Reflection

 From Morning Stillness to Evening Silence)

Ah… another beautiful day.

I rise in the stillness before dawn, around three,

and by three-thirty, I am already on the mat.

It is quiet. It is sacred. It is beautiful.

I am truly, truly, truly grateful for this moment.

I breathe and I watch.

People are moving in their own ways —

searching for healing through substances, through control, through escape.

But I am learning: everyone has their own journey.

And mine… is peace.

I do not need to correct anyone.

I do not need to convince anyone.

I just need to be.

To move.

To breathe.

To listen to silence speak.

The world is full of people trying to help others while still healing themselves.

That is why I do not judge.

I just observe.

Because I see clearly now — control is the root of human suffering.

Everyone wants to tell someone else how to live.

But the yogi does not control; the yogi flows.

This morning, yoga whispered two lessons to me:

Do not overeat.

Do not procrastinate.

Just keep moving.

Six hundred becomes eight hundred.

Walking becomes jogging.

Jogging becomes running.

Running becomes meditation.

Meditation becomes prayer.

Prayer becomes silence.

And silence… becomes God.

I have learned that true peace cannot be bought,

cannot be smoked, cannot be swallowed.

It must be earned through discipline

and received through gratitude.

I went from sleeping on benches to walking through mansions,

and I see — peace does not live in the house.

Peace lives in the heart.

So I give thanks for this breath,

for this silence,

for the wisdom of watching and not judging,

for the motion that keeps me alive,

for the stillness that keeps me free.

I look at this life and smile at how far I have come.

I used to hide from my truth — now I wear it like a crown.

Because only one who has slept under the sky

can truly feel the pulse of creation.

People talk about teachers and masters and books,

but I have seen that spirit cannot be taught — it must be remembered.

The real wisdom is instinct.

Not what a teacher says, not what a book repeats,

but what the body whispers when the mind is quiet.

Even the great ones, the babalawos, many have forgotten this.

They speak the words but do not live the silence.

They trade wisdom for attention, for coins, for control.

But I have found something different —

a way of knowing that moves like breath and light.

It came through running, through walking, through endless miles.

Through sleeping on benches, through stillness before dawn.

It came through pain, and through laughter.

And now I see — everything that man has ever discovered

was born from motion, from curiosity, from instinct.

When I run, I feel the vibration of truth beneath my feet.

When I breathe, I feel the universe expanding through my chest.

The body is the first temple.

The mind is the second.

And silence — silence is the altar.

This present moment is my only home.

I don’t need approval from the learned or the rich.

I don’t need to prove my path to the world.

I just have to be.

Every mile I run writes a scripture no book can hold.

Every breath I take is a prayer no tongue can speak.

I laugh now — not because I am above anyone,

but because I finally understand.

The world chases words, but I live the vibration.

I am grateful —

for motion, for silence, for instinct.

Grateful that I found God not through teaching,

but through experience.

Grateful that I am here — alive, aware, awake.

I woke before the sun, touched the mat,

and felt the stillness move through me.

I have lived in the palace of peace.

I am proud of that.

For only one who has sat with the earth

can truly hear the rhythm of creation.

I look at this world and I see

people chasing healing through anger, through substances, through attention.

I watched a so-called revolutionary this morning,

and all I saw was pain dressed as passion —

anger pretending to be freedom.

But true freedom has no enemy;

it simply is.

I see black and white, rich and poor,

believer and unbeliever —

all illusions of separation.

Religion built walls where spirit meant to build bridges.

It taught men to fear, not to feel.

And yet, even in the chaos,

I see love trying to remember itself.

Brother, sister, leader, queen, king —

we are all students of the same silence.

The color of skin is a costume.

The sound of God is the same in every tongue.

So I choose not to fight illusion with illusion.

I choose to walk in peace.

Homelessness, wealth, race, belief —

they are all classrooms for the soul.

I stand as witness, not judge.

I see how even the lost are teachers.

They show me the power of instinct,

the wisdom of the body,

the truth of motion.

Today a cat came to me — brown with black spots.

It spoke the same language as the wind: stillness.

And I understood again —

the animals, the trees, the silence —

they all know God without words.

So I breathe.

I bow.

I give thanks.

Thank you for the lessons of anger and illusion.

Thank you for the miles that taught me patience.

Thank you for the silence that keeps teaching me how to see.

I am the Yoruba Yogi.

I speak not to preach, but to remind.

Peace is not a revolution; peace is evolution.

And today, I live it.