Friday

 Today I don’t have words, and maybe I don’t need them. I woke up late, and I’m learning not to fight that. My body is teaching me patience. This yoga is no longer about movement — it’s about waiting for the body to open on its own time. That’s inconvenient, but it’s honest.

Running feels like meditation now. Gravity is talking to me. The land is talking to me. I find myself alone in the middle of nowhere, and instead of fear, I feel a quiet invitation to listen.

I went from a bench to a lane. From survival to space. My mind hasn’t caught up yet, and that’s okay. Maybe this sleep is healing. Maybe this silence is rebuilding me.

I don’t feel the need to explain myself. I don’t feel the need to rush. All I want is to read, to breathe, to move, to exist. That is enough right now.

Whatever I’m studying is not just in books — it’s in the body, in the cold air, in the patience this moment demands. I am settling into a new chapter, and chapters don’t announce themselves loudly. They begin quietly.

I will let this play out. I will trust the process. I don’t need to know what I’m becoming to keep walking toward it.

I am here. That is enough.

Yoruba Yogi.

Thursday

 Today I woke up inside a body I don’t fully recognize, and instead of fearing it, I watched it. I let it twist. I let it design itself. Every movement felt like the body teaching me a language I forgot I knew.

I am not forcing yoga anymore. Yoga is shaping me.

In child’s pose I feel gravity pulling memories out of my spine. When I run, it’s like something ancient is unlocking, and I don’t have to chase the miles. The miles come to me. I am learning that healing is not loud. Healing is quiet redesign.

I am alone in nature, but I am not lonely. The silence is introducing me to myself. Reading is no longer information — it is absorption. Breath is no longer effort — it is guidance.

Even my desire, my libido, is not a distraction. It is proof that life is returning to every corner of me. Energy is circulating again. I don’t need to rush it. I just need to witness it.

I am in a moment where identity is soft. I don’t have to name what I’m becoming. I only have to stay present while it forms. The universe is not shouting instructions. It is whispering: stay here. Feel this. Trust the redesign.

I am not lost. I am being introduced to a new version of my body, my mind, my awareness. And my only responsibility is to meet it gently.

Yoruba Yogi.

Wednesday

 Reflection

Today, I acknowledge that I don’t need to know what I’m doing right now.

I’m allowing myself to simply be here.

To breathe.

To rest without explanation.

I notice my body changing before my mind understands it.

My yoga is softer, closer to the ground—child’s pose, the spine, the back opening slowly.

I trust that my body knows the route, even when it feels inconvenient or slow.

I trust that nothing is wasted.

My reading is becoming quieter, more focused.

Not because I’m forcing it—but because my attention is settling.

I’m not chasing stimulation.

I’m choosing depth, even if it looks like stillness.

I give myself permission to sit.

To watch.

To clear my head without guilt.

Rest is not laziness—it is repair.

I recognize that I’ve missed sleep for a long time, and now my system is catching up.

I honor this phase.

I don’t rush it.

I don’t judge it.

I feel something shifting in my spine, something I can’t explain, and I don’t need to.

Not everything that heals needs words.

Some things only need time and breath.

Today, I release the need to perform progress.

I release the fear of how I might be perceived.

I choose trust over urgency.

I am not lost.

I am integrating.

I am listening.

I am allowing the next chapter to arrive in silence.

Yoruba Yogi.

Tuesday

 Tuesday Reflection — speaking to my higher self

Today I learned that strength doesn’t always look like movement.

Sometimes it looks like stillness.

Sometimes it looks like being the only number someone knows how to dial.

I’m learning that abundance is not loud.

It doesn’t announce itself.

It arrives quietly, in the form of shelter, rest, nature, and unexpected trust.

I asked for protection, not knowing what it would look like.

And protection came—not as certainty, but as space.

Space to sleep.

Space to breathe.

Space to slow down.

I see now that my body knows when it’s safe.

That’s why the fatigue came.

That’s why the urgency softened.

That’s why one mile feels wiser than one hundred.

I’m learning not to confuse discipline with punishment.

Not to confuse rest with weakness.

Not to confuse silence with absence.

Today, I sat with someone who is losing parts of herself—

her hair, her face, her habits, her illusions.

And I learned that judgment has no place there.

Only presence does.

I don’t need to fix her.

I don’t need to teach her.

I only need to meet her where she is.

I see how quickly life can strip us down.

And I see how gently it can hold us, if we let it.

I’m done chasing identities, careers, titles, or outcomes.

Peace is enough.

Breath is enough.

This moment is enough.

If love comes, I will meet it with openness.

If it doesn’t, I will still be whole.

I trust the pace I’m moving at now.

I trust the quiet.

I trust that one day at a time is not small—it’s sacred.

I am learning how to live without running away from myself.

And that feels like real wealth.

Yoruba Yogi

Friday

 Reflection

I am learning how little I know.

And strangely, that feels like freedom.

After years of movement, I am only now learning how to breathe.

After decades of yoga, I am meeting the basics for the first time.

Not because I failed before —

but because I finally slowed down enough to listen.

The more I walk, the more I run, the more I stretch,

the quieter I become.

Not empty — attentive.

I don’t feel the need to explain anymore.

Explanation belongs to uncertainty.

Presence belongs to understanding.

I’ve spent thousands of hours on my feet,

moving through daylight and darkness,

letting the body teach the mind what books cannot.

And what the body keeps repeating is simple:

there is so much more to learn.

I am not here to be right.

I am here to be available.

Every step humbles me.

Every breath reminds me I’m still a beginner.

And that is not weakness —

that is readiness.

I no longer confuse discipline with performance

or wisdom with noise.

What matters now is accuracy, patience, and care.

I don’t need to tell my story yet.

The story is still being refined.

One day, it will speak for itself.

For now, I study quietly —

the body, the breath, the laws beneath movement,

the mathematics inside balance,

the physics inside walking,

the biology inside healing.

I trust this unknowing.

I trust this stillness inside motion.

I trust that humility is the true doorway to learning.

I am not late.

I am right on time.

Yoruba Yogi