a crew that went by JUK. One of my friends had the tagging monicker "Daibew" - so I've borrowed it from my friend Raymond who would spend his days killing brain cells and practicing his graffiti art.

For me, it reminds me of my roots and places emphasis on the idea of "debuting" or release daily as a new incarnation of the Master. A sense of embracing each new day as a sacred trust to be fresh and reborn as it were. Today I'm reading Thoreau's "Walden" and he has a beautifully eloquent discourse on morning that sums of up much of what "Daibew" means to me.

Every morning was a cheerful invitation to make my life of equal simplicity, and I may say innocence, with nature herself. I have been a sincere worshipper of aurora [roman goddess of dawn] as the Greeks......The morning, which is the most memorable season of the day, is the awakening hour. Then there is least somnolence in us; and for an hour, at least, some part of us awakes which slumbers all the rest of the day and night. Little is to be expected of that day, if it can be called a day, to which we are not awakened by our Genius, but the mechanical nudgings of some servitor, are not awakened by our own newly acquired force and aspirations from within, accompanied bu the undulations of celestial music, instead of factory bells, and a fragrance filling the air - to a higher life than we fell asleep from; and thus the darkness bear its fruit, and prove itself to be good, no less than the light. That man who does not believe that each day contains an earlier, more sacred, and auroral hour than he has yet profaned, has despaired of life, and is pursuing a descending and darkening way. After a partial cessation of his sensuous life, the soul of man, or its organs rather, are reinvigorated each day, and his Genius tries again what noble life it can make. All memorable events, I should say, transpire in the morning time and in a morning atmosphere......All poets and hereos, like Memnon, are children of aurora, and emit their music at sunrise. To him whose elastic and vigorous thought keeps pace with the sun, the day is a perpetual morning....Morning is when I am awake and there is a dawn in me....We must learn to reawaken and keep ourselves awake, not by mechanical aids, but by an infinte expectation of the dawn, which does not forsake us in our soundest sleep. I know of no more encouraging fact than the unquestionable ability of man to elevate his life by a conscious endeavor. It is something to be able to paint a particular picture, or to carve a statue, and so to make a few objects beautiful; but it is far more glorious to carve and paint the very atmosphere and medium through which we look....

I never really cared much for morning, but the last 6 years that has changed. I now awake from slumber without aid from alarm (most of the time) and notice how it is tied to the tending of my body, mind, and soul.

Jesus seemed to like the coming of dawn:
In the early morning, while it was still dark, Jesus got up, left the house, and went away to a secluded place, and was praying there.