Wednesday

 Daily Reflection — Yoruba Yogi

I woke before the world again.

Not because I had to, but because my body already knew the way.

I lay there for a moment, listening, then rose — and by the time the clock said morning, I was already on the mat. Push-ups. Asana. Breath. The quiet work.

Every night, I carry my life with me.

I walk for my sleeping bag, my blanket, my small possessions, then return to my bench — my bench-on. I laugh every time. I really do. The routine is so simple, so bare, that it exposes how serious I once thought everything had to be. I remember keys. Doors. Cars. Houses. Titles. And now I laugh at how much effort I once put into being worthy in other people’s eyes.

Failing at those old dreams gave me something far greater — myself.

My body feels sore lately, but not injured. It feels like something opening. Like memory loosening its grip. The intelligence of the body is real. Yoga is no longer something I do; it’s something that’s doing me. The hips open. The breath resists, then softens. Sitting still feels harder than movement — and that’s how I know I’m learning something true.

Every day I move. Thirteen miles. Walking, jogging, carrying my pack with care. Every day I stretch for hours. Every day I sit in stillness as long as I can. Then I go and sit again, quietly, among others — watching, listening, feeling the weight people carry without knowing it.

I see it now.

The tension in the eyes.

The stories people cling to.

The way stress disguises itself as success.

And I feel no anger toward it. Just clarity.

I’m sensitive these days. Not weak — awake. Words reveal where they come from. Energy speaks before language. And I’m learning that true self-realization requires solitude. Not fear-based isolation, but chosen quiet. Space to study the mind. Space to feel the body breathe itself.

Breathing is still the hardest thing I’ve ever learned.

Not moving — allowing.

Not striving — listening.

I don’t know where any of this is going.

And for the first time, I don’t need to.

I surrender. I laugh. I soften.

I ask only for a place to sit, to breathe, to be still a little longer.

Consciousness is real.

The body knows.

And I am exactly where I am supposed to be.

Yoruba Yogi 🌕