Self realization

 I notice something shifting inside me.

I can feel it, even if I can’t name it yet.

I don’t rush to explain it. I let it arrive.

I listen more than I speak now.

Not because I have nothing to say,

but because there is wisdom in what reveals itself when I’m quiet.

I pay attention to patterns—

how the mind repeats,

how the body remembers,

how truth shows up without being forced.

I stay present with what is happening in me, not what I think should be happening.

I let the body teach.

I let experience shape understanding.

I notice how easily words can describe the past,

and how rare it is to speak from the present moment.

So I return here.

Now.

Again.

I don’t judge the tools others use.

I simply honor the tools that work for me.

Breath.

Movement.

Endurance.

Stillness.

I feel ideas moving through me—quietly, insistently.

Not to impress.

Not to persuade.

But to invite reflection.

I want my words to act like mirrors.

Not telling anyone who to be,

but helping them notice who they already are.

I accept that my path doesn’t need approval to be real.

I accept that clarity doesn’t always look practical from the outside.

I trust the inner work I’ve been doing for years.

I allow myself to want what I want—

healing, expression, freedom, love—

without shrinking it to fit someone else’s expectations.

I don’t have to know everything yet.

I only have to stay honest with myself.

Something is changing.

I don’t chase it.

I prepare for it by staying present.

I keep living it.

I keep embodying it.

And when I speak, I let the words point inward—

first to me.

Yoruba Yogi

Grand rising

 Today, I notice how much is happening inside me, and how calm I remain while it happens.

Different emotions move through, but none of them stay. I let them rise, I let them pass.

I listen to my body first.

The breath tells me where to go.

Softness shows up even where there is still tightness.

I don’t rush it. I study it.

Every movement becomes a kind of scripture, teaching me how to open without force.

I accept rest when it is needed.

I return to discipline when it is time.

Nothing is lost.

The practice is intact.

I move slowly, on purpose.

Not to escape, not to prove—

but to align.

I let the body meet the rhythm of the universe at its own pace.

My mind feels clear because my body has already spoken.

Thoughts come and go, and I watch them without chasing or resisting.

I don’t need to react.

I don’t need to explain.

I am learning a deeper respect—

for myself, for difference, for the many ways people move through life.

Agreement is not required for respect.

Understanding begins with self-honoring.

I notice when silence is wiser than speech.

I notice when stillness carries more truth than argument.

I trust that what is real does not need to be defended.

I stay with what works:

the breath, the movement, the endurance, the quiet joy of consistency.

This is what steadies me.

This is what changes me.

I remain grateful.

I remain present.

I remain open—without losing myself.

I am calmer now.

And I trust where this path is taking me.

Yoruba Yogi