Do Not Rush the Dawn

Song story & origins

Introduction

Do Not Rush the Dawn is the title track from Do Not Rush the Dawn (2014) and later appears on Being Human: The Songs (2020), which is paired with a free reflection journal. I wrote it after a retreat day in the Black Hills, where the point was simply to be quiet long enough to notice what rises: rest, and the wisdom that can come when you don’t rush into the day.

Where the song came from

The opening image is that half-wake moment when you can tell the sun is up through closed eyelids—a warm red glow you decide not to disturb yet. It paired, in my mind, with the way sunlight filters through water so you see the stones on the creek bed—Rapid Creek at the camp, Spearfish Creek at home—bright but gentle. I also thought of a faint hint of wild pasque on a nearly still breeze—just a whiff that tells you it’s nearby. All of that said: don’t rush. Stay here, restful if not asleep.

The next verse stacks images of energy finally at rest: tattered kites retired to a back-porch shelf after all that yanking wind; arguments worn down until there’s nothing left but tears; empty pulpits and broken bells—the talk and the ringing finally stopped. Even the mother bird has a quiet moment when there’s no hunger under her wings. None of this is an attack on doing or making; it’s a reminder not to miss the loveliness of stopping.

What the song is saying

Daylight can muddy the pond—we stir everything up trying to solve and fix. Night—especially when we grant ourselves real rest—can turn the surface into a perfect mirror. The chorus is a promise to practice that: close my eyes, still my fear, let my heart grow wise; love draws near. The plea isn’t for avoidance; it’s for the kind of quiet in which solutions often arrive unforced. During the early COVID-19 social-distancing weeks, that became a practical blessing: give yourself permission to rest (yes, even a warm afternoon nap) and refuse the guilt that says you must be constantly productive.

Music and arrangement

I wrote it on acoustic guitar, recorded that first, then added a bass line. I tried piano (with reverb, delay/echo), strings, and other keyboard layers—and realized the track wanted to be more spacious. So I peeled elements away (like sculpting): at the start—and again near the end when a small choir-like stack enters—I drop the guitar and bass and leave strings, echoing piano, light chimes, and voice, which gives the whole thing its dreamlike feel. The rhythm instruments return in the middle verse for weight, then we drift back to the hush where the images began—echoes and light, like sun filtering down to creek rocks.

A note on the journal

On Being Human: The Songs there’s a free companion journal with gentle prompts meant to accompany listening—an invitation to write from whatever word or image rises for you while you sit with the song. It’s a way to practice not rushing the dawn on paper, too.

Why it stays with me

Because it keeps blessing the choice to go slow: to linger in the half-light, to let the bells and pulpits go quiet, to trust that midnight can still the water enough to show you what you need to see—before the day begins.

Source: New Music Memoir (1).docx

From the Being Human journal

I think my brain does its best work when I’m asleep. I don’t always like my dreams, but more often than not, some problem I’ve hammered away at intentionally during the light of day has been solved… or at least put back into perspective by the still, mirrored pond of a restful night. Some problems are solved not by harder conscious work, but by letting them go for the night mind to tackle

Source: Being Human: The Songs — Album & Journal (2020) · p. 7

Being Human · The Songs

Reflection & journaling

Theme: Letting Go

Choose a question or word or line(s) from the lyrics to guide your meditation or journaling as you listen.

1. What’s been asleep in me?
2. Does it need to continue resting?
3. What do I need to wake up to?
4. What elements in my day are best dealt with consciously and analytically?
5. What elements might be best left to my night mind… my unconscious… my dream-solver?

Source: Being Human: The Songs — Album & Journal (2020) · p. 7