A brief lesson in Jiu-Jitsu

So I was sparring with my teammate Jay the other morning. Jay is like this bigass Seattle sheriff who is a purple belt and a former black belt in karate, so with the advantage in weight, experience and skill, he handled me pretty easily. There was this one moment where he trapped me in an armbar and I instinctually tapped.

He then said, "No no no. Can you still move?"

I could and told him as much.

"Then escape."

I rolled over my arm and pulled it out, somehow got sideguard, but he flipped me over and mounted me. He then quickly went for a keylock and I tapped once he set position.

"No, I haven't got it yet," he said. "Keep moving."

The rest of the session played out like that. Jay would be a few micro-movements from breaking my arm off, but would hold off at the last second. After picking up on the pattern, I would escape, get locked back in, then escape again. It wasn't the funnest rolling session.

Afterwards Jay came up to me in the locker room and explained his approach.

"You know, a lot of times in Jiu-Jitsu, we get conditioned into giving up once we recognize the position we're in. But don't let it become a habit," he started. "I mean stop if you're going get hurt. You can always start over. But don't stop just because you recognize the position. Don't give up. Escape and fight back, for as long as you can."

Notes from my 64th trip (Light of Christ)

All that matters to me now is whether or not I am still on my path.

There are so many emotions to be aware of on this journey.

Feeling sorry for yourself is a very dangerous trap to fall into.

I would say 'yes', at the present moment, all of my problems are tied back to Flora.

It's hard for me to describe Flora. Beautiful is the obvious choice, b/c she is physically appealing. But she is beautiful in every single way she is, and every sing way that word means.

There has to be orderly preparation for the chaos for the self-destruction.

I think my goal as a writer is to capture what people don't understand in themselves.

Given my life, I am a confused person, the cure of it is that I've never wanted to take responsibility. And I know how to talk.

For the first time, I think my ability to manipulate words is actually holding me back.

I don't know why I became a writer. I guess I just wanted to call myself something. It is an empty title.

The way you earn a patch from a gym is that you just show up. 

It's unfortunate that people find a job in reaction to the world's tragedies.

What is my opinion doesn't matter? What if I am a nobody?

"Light is knowledge w/in my heart. Light is understanding w/in my heart." 

There are some things we do to stop from being our best selves. Some part of us is scared of that person. Absolutely terrified. 

Take responsibility.

The return is to the mother. The end journey is to the mother.

I am trying to recover my pride.

I am such a fucking mess right now. Everyday I wake up and absolutely hate the person in the mirror. There is no love for him. And that's the problem.

What am I supposed to aspire towards? Who am I supposed to look up to?

I am afraid of becoming a story for the next man.

Flora is the one, I know that more than any truth I've read, and I still believe in that now. I guess my only option is to do my best to convince her of the same.

How well can you navigate the terrain of a broken heart?

It is not easy for me to write about Flora. Part of me does it hoping she will read it. To let her know that I still love her, that I'm still in love w/ her. That I want to be her everything, and her to be mine. But I know this is a large part of my problem. But I guess I just wanted her to know, that even after all the shit, this is what remains, that is what is true. 

Notes from my 63rd trip (Mass)

The problem with Flora and I was that we always fell for each other's trap.

I kinda want to lightly punch Flora on the shoulder, like "That hurt, you jerk." 

This heartache is trying to destroy me, devour me. But I'm finding a way to say no. I'm still here.

                                                       She was in the shadows too.

It's when you just know. Like you throw out the scale you created over the years, you let down your defenses, give into the fears, and just go. Because when someone ask you how she makes you feel you can't think of anything else to say but "HEAVENLY!"

I know I am getting older b/c I am staring to recognize + accept the life of my father.

Notes from my 62nd trip (King's Day)

I can no longer remember what it feels like to be excited for something.

The taste of food taken from you, the desire to care for your body, the luster for anything meaningful in life; all gone. I'd say that's how the last two months of my life has been. Yeah. I know what it feels like basically.

The silence of scary. The unknown.

I don't know what I'm supposed to learn from all of this.

I am afraid to return to Brazil.

I cannot tell you your Destiny.
Fate bends at your will.
I can only tell you what I see
and leaec you with the decisions.

It is painful when you realize that you are not a strong person.

I know all of the things I shouldn't do. Look at pictures. Watch the videos. Read through the messages. But I do it anyways, like a broke man spending his last pennies on booze. Just to have one last look at when he was safe.

Grace gave you everything, and you betrayed her. This is the price of your sins.

I am like a space pod that has crash landed on a foreign planet. I don't know where I am. I've run out of gas and am still stuck in the state of disbelief that I can go no further. A hand reaches out for my survival. Can I trust it?

Everyday I am hoping for something new to arrive. You can imagine the despair in my mind when I learned that it is possible to throw away an entire day.

When I read artists profiles that say, "he was destroyed by love." I can't help but relate.

Sometimes I don't know why I am blessed to have someone like Desirée in my life.

I've given myself plenty of peptalks in the shower, watched every possible motivational video on the Internet. But I have nothing. I'm done. And I don't know what to do.

I suppose, as much as we are to learn of the things we love, we are also meant to know of their loss.

It is taking me a long time to heal from this sickness.

I've been in a place like this before. Where everything is dark and hopeless. I always managed to do something ridiculous like training to be a boxer or go learn jiu-jitsu 6 days a week. I don't know how I did any of it, but I'd probably be dead if I didn't.

The true essence of martial arts is that it extends our lease on life in this world.

What a fucked up life I've created for myself.