Reflection

 

Full Moon Reflection — Yoruba Yogi

This morning, under the rising energy of the full moon — Ọ̀ṣùpá Kìkún — I woke up around 2:31 AM. The cold hit me first, the kind that makes your bones feel like they’re whispering. It took me almost half an hour just to warm my body enough to step onto my yoga mat. But like always, the moment my feet touched that mat, gratitude stepped in.

I stretched, I breathed, I listened. My back is learning a new language these days — new breathing, new opening, new freedom — and I truly believe I can snap it open again. That’s the only thing that matters to me right now: a quiet space to practice, to breathe, to heal. Yoga is the temple that never fails me.

After my push-ups — maybe forty-four this morning — and after twisting into that cold morning air, I sat down and wrote my gratitude. Gratitude always comes first. Then came the affirmation. Then came the silence. I looked at myself and asked, What am I going through?

And the truth is simple:

I’m tired of worrying.

I’m at peace.

I just don’t care about what used to drain me.

It’s interesting how I eat now — calm, simple, without thought or anxiety. It’s beautiful to be in that stage where your spirit leads the way. These days everything feels funny. I laugh at life. I laugh at myself. I laugh at things that used to upset me. There is a softness in me now that I didn’t have before.

After my three-hour yoga session, I walked to church. I was drifting in and out of sleep, but still grateful. I always go for the Holy Communion, even though I watch the preachers and I shake my head. I say this with no judgment, only humility: some people speak of God, but don’t carry God. And that’s fine. It’s their journey.

But I can’t help but laugh.

I slept outside all night.

I walked into church cold, tired, peaceful.

And yet the preacher’s attitude — the way his voice even changes when he says “the blood of Christ” — it amuses me.

That’s how I know I’m changing.

Because instead of anger, I only feel laughter.

A soft, knowing, ancestral laughter.

Today, I am truly, truly, truly grateful.

To have the gift of dealing with emotion — that is a blessing.

Because when you’re in a situation like mine, homeless, without comfort, surrounded by people who don’t understand, it can feel like the whole world is against you.

But when you know your Self, when you know your higher spirit, you realize that you are not abandoned. You are being shaped. You are being taught how to move through life without letting life move you. And for that, I am grateful every single day.

The way people treat you when you have nothing — ah, it’s a teacher on its own. It humbles you. It reveals their minds, and it reveals yours. And instead of bitterness, I feel amusement. I feel compassion. I feel wisdom rising inside me.

Sometimes I walk past houses and look inside people’s windows. I watch them moving around in their warm rooms, and I laugh again. Not envy. Not jealousy. Just reflection. I was once just like everyone else — running, worrying, chasing.

But Africa raised me.

England taught me the world.

America showed me my spirit.

Growing up with African parents, the message was always:

“Go to America, go to England, go build a beautiful life.”

But they never taught us that the beautiful life is already inside of us.

To be here now, after all the mistakes, all the bumps on my head, all the losses, all the streets, and still laugh — that is a miracle. That is grace. That is God’s humor.

And here’s the truth:

My mind doesn’t go backwards anymore.

When it tries to return to the past, I call it back.

Because the past has nothing left for me.

Only the present.

Only this moment.

Only this breath.

This morning, under the full moon, I felt it clearly:

I am proud of how I’ve handled this journey.

Proud of how I’ve kept my mind.

Proud of how I’ve carried myself through the cold, the loneliness, the noise of the world.

This experience has humbled me, sharpened me, freed me.

I see laughter in everything.

I see God in silence.

I see myself clearly.

And most of all —

I am grateful.

Deeply grateful.

Endlessly grateful.

Yoruba Yogi