Quiet

 

Quiet Knowing

Today, I didn’t have many words.

So I listened.

I ran.

I breathed.

I moved my body and let the emotions move through me.

It’s snowing, and I’m grateful.

Grateful for a place to rest my head.

Grateful for this body still teaching me new ways to exist.

Yoga is changing me.

Not just the poses—

the patience,

the listening,

the way my fingers feel the truth before my mind can explain it.

I can feel when someone around me is hurting.

I don’t rush to fix it.

I observe.

I give space.

I trust timing.

I see what isn’t me anymore.

And I don’t judge it.

I simply don’t carry it.

Isolation isn’t real.

What we talk about shapes us.

What we focus on feeds us.

Every conversation leaves a mark.

Today, I choose inner peace.

I choose gratitude over confusion.

I choose to learn from where I am instead of wishing I were somewhere else.

I may not have material things,

but I carry something valuable.

Something steady.

Something needed.

I don’t need to explain this moment.

I just need to live it.

And I will continue—

with this body,

with this breath,

with this quiet knowing.

Yoruba Yogi.

Saturday

 Today is a beautiful day.

I got up early, but I didn’t rush.

I’m learning myself again.

I’m sitting with who I am, not who I think I need to be.

And I realize something important:

I have power.

I have the power to create peace.

I have the power to create violence.

I have the power to destroy or to heal.

And the real question is simple—

What do I choose?

I can choose anger.

I can choose negativity.

I can choose reaction.

Or I can choose peace.

Today, I choose peace.

I choose love.

I choose compassion.

I choose to see myself in others.

I choose to move my body with patience.

I choose to listen to what my body is teaching me.

As I twist and turn on the mat,

as I breathe,

as I slow down,

I’m not escaping the world—

I’m preparing to meet it without violence in my heart.

Today, I am at peace with myself.

And from that place,

I send peace into the world.

Yoruba Yogi.

Friday

 Today I don’t have words, and maybe I don’t need them. I woke up late, and I’m learning not to fight that. My body is teaching me patience. This yoga is no longer about movement — it’s about waiting for the body to open on its own time. That’s inconvenient, but it’s honest.

Running feels like meditation now. Gravity is talking to me. The land is talking to me. I find myself alone in the middle of nowhere, and instead of fear, I feel a quiet invitation to listen.

I went from a bench to a lane. From survival to space. My mind hasn’t caught up yet, and that’s okay. Maybe this sleep is healing. Maybe this silence is rebuilding me.

I don’t feel the need to explain myself. I don’t feel the need to rush. All I want is to read, to breathe, to move, to exist. That is enough right now.

Whatever I’m studying is not just in books — it’s in the body, in the cold air, in the patience this moment demands. I am settling into a new chapter, and chapters don’t announce themselves loudly. They begin quietly.

I will let this play out. I will trust the process. I don’t need to know what I’m becoming to keep walking toward it.

I am here. That is enough.

Yoruba Yogi.

Thursday

 Today I woke up inside a body I don’t fully recognize, and instead of fearing it, I watched it. I let it twist. I let it design itself. Every movement felt like the body teaching me a language I forgot I knew.

I am not forcing yoga anymore. Yoga is shaping me.

In child’s pose I feel gravity pulling memories out of my spine. When I run, it’s like something ancient is unlocking, and I don’t have to chase the miles. The miles come to me. I am learning that healing is not loud. Healing is quiet redesign.

I am alone in nature, but I am not lonely. The silence is introducing me to myself. Reading is no longer information — it is absorption. Breath is no longer effort — it is guidance.

Even my desire, my libido, is not a distraction. It is proof that life is returning to every corner of me. Energy is circulating again. I don’t need to rush it. I just need to witness it.

I am in a moment where identity is soft. I don’t have to name what I’m becoming. I only have to stay present while it forms. The universe is not shouting instructions. It is whispering: stay here. Feel this. Trust the redesign.

I am not lost. I am being introduced to a new version of my body, my mind, my awareness. And my only responsibility is to meet it gently.

Yoruba Yogi.

Wednesday

 Reflection

Today, I acknowledge that I don’t need to know what I’m doing right now.

I’m allowing myself to simply be here.

To breathe.

To rest without explanation.

I notice my body changing before my mind understands it.

My yoga is softer, closer to the ground—child’s pose, the spine, the back opening slowly.

I trust that my body knows the route, even when it feels inconvenient or slow.

I trust that nothing is wasted.

My reading is becoming quieter, more focused.

Not because I’m forcing it—but because my attention is settling.

I’m not chasing stimulation.

I’m choosing depth, even if it looks like stillness.

I give myself permission to sit.

To watch.

To clear my head without guilt.

Rest is not laziness—it is repair.

I recognize that I’ve missed sleep for a long time, and now my system is catching up.

I honor this phase.

I don’t rush it.

I don’t judge it.

I feel something shifting in my spine, something I can’t explain, and I don’t need to.

Not everything that heals needs words.

Some things only need time and breath.

Today, I release the need to perform progress.

I release the fear of how I might be perceived.

I choose trust over urgency.

I am not lost.

I am integrating.

I am listening.

I am allowing the next chapter to arrive in silence.

Yoruba Yogi.