Reflection

 This morning I woke up around 2:30 AM, stiff from the cold but ready. By 3 AM, I was already on the mat, breathing into the tightness, letting the body wake up slowly. And something happened today — something that could have shaken me in the past. Instead, yoga gave me a clarity I can’t fully explain.

When I saw the situation with my immigration appointment, I didn’t get angry, panic, or collapse. I just laughed. Because when you are centered, nothing outside of you can control your spirit. Yoga opened a space inside me where I could see everything clearly without losing myself.

There is something powerful about stretching before dawn, when the world is silent and the stars are still awake. As I moved, the clouds shifted and I saw one star — then five. And clarity entered my mind the same way: slowly, then suddenly. I saw through the noise, the masks, the way people move when they are disconnected from their own bodies.

I realized something: when people abuse their bodies with substances or heavy food, compassion leaves. Their character shifts. Their spirit gets buried under cravings and ego. It’s not personal — it’s simply what happens when the body becomes numb. Yoga showed me this today with such sharpness it almost shocked me.

But the greatest shock was this: I stayed calm. Completely calm. Even with everything happening around me, my mind didn’t move. My breath protected me. My practice protected me. That deep connection to my body allowed me to see the world without reacting to it.

As I stretched, old emotions rose and dissolved. Old memories surfaced and faded. The body is letting go of things I didn’t even know I was holding. Every day, I get closer to sitting fully in lotus, closer to freedom, closer to myself.

And this clarity showed me something important — many people are asleep. They speak about spirituality but don’t live it. They talk about healing but never look within. They read about discipline but never feel what it’s like to wake up at 2 AM, breathe into the cold, and stretch until truth rises from the muscles.

Even with everything going on, the mat remains my teacher. My clarity deepens. My spirit becomes lighter. And this voice inside keeps whispering: one day I will teach this. One day I will speak this truth to others. I just need to keep practicing, keep speaking, keep becoming.

I am not breaking.

I am awakening.

And I am grateful.

Sometimes I look at my life and I can’t believe how far I’ve come. This morning I remembered the first time I got an immigration letter years ago — the one that broke me. I opened it and felt something disappear from my whole body. My spirit collapsed. That was the beginning of a long season of pain — betrayal, homelessness, running on empty, losing my ability to work, losing my sense of identity.

Back then, my body didn’t know how to handle that level of shock. My nervous system simply shut down. I was running my first 100 miles during that time, and finishing 120 miles was the only thing keeping me together. Running became my escape, my survival, my prayer. Somewhere between mile 80 and 120, something inside me woke up. I touched a strength I didn’t know existed. That was the day I found God in my legs, in my breath, in my suffering.

After that, every breakdown became another awakening. Every injury, every rejection, every moment of silence stripped away another layer of ego, another layer of fear. Even when I lost flexibility, even when I got hit by a car, even when I felt energy leave my body — I kept running, kept stretching, kept praying with my body. Yoga became my medicine. It rewired me.

Years passed. Discipline built strength. Strength built clarity. Clarity became my foundation.

So this morning, when I saw another immigration letter — something that once crushed me — I laughed. Not out of disrespect, but out of realization: I am no longer the man I was. My body has changed. My mind has changed. My spirit has changed.

The news that once broke me can’t even bend me now.

Ten years of waking before dawn. Ten years of stretching through cold nights. Ten years of breathing through pain and loneliness. Ten years of staying sober with no shortcuts. Ten years of silence, prayer, movement, and devotion.

That is why I stay calm. That is why I see through people — through the ego, through the masks, through the numbness. Most people are asleep. When the body goes numb, the heart goes blind.

But me? I’ve walked through fire with no substances, no hiding. My journey forged a clarity that no letter, no person, no situation can shake.

This morning proved something:

I am awake.

I am grounded.

I am not afraid.

And one day, I will stand on a stage and speak this truth. One day, I will teach others how pain tried to break me but only made my spirit stronger.

For now, I keep practicing. I keep listening. I keep becoming who I was meant to be.

Yoruba Yogi