I believe in magic.  I believe in a Great Spirit to guide me.  I believe in ghosts, buddhas and gods and tao.  I believe in myself.

I work to have an immense trust there are reasons for everything – a chaotic, synchronistic beauty to life.

For some time, I have been working out where hate and violence comes from – as if from an external source to myself.  This has been the same when it comes to martial knowledge.

In a society built around rules, and many a quote written about surrendering to some  Tao, I understand; however, if it is against my true nature of wanting and pushing, then it is wrong.

Who are you to tell me I can’t do something?  That I can’t achieve and grow?  That I can’t change my lifestyle to represent my dreams?  You don’t know me for shit.

This talk of knowing one’s limits irks me to no end.  Limits?  How would anyone know their own limits?  Bruce Lee was right: there are no limits.

And the reason I think this has all happened to me over the last two years is to help me cultivate a capacity of violence – my missing link – my ‘on’ button.

Fuck Wing Chun.  Fuck systems.  Create your own mini-system out of what you have.  Perfect it and train it until your hands bleed and your joints ache from the repetitive movements.

All the greats have done it.  And I still want that.

It’ll never go away.  Maybe that’s the secret.


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