Learning

 Daily Reflection

I woke up today and the first thing I felt was gratitude.

Thank you for waking me up. Thank you for this breath. Thank you for this body.

Even when it was cold, even when I wanted to stay still, my body was already speaking.

Twisting. Turning. Asking me to listen.

And when I finally stood on the mat, I listened.

I am learning how to breathe into my body—slowly, patiently, honestly.

I am learning how much time it takes to truly arrive.

When the body says rest, I rest.

When it says move, I move.

Strength and stillness are becoming one conversation.

I feel changes happening quietly.

Pain dissolving.

Endurance replacing struggle.

The spine softening.

Not through force—but through attention.

I’m realizing this didn’t come from comfort.

It came from desperation that turned into discipline.

A gift that arrived when I had nothing left to hold onto but breath.

Gratitude is no longer an idea.

It is my doorway into the day.

When I begin with gratitude, the mind settles, the body opens, and the heart stays quiet.

I see now that not everything needs to be spoken.

Some things are only understood through silence.

I don’t need to explain what I’m learning.

I just need to live it.

I walk slowly.

I jog slowly.

I move slowly.

And in that slowness, I feel life more clearly than ever.

I laugh at my life—not out of confusion, but amazement.

I practice. I move. I listen. I sit. I walk. I reflect.

And somehow, that is enough.

I don’t need to know all the answers.

Seeking itself is holy.

Listening itself is prayer.

Today, I choose gratitude again.

I choose silence.

I choose to trust what my body and life are teaching me.

And I am deeply, humbly thankful.

Yoruba Yogi

Self

 Today I learned the power of silence.

Not silence from fear,

but silence from understanding.

I walked through the cold,

moved my body,

regulated my breath,

and entered a room without needing to be heard.

I noticed something simple and deep:

words alone do not heal me.

My body does.

Breath softened what thought could not.

Movement dissolved what talking kept alive.

Stillness answered questions no discussion could reach.

I don’t need to convince anyone.

I don’t need to explain my healing.

I don’t need to defend my path.

What healed my fear was not analysis.

What healed my anger was not debate.

What healed my resentment was not reliving the past.

It was breathing.

It was movement.

It was listening inward.

Today I chose compassion over commentary.

Presence over opinion.

Embodiment over explanation.

And that was enough.

Yoruba Yogi.

Spiritually

 sexual energy as spiritual energy:

This morning, I sit with my body and I listen.

I notice how open I feel. How alive. How sensitive.

Sexual energy is not just about sex.

It is creative force.

It is the same energy that grows trees, moves oceans, heals muscles, and softens tight places in the body.

When this energy rises, it asks for direction, not indulgence.

If I don’t guide it with breath, awareness, and discipline, it looks for release on its own.

And when it releases without consciousness, it leaves confusion behind.

I am learning that spiritual maturity is not suppression, and it is not expression without care.

It is circulation.

Breath moves the energy upward.

Stillness teaches it patience.

Discipline gives it purpose.

When the body opens, the spirit becomes porous.

That means I must be gentle with what I allow near me.

Not out of fear—but out of respect for the work happening inside.

Sexual energy, when honored, becomes clarity.

When mismanaged, it becomes noise.

I choose clarity.

I choose to breathe, to pause, to feel without grasping.

I allow the energy to fuel my healing, my creativity, my prayer, my movement forward.

Nothing is wrong with the energy.

The lesson is learning how to carry it.

Today, I move out of comfort—not by force, but by awareness.

I trust my body.

I trust the breath.

I stay with myself.

Yoruba Yogi

Speaking to myself

 Today I see clearly.

I see how easy it is to speak spirituality while living in contradiction.

I see how words can become a costume when the body is ignored.

I remember when my life wasn’t aligned.

I didn’t preach.

I didn’t correct.

I stayed quiet, because somewhere inside me, I knew the difference between knowing and living.

Now I see people showing discipline in language, but not in breath.

Order in speech, but chaos in consumption.

And I understand—it’s not evil, it’s ignorance.

I forgive myself for the years I doubted my own knowing.

For being trained to believe wisdom lived somewhere else—

in accents, institutions, and approval.

Colonial thinking taught me to shrink.

Silence taught me to listen.

Practice taught me to trust my body again.

I choose not to hate.

I choose not to reverse oppression.

I choose coherence.

If someone preaches, I watch how they breathe.

If someone advises, I watch how they eat.

If someone claims peace, I feel their nervous system.

Today, I don’t need to prove anything.

I don’t need to save anyone.

I don’t need to know everything.

I am learning to respond, not react.

To observe without hardening.

To love without losing myself.

And if I stand in not knowing,

I stand there honestly.

That is enough.

Yoruba Yogi