Understanding

 Today I sit with myself, not to fix anything, not to convince anyone, but to listen.

Lately my mind keeps returning to three things:

the brain, the sun, and the moon.

And somehow, Aquila—the eagle—keeps circling my awareness.

The brain wants to understand.

The sun wants to illuminate.

The moon wants to soften.

And Aquila reminds me to rise above noise without escaping the ground.

I notice how easy it is for people to look outward for answers. I did that once too. I waited for words, systems, rooms, or moments to save me. But clarity never came from outside. It came the moment everything familiar disappeared and I had no choice but to sit with myself honestly.

I see now that healing isn’t loud.

It isn’t dramatic.

It doesn’t rush.

Healing is repetitive, quiet, and often misunderstood.

The brain learns through discipline.

The body learns through patience.

The spirit learns through stillness.

The sun doesn’t argue for its brightness.

The moon doesn’t explain its phases.

They just move—consistently, faithfully.

That’s what I’m learning to do.

I don’t need to correct anyone.

I don’t need to interrupt anyone’s process.

I don’t need to prove where I am.

I can sit in silence and still be full.

I can listen without absorbing.

I can observe without judging.

Aquila flies high not to look down on others, but to see the whole landscape. From above, everything makes sense—the winding paths, the pauses, the detours.

I understand now:

Most people aren’t lost.

They’re just early in their remembering.

And I don’t need to pull them forward.

I only need to stay aligned.

The brain learns when it’s calm.

The sun rises whether it’s witnessed or not.

The moon teaches patience through cycles.

And me—I’m learning to trust my own rhythm.

This path is quiet.

This path is honest.

This path doesn’t need permission.

I continue.

— Yoruba Yogi