YOGA CITTA VRITTI NIRODHA

The yogi is not the one who bends into perfect shapes.

He is the one who bends his thoughts, his assumptions, his entire worldview, again and again, toward truth.

His practice is not performance.

It can be on mat and off mat.

It is a private ceremony of shedding illusions,
of watching his own mind with gentle curiosity,
of asking, day after day: Who am I, beneath the noise?

He knows that real flexibility begins in the soul.
It is not measured by how far the body stretches,
but by how open the heart remains,
in the face of discomfort, uncertainty, and change.

The mat becomes his mirror.
The breath, his compass.
Each posture a quiet conversation with the invisible.

He is not here to impress,
but to undress, layer after layer,
until only essence remains.

To walk the path of yoga is to question everything:
What is real?
What is ego?
What has been borrowed, and what is truly mine?

And in that silent inquiry,
he learns that truth is not a destination,
but a remembering.
A homecoming to what was always there.

And maybe you see this post not by coincidence,
but because it’s an invitation.

An invitation to come back to yourself. Gently. Quietly. Truly.

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