The only thing I can think of is to continue to dedicate myself to jiu-jitsu and the academy and everyone who trains there (of course my family comes first), but as far as “life’s work” goes, this is what I want to do. I don’t want to lead a wasted life.

The other thing I was reminded of was that watching is not enough, you have to feel the details. Mastery is in the movement.

I’m trying to ride the momentum of my book that all my friends and family have created by buying and reviewing it. Thank you very much, I will keep it going—Thank you.

I think we should look at our own lives and try to live more simply–arm bar instead of flying armbar if you know what I mean.

Lately, I’ve been carrying around a jiu-jitsu notebook. I’ve been using it to help me breakdown and understand the minute details of some of the techniques that I’ve been teaching. I’m mentioning it here because so far it has proven to be very valuable. Once when I was in the Boy Scouts, one of the camp instructors, who was actually a biology student, was drawing a praying mantis he had caught and put in a jar. He told me that if I ever wanted to really understand how something worked I should try and draw it. That’s what I’ve been doing, along with some written notes, and so far it has been very enlightening. I would suggest a notebook for those of you who are ready to move forward with truly understanding your technique.

Rastafarians use the pronoun I to refer to the self, not “me” but “I”, not “we” but “I and I.” it emphasizes the importance of the individual and his or her relationship to Jah (god), but also the idea of togetherness, of being recognized as one thing, the same sort of beings–unified. The I is important in jiu-jitsu as well, but for the most part it doesn’t represent togetherness; it is I or me or you on the mat, no one else matters, not your opponent, not Jah, no one except you and jiu-jitsu, everything else is an illusion (Though I might point out that this illusion you’re about to go against may choke you unconscious). We go not to conquer our opponent, but to conquer I, to conquer the self. The illusion is that we are fighting someone, but the reality is that we are fighting our self. The I is the self.

Marathon runners, mountain climbers, free divers, big wave surfers they all attempt to conquer I. They’re not battling a distance, or a mountain, or a wave, or the ocean, their struggle is within; it is the struggle of control–control of the self. The same holds true for jiu-jitsu, or boxing, or water polo; it’s not you versus them; it’s you vs. you. This is a misconception in sports with a perceived opponent. We’re lined up against our adversary, our foe, our enemy, we want to beat them, but it is a false competition, the real opponent resides inside.

I’ve been practicing jiu-jitsu for many years now, but it still seems fresh, it still seems infinite and wondrous and magical. This little piece of mat that I’ve hauled home reminds me how much jiu-jitsu has become an integral part of my life.

Can you apply the techniques that you know? Can you control your breathing and therefore your emotions? Can you sense what your opponent is trying to do? Can you defend against your opponent’s attacks? It’s really about you and what you can do. If we can conquer ourselves there is no one who can beat us.

One of the most used analogies for jiu-jitsu as a whole is the comparison to the game of chess. I also like the “Jedi Mind Trick” analogy when you pull your opponent’s leg because you want him to move it away from you, when you want them to do the opposite of what you’re doing we use the Jedi Mind Trick. Anyway, I thought that would be something for the third book, the title would be Sipping Soup and other Jiu-Jitsu Analogies. I guess I dream a lot, but I think it would be pretty cool.