Writing

 Writing has become my teacher.

It asks me to slow down, and in that slowing, I begin to see clearly.

Not just others, but myself — where my attention goes, and why.

I notice how pain gathers people, how sadness creates familiarity.

I observe it without needing to judge or fix it.

I listen to the words I use to describe myself and feel how identity can both protect and limit.

When truth shifts the energy in a room, I stay present.

I don’t harden. I don’t retreat.

I let compassion take the place where judgment once lived.

As I move through the day, I pay attention —

to faces, to food cooking, to the quiet details of life happening around me.

I learn to witness without absorbing.

This is a new chapter.

It asks for patience, honesty, and presence.

And today, I met it as I am.

— Yoruba Yogi