Child pose

 

Today, I moved differently.

I didn’t wake up to force the body.

I woke up to listen to it.

Even when I didn’t rise at the first alarm, I didn’t judge myself.

When I stood up at 4:15, I remembered the commitment I made—not to perfection, but to presence.

I stepped onto the mat and realized the work was still there.

Eight hundred push-ups.

Not as punishment.

Not as proof.

As a conversation.

What surprised me was how the body began to guide me.

Ten push-ups.

Then rest.

Then side child’s pose.

Then breathe.

Then silence.

I followed.

In the side child’s pose, I slowed down.

I had to be humble.

I had to pay attention.

There was no rushing, no skipping, no performance.

Each breath to the left and right opened something deeper than muscle.

It opened patience.

It opened trust.

The practice became meditation.

I felt the spine speak—not loudly, not dramatically—but honestly.

A release.

A soft pop.

A widening.

Not fear.

Awareness.

I remembered the stroke.

I remembered how my spine once disappeared from sensation.

I remembered how Lotus was taken from me, how the knees lifted high, how the body guarded itself.

And today, instead of demanding it back, I listened.

I believe now that opening doesn’t come from force.

It comes from safety.

As I moved through my asanas, I stayed slow.

I honored the cold.

I honored the breath.

I honored the body’s request to jog gently, not prove anything.

When I reached Warrior One, I paused.

I noticed that I had done it again—two days in a row.

Standing up from the floor, completing the posture, not collapsing back down.

Progress didn’t announce itself.

It simply arrived.

This body is a scripture.

Each poses a sentence.

Each breath a pause for understanding.

I no longer compare my practice to studios or prices or perceptions.

I no longer explain myself to rooms that can’t see discipline unless it’s branded.

What I’m doing is harder than performance.

It’s listening without ego.

I still dream of running again—not to impress, not to escape, but to show what care can do over time.

Slow.

Steady.

Honest.

If I never become wealthy by the world’s measures, I accept that.

But I will never give up knowing my own body.

Today reminded me of that.

Something shifted.

Something opened.

And I didn’t rush to name it.

I stayed with it.

Today was enough.

I was present.

I was disciplined.

I was kind to myself.

This is the path.

Yoruba Yogi