Dojo Quotes

I wanted love, but I also wanted freedom and adventure, and those two desires fought like angry obese sumo wrestlers in the dojo of my soul.

We may encounter many defeats but we must not be defeated.

She delivered a vicious blow, penetrating his rib cage, and withdrew her hand — with the ninja's still-beating heart in it. As all but Lady Catherine turned away in disgust, Elizabeth took a bite, letting the blood run down her chin and onto her sparring gown. "Curious," said Elizabeth, still chewing. "I have tasted many a heart, but I dare say, I find the Japanese ones a bit tender." Her ladyship left the dojo without giving compliment to Elizabeth's skills.

Hi-YA!" Hedge executed a roundhouse kick on him. This was a notoriously difficult move. Even Ares sometimes fell and broke his tailbone when practicing it in his dojo (witness the 'Ares so lame' video that went viral on Mount Olympus last year, and which I absolutely was not responsible for uploading.

Karate is not about techniques and their execution, but about boldness, integrity and fight for justice and common good

I can’t leave The Dojo,” Dionysus explained

. . . most martial artists want to know how A technique is done, A seasoned Sensei will demonstrate why

Hey, dragon!" Jay said loudly. The dragon opened one eye. "How can you tell if you have a dragon in your bathroom? The door won't close! How long was the dragons vacation? Four days and three knights! How about this one? Three ninja and a dragon walk into a dojo, and--" The Lightning Dragon swiped it's massive tail, knocking Jay off his feet. "That's the worst thing about dragons," muttered Jay, standing back up. "They don't know good jokes when they hear them.

Karate training will make you strong and confident, but restraint will make you respected

I entered this Health Dojo because the war ended and life suddenly became precious.

Once one thinks like a mountain, the whole world is converted. All things confirm me. Then I sit on dojo cushions that do not move. There is no controller and no one to control.

. . as A martial arts teacher, we should never forget the first time we stepped onto the Dojo ground, remembering this, we will be better equipped to teach the next generation of Karate practitioners

If we look at the world we see arts for sale. Men use equipment to sell their own selves. As if with the nut and the flower, the nut has become less than the flower. In this kind of Way of strategy, both those teaching and those learning the way are concerned with coloring and showing off their technique, trying to hasten the bloom of the flower. They speak of "This Dojo" and "That Dojo". They are looking for profit.

Justice without strength isn't justice at all.

. . . for any worthwhile martial arts skill to be pragmatic, it has to be done live, otherwise it is of limited or no use in actual combat

True Martial Arts is universal, simple and practical. Anything else is too complex to be used in combat.

You've invaded my erotic dojo. For this your assholes will adorn my thunderous cock like jewelry!

Zen- Dojo Tozan was not in Sarnen or Thu but somewhere between the two, not in a village but in the tall grass and blue flowers.

What is a game but a drill that's dressed up in colorful clothing?” Dojo said.

In his book The Leadership Dojo, Richard Strozzi-Heckler shares that “300 repetitions produce body memory … [and] 3,000 repetitions creates embodiment.

But when I sat listening with the other Aikido students and teachers on the mat at the Kumano Juku Dojo, all of us dripping with sweat and focused intently on the practice of Aikido in the here and now, the Floating Bridge of Heaven did not feel like an abstract reference to a story of the past. It was a vivid invitation to venture into the world of the spirit, and to integrate that sacred spirit of creativity into all of our actions. It was a compelling reminder that to O-Sensei, and by extension to all sincere students of his art, Aikido was far more than physical technique.

Ah, they are here for training… but not for my kind of training,” said the knight-captain. “What do you mean?” “We want to be rogues, sir,” the recruits said. “Oh! Then you want to be at Shadow’s dojo.” Devlin nodded. “I didn’t know how to get there, so…” “I see. I got it from here.” “Okay, back to class, then.

Aboriginal Okinawan Karate was traditionally taught in modest home Dojos, in small informal groups (sole purpose of teachings revolved around life preservation), in A closely tied supportive environment; unlike main island modern Japanese version with rivalry and competition, instructed in large groups belonging to even larger organizations with pseudo-militaristic hierarchy

led the two new recruits to the secret entrance of Shadow’s dojo. We walked down the tunnel and saw that Shadow was waiting for us at the end. “Steve? Who are these people?” the ninja asked. “I brought you some new recruits,” I replied. “Hm. I don’t know. I am very picky about my recruits.” “Oh? I didn’t know that…” “I handpicked all of my previous recruits.” “That’s right…” “Please give us a chance, sir,” said Daniel.

- Then find other way. I learn in temple. Taught by ancient master. When trouble, always remember wise words of ancient and venerable master. - What were they? - Ancient master say: `That boy there! What you eating? Hope you brought enough for everybody!' Ancient master say: `You bad boy! Why you no do homework?' Ancient master say: `What boy laughing? No tell what boy laughing, whole dojo stay in after school!' When remember these wise words, nothing seems so bad.

She didn't hear him in any nutty way, they didn't sit around and talk politics, it was more a pleasant feeling, easy enough to achieve at Zen-Dojo Tozan but she could even do it here, in the waiting area of the Lucerne airport. She believed that most of the human population didn't avail themselves to their full psychic potential. They lived in a state of mental clutter, the bombardment of goods and services, information and striving. They wouldn't be able to recognize true happiness if it were standing on their foot.

We ask people to say, “I am a commitment to …” instead of “I’m committed to …” as a reminder that we are the commitment, we strive to embody its value and contribution, and we’re fully accountable for its outcome. The commitment lives inside us and moves out from our center.

Shouyou: I'd like to ask you something, too. What is a samurai? Would you tell me? Takasugi: Aren't you a samurai? Shouyou: Well... At the very least, I'm not the kind of samurai you know. Do you think there are qualifications to become a samurai? Do you believe that without a family to protect, or a lord to serve, one cannot become a samurai? I don't think so. Bushido is the will to discipline one's weak self in order to reach one's stronger self. It refers to the act of devoting oneself to one's ideals. So both they, who study diligently and try to become better human beings, and you, who came here as a dojo challenger to grow stronger, are already samurai in my eyes. Even if your births and backgrounds are unknown, and you don't have a master to serve or a sword to fight with, you can each flaunt your own brand of bushido and become your own samurai. Guiding as many of those samurai as possible might just be my brand of bushido. You ended up here after losing your way, too, didn't you? I am the same. I am still lost. But that's all right. Doubt yourself, lose yourself and become the kind of samurai you want to be.

E cosa fanno i batteri, vivendo? Niente di nulla. Nulla di niente. Esistono. Sono. Vivono. Punto. Basta. Immagina lo sterminato, immoto panorama. In confronto un dojo di monaci zen sprofondati nella meditazione è la festa di Pamploma in cui i tori scorrazzano per le strade, è la serata d'apertura del Carnevale di Rio. Io penso, a volte, ai musoni eternamente annoiati, agli snob terminali, a quelli secondo cui non c'è mai niente di interessante da vedere, nulla di eccitante da fare. Ecco, mi piacerebbe che un qualche moderno Virgilio li accompagnasse a fare un giro fin laggiù, nell'Archeano: tre miliardi di anni fa.

Pleasure Principles What you pay attention to grows. This will be familiar to those who have read Emergent Strategy. Actually, all the emergent strategy principles also apply here! (Insert eggplant emoji). Tune into happiness, what satisfies you, what brings you joy. We become what we practice. I learned this through studying somatics! In his book The Leadership Dojo, Richard Strozzi-Heckler shares that “300 repetitions produce body memory … [and] 3,000 repetitions creates embodiment.”12 Yes is the way. When it was time to move to Detroit, when it was time to leave my last job, when it was time to pick up a meditation practice, time to swim, time to eat healthier, I knew because it gave me pleasure when I made and lived into the decision. Now I am letting that guide my choices for how I organize and for what I am aiming toward with my work—pleasure in the processes of my existence and states of my being. Yes is a future. When I feel pleasure, I know I am on the right track. Puerto Rican pleasure elder Idelisse Malave shared with me that her pleasure principle is “If it pleases me, I will.” When I am happy, it is good for the world.13 The deepest pleasure comes from riding the line between commitment and detachment.14 Commit yourself fully to the process, the journey, to bringing the best you can bring. Detach yourself from ego and outcomes. Make justice and liberation feel good. Your no makes the way for your yes. Boundaries create the container within which your yes is authentic. Being able to say no makes yes a choice. Moderation is key.15 The idea is not to be in a heady state of ecstasy at all times, but rather to learn how to sense when something is good for you, to be able to feel what enough is. Related: pleasure is not money. Pleasure is not even related to money, at least not in a positive way. Having resources to buy unlimited amounts of pleasure leads to excess, and excess totally destroys the spiritual experience of pleasure.

One day in the dojo (the martial-arts studio) before our karate class began, I witnessed the power of a concentrated focus unlike anything that I’d ever seen growing up in the heartland of northern Missouri. On that day, our instructor walked into the room and asked us to do something very different from the form and movement practices that were familiar to us. He explained that he would seat himself in the center of the thick mat where we honed our skills, close his eyes, and go into a meditation. During this exercise, he would stretch his arms out on either side of his body, with his palms open and facedown. He asked us to give him a couple of minutes to “anchor” himself in this T position and then invited us to do anything that we could to move him from his place. The men in our class outnumbered the women by about two to one, and there had always been a friendly competition between the sexes. On that day, however, there was no such division. Together, we all sat close to our instructor, silent and motionless. We watched as he simply walked to the center of the mat, sat down with his legs crossed, closed his eyes, held out his arms, and changed his breathing pattern. I remember that I was fascinated and observed closely as his chest swelled and shrank, slower and slower with each breath until it was hard to tell that he was breathing at all. With a nod of agreement, we moved closer and tried to move our instructor from his place. At first, we thought that this was going to be an easy exercise, and only a few of us tried. As we grabbed his arms and legs, we pushed and pulled in different directions with absolutely no success. Amazed, we changed our strategy and gathered on one side of him to use our combined weight to force him in the opposite direction. Still, we couldn’t even budge his arms or the fingers on his hands! After a few moments, he took a deep breath, opened his eyes, and with the gentle humor we’d come to respect, he asked, “What happened? How come I’m still sitting here?” After a big laugh that eased the tension and with a familiar gleam in his eyes, he explained what had just happened. “When I closed my eyes,” he said, “I had a vision that was like a dream, and that dream became my reality. I pictured two mountains, one on either side of my body, and myself on the ground between the peaks.” As he spoke, I immediately saw the image in my mind’s eye and felt that he was somehow imbuing us with a direct experience of his vision. “Attached to each of my arms,” he continued, “I saw a chain that bound me to the top of each mountain. As long as the chains were there, I was connected to the mountains in a way that nothing could change.” Our instructor looked around at the faces that were riveted on each word he was sharing. With a big grin, he concluded, “Not even a classroom full of my best students could change my dream.” Through a brief demonstration in a martial-arts classroom, this beautiful man had just given each of us a direct sense of the power to redefine our relationship to the world. The lesson was less about reacting to what the world was showing us and more about creating our own rules for what we choose to experience. The secret here is that our instructor was experiencing himself from the perspective that he was already fixed in one place on that mat. In those moments, he was living from the outcome of his meditation. Until he chose to break the chains in his imagination, nothing could move him. And that’s precisely what we found out.

The village square teemed with life, swirling with vibrant colors and boisterous chatter. The entire village had gathered, celebrating the return of their ancestral spirit. Laughter and music filled the air, carrying with it an energy that made Kitsune smile. Paper lanterns of all colors floated lazily above, their delicate glow reflecting on the smiling faces below. Cherry blossoms caught in the playful breeze, their sweet, earthy scent settling over the scene. At the center, villagers danced with unbridled joy, the rhythm of the taiko drums and the melody of flutes guiding their steps. To the side, a large table groaned under the weight of a feast. Sticky rice balls, steamed dumplings, seaweed soup, sushi, and more filled the air with a mouthwatering aroma. As she approached the table, she was greeted warmly by the villagers, who offered her food, their smiles genuine and welcoming. She filled a plate and sat at a table with Goro and Sota, overlooking the celebration. The event brought back a flood of memories of a similar celebration from her childhood—a time when everything was much simpler and she could easily answer the question who are you? The memory filled her heart with a sweet sadness, a reminder of what she lost and what had carved the road to where she was now. Her gaze fell on the dancing villagers, but she wasn’t watching them. Not really. Her attention was fully embedded in her heart ache, longing for the past, for the life that was so cruelly ripped away from her. “I think... I think I might know how to answer your question,” she finally said, her voice soft and steady, barely audible over the cacophony of festivity around them. “Oh?” Goro responded, his face alight with intrigue. “I would have to tell you my story.” Kitsune’s eyes reflected the somber clouds of her past. Goro swallowed his bite of food before nodding. “Let us retire to the dojo, and you can tell me.” They retreated from the bustling square, leaving behind the chaos of the celebration. The sounds of laughter and chatter and drums carried away by distance. The dojo, with its bamboo and sturdy jungle planks, was bathed in the soft luminescence of the moonlight, the surface of its wooden architecture glistening faintly under the glow. They stepped into the silent tranquility of the building, and Kitsune made her way to the center, the smooth, cool touch of the polished wooden floor beneath her providing a sense of peace. Assuming the lotus position, she calmed herself, ready to speak of memories she hadn’t confronted in a long time. Not in any meaningful way at least. Across from her, Goro settled, his gaze intense yet patient, encouraging her with a gentle smile like he somehow already understood her story was hard to verbalize.

Steve was a warrior in every sense of the word, but battling wildlife perpetrators just wasn’t the same as old-fashioned combat. Because Steve’s knees continued to deteriorate, his surfing ability was severely compromised. Instead of giving up in despair, Steve sought another outlet for all his pent-up energy. Through our head of security, Dan Higgins, Steve discovered mixed martial arts (or MMA) fighting. Steve was a natural at sparring. His build was unbelievable, like a gorilla’s, with his thick chest, long arms, and outrageous strength for hugging things (like crocs). Once he grabbed hold of something, there was no getting away. He had a punch equivalent to the kick of a Clydesdale, he could just about lift somebody off the ground with an uppercut, and he took to grappling as a wonderful release. Steve never did anything by halves. I remember one time the guys were telling him that a good body shot could really wind someone. Steve suddenly said, “No one’s given me a good body shot. Try to drop me with a good one so I know what it feels like.” Steve opened up his arms and Dan just pile drove him. Steve said, in between gasps, “Thanks, mate. That was great, I get your point.” I would join in and spar or work the pads, or roll around until I was absolutely exhausted. Steve would go until he threw up. I’ve never seen anything like it. Some MMA athletes are able to seek that dark place, that point of total exhaustion--they can see it, stare at it, and sometimes get past it. Steve ran to it every day. He wasn’t afraid of it. He tried to get himself to that point of exhaustion so that maybe the next day he could get a little bit further. Soon we were recruiting the crew, anyone who had any experience grappling. Guys from the tiger department or construction were lining up to have a go, and Steve would go through the blokes one after another, grappling away. And all the while I loved it too. Here was something else that Steve and I could do together, and he was hilarious. Sometimes he would be cooking dinner, and I’d come into the kitchen and pat him on the bum with a flirtatious look. The next thing I knew he had me in underhooks and I was on the floor. We’d be rolling around, laughing, trying to grapple each other. It’s like the old adage when you’re watching a wildlife documentary: Are they fighting or mating? It seems odd that this no-holds-barred fighting really brought us closer, but we had so much fun with it. Steve finally built his own dojo on a raised concrete pad with a cage, shade cloth, fans, mats, bags, and all that great gear. Six days a week, he would start grappling at daylight, as soon as the guys would get into work. He had his own set of techniques and was a great brawler in his own right, having stood up for himself in some of the roughest, toughest, most remote outback areas. Steve wasn’t intimidated by anyone. Dan Higgins brought a bunch of guys over from the States, including Keith Jardine and other pros, and Steve couldn’t wait to tear into them. He held his own against some of the best MMA fighters in the world. I always thought that if he’d wanted to be a fighter as a profession, he would have been dangerous. All the guys heartily agreed.

The next morning, I worked out at Murakami’s dojo in Asakusa. When I arrived, the men who were already training paused and gave me a low collective bow—a sign of their respect for the way I had dispatched Adonis. After that, I was treated in a dozen subtle ways with deference that bordered on awe. Even Washio, older than I and with a much longer and deeper association with the dojo, was using different verb forms to indicate that he now considered me his superior.

They devoted themselves to their training till each proudly earned a degree. Three pigs full of mojo then ran their own dojo, and life was forever wolf-free.

I came to a payphone and used the number Tatsu had given me. He picked up on the first ring. “Okay to talk?” I asked him. “Yes.” “Our man trains for his fights. Not at a regular dojo.” “I expect that is correct.” “Do you have information about where?” “Nothing beyond what is in the envelope.” “Okay. Here’s what we’re looking for. A small place. A hundred square meters, something like that. Not in an upscale neighborhood, but not too far downscale, either. Discreet. No advertising. Tough clientele. Organized crime, biker types, enforcers. People with police records. Histories of violence. You ever hear of a place like that?” “I haven’t. But I know where to check.” “How long?” “A day. Maybe less.” “Put whatever you find on the secure site. Page me when it’s done.” “I will.” I hung up.

I made it my mission right then to actively model strength and capability for her — to show her that, in fact, girls do play hard — and to give her opportunities to prove to herself that she was indeed tough and strong and awesome, too.

Like a lot of parents, I had a strong intuition that grit is enhanced by doing activities like ballet . . . or piano . . . or football . . . or really any structured extracurricular activity. These activities possess two important features that are hard to replicate in any other setting. First, there’s an adult in charge—ideally, a supportive and demanding one—who is not the parent. Second, these pursuits are designed to cultivate interest, practice, purpose, and hope. The ballet studio, the recital hall, the dojo, the basketball court, the gridiron—these are the playing fields of grit.

When people go to a dojo they don't expect to master a martial art in a day or gain their black belt after a few hours of training, but for some mysterious reason they think they can achieve mastery in writing good books, building a successful business and living their best life after a few questions are answered. They are so delusional that they can't even see that they keep asking the wrong questions.

wanted to learn martial arts. Dojos, that is, martial arts schools, sprung up around city and town centers.

Our teachers in life are not only those we pay, as Hammett paid Satriani. Nor are they necessarily part of some training dojo, like it is for Shamrock. Many of the best teachers are free. They volunteer because, like you, they once were young and had the same goals you do. Many don’t even know they are teaching—they are simply exemplars, or even historical figures whose lessons survive in books and essays. But ego makes us so hardheaded and hostile to feedback that it drives them away or puts them beyond our reach. It’s why the old proverb says, “When student is ready, the teacher appears.

De los maestros que empleaban la meditación, ninguno de ellos nunca meditó solo durante unos pocos segundos, ya que parece un tiempo tremendamente corto para alcanzar un estado meditativo. Aunque yo ya era un meditador de toda la vida, incluso antes de unirme al dojo del Sensei Osaki, el ritual de meditación de dos segundos desafiaba mis habilidades.

But then I knew better than anyone how the persona you chose to present to the world could be very different from what was really inside. I knew how grief could make you behave in ways you couldn't even begin to understand.

And if a black guy steals your wallet, do you grab the closest brother and demand to know where it is, because they all must know each other? And all Asians hang out in dojos practicing kung fu, right, just like Bruce Lee?

So what’s the lowdown on the new hire?” he wanted to know. Ah. All became instantly clear. Hardy had moved on to new prey. And while that was a yay for Kerry, it was a boo for poor Maddy. She’d have to warn her. “You mean Madison? Sorry, Hardy, she’s taken. Happily engaged to Sal’s nephew, Micah.” “Engaged isn’t taken; it only means she’s been reserved,” he said, a cocky grin spreading on his face as he glanced over the heads of the crowd to where Maddy was tending bar. “Reservations can get canceled.” “Hardy--” But he wasn’t listening to her. He’d been called back to his table by his buddies to take his turn. “Oh, boy,” she muttered and wound her way back to the bar. She ducked under the bar and worked her way back down until she was beside Maddy again. “Warning,” she said, keeping her voice as low as she could. “Mr. Tall, Dark, and Cocky at the back pool table? You might want to keep an eye there. I told him you were engaged--” “Don’t worry. We’ve already had a chat.” “Well, you may be having another one, as he doesn’t seem all that put off.” “I’ll be fine, but thanks for running interference.” “He seems well meaning enough,” Kerry told her, “but he’s not the sharpest tool when it comes to the word no. You’ll have to say it repeatedly for it to sink in.” Maddy nodded while setting bowls on the bar, then filling them with pretzels and nuts. “Have I mentioned that I grew up working in my much older brother’s dojo?

Have I mentioned that I grew up working in my much older brother’s dojo?” “Dojo?” Kerry repeated. “As in karate? Judo?” “Tae kwon do,” Maddy said. She shot a knowing grin Kerry’s way. “Ah,” Kerry said, understanding dawning. “And what color would your belt be, jongyeonghaneun yeosong?” Maddy laughed. “I don’t know if I’m an honorable woman,” she said, surprising Kerry by understanding her very rough Korean. “But my belt, it is black.” Maddy sketched a quick martial arts bow, making both women laugh. They glanced toward the back of the bar at the same time, only to find a grinning Hardy looking their way. “See? He’s the guy who assumes women are always talking about him,” Kerry said. “Well, we are,” Maddy replied. “He can’t know we’re discussing how best to dismantle his manhood if he so much as thinks about laying a finger on me.” She said all this with a serene smile. Hardy lifted his beer in a salute, presumably to Maddy, before downing the rest in a single gulp, as if beer consumption somehow proved his manly man prowess. “Poor Hardy,” Kerry said with a mock sigh. “But then, he never did seem big on wanting to have children. Just ask his ex-wife.” She ducked her chin as both women shared another laugh before continuing with their work. After that, the rest of the night didn’t seem all that arduous. Maddy was happy to return Kerry’s wingman favor, and between the two of them, they managed to distract, deflect, or defend much of the ribbing being thrown Kerry’s way and actually had a much better time doing it than Kerry would have imagined.

Dojo Rising I could beat myself down You don't need to bother If I didn't mind the distance It would probably make me stronger Give it to me easy Give it to be hard Just wanna get get get lit, yeah Then I’m gonna break your heart Should have probably told you from the start But I’m lazy And I don't want anything, yeah And I don't want anything, yeah Alright I could talk to your boss Meet him in the car park Let’s talk about logistics That will make me feel so, good Give it to me easy Give it to me hard Just wanna get, get, get lit, yeah Then I’m gonna break your heart Should have probably told you from the start But I’m lazy And I don't want anything, yeah (and I don't want anything) And I don't want anything, yeah (and I don't want anything) and I don't want anything, yeah (and I don't want anything) and I don't want anything, yeah (and I don't want anything) Give it to me easy, Give it to be hard Get lit Give it to me easy, Give it to me hard (trillo on hard) And I don't want anything, Oooh-ooooooh-oooh, oooh-ooooooh Get lit Oooh-ooooooh-oooh, oooh-ooooooh And I don't want, h’and I, Get get get get get get geta geta geta geta geta geta geta get Get lit Get get get geta geta geta geta geta get geta geta geta geta And I don't want anything

The realization of what was happening meant that I had to shift mental gears. There is, after all, fighting. And then there is fighting. It’s a point I continually try to bring home to people in Yamashita’s dojo. They don’t really get it—it’s something you have to experience for yourself. But it’s not something I wish on anyone.

The self-destruction of a group always follows the same patterns. You only need to introduce some viruses to the group and poof, it’s all gone. These viruses come in the form of very ignorant narcissists that nobody has the courage to kick off of the group. Quite often, the group even promotes itself as being against the personalities that are in front of their eyes every day, people they praise and even lead them. And well, that’s how you know a group is truly finished. Scientology is a very interesting example of this, because of how clear their books are. For example, they claim to love artists but end up insulting real artists. Scientologists are so obsessed with being perceived as artists, that they downgrade real art in the process. You have many scientologists, for example, that think splashing a random amount of ink into a white board is art. They all want to be artists, and that’s fine, but they are too lazy to see how real art is made, and so, they downgrade the value of art. And in doing this, they actually distort the meaning of art and decrease the value of the real artists. And so, a group that promotes itself as being uplifting and positive, ends up being offensive and destructive. They have all these books on moral codes and moral behavior, and dozens of courses on the same topic, and if you report a scientologist for criminal behavior, they ignore you and deem you an attacker of the group. And there goes the level of sanity of this group down the scale, while they themselves invert the scale and tell you the opposite story. It would be like looking at your mental health through someone suffering with poor mental health. They are as aware of what I am saying as any mentally ill person is aware of his mental illnesses. If anyone confronts them with the facts, they themselves get offended, and then proceed to attack, because that’s what they think their founder told them to do. Except that the founder was talking about attacking insanity and not people. In other words, they should use these facts to look further into their books and their own misinterpretations, and which they don’t. Those people that splash random colors into a white board, will then tell you, the one who has been using techniques, and winning awards, and creating something unique, that you don’t understand art. They remind me of the writers with one book that doesn't sell, trying to tell me how they are better than me, with more than 100 books in best selling charts. How delusional, arrogant and stupid has one to be to not see this? The level of awareness of such individual is comparable to a drunk person going to a Jujitsu dojo, asking the instructor to fight him because he is convinced he can beat anyone with all that alcohol in his head. That, however, is not the cherry on top of the cake. The cherry on top of the cake, is when a religious group listens to a psychopath talking against psychopaths. You can write many academic papers on this topic and never reach a conclusion, because it's really hard to make conclusions on stupidity. So what’s wrong with religion? Why are some religious groups persecuted and attacked? The answer to these questions isn’t as relevant as what we can observe people doing, when denying the most obvious writings, inverting them and distorting the meanings. Christians have already mastered this art.

our everyday life, filled with noise and lively activities of people, must be the most convenient dojo for kufu to practice Zen in movement.

You are disappointed,” Dionysus deduced. “You don’t like him, do you?” Dionysus was sitting in The Dojo, talking to Emma. “He is overly confident, unskilled, impulsive, and…and...” Emma tried to think of more insults to describe Michael with. “And he did just save your life,” Dionysus added. “I have trained you better than to be jealous, Emma.” “I’m not jealous, I just… I’m better than him, I should be the chosen one!” Emma explained.

I’m not going to discuss this matter any further. You should go train, Emma. I have made my decision. Michael is the chosen one,” Dionysus cemented. Emma sighed in disappointment and walked out of The Dojo, slamming the door shut behind her—just to make sure Dionysus knew she was mad. Instead of going to the builder training grounds, she instead went to the woods so she could calm down. Just one mistake, that’s all it took, and she was kicked out of the “chosen one club”. It was in a battle just days ago where Emma and Jack’s old warrior was killed. Thinking his death was her fault, Emma gave up. She surrendered and called a retreat, proving to Dionysus that she was not the chosen one. The one with unbreakable willpower. Walking in the woods, Emma felt a sudden chill as the birds stopped chirping and the winds stopped blowing. Everything got quiet, there were no sounds except for the rhythmic beating of her heart. She turned around as she heard footsteps behind her. “Disappointed in Dionysus?” a voice beckoned out from a nearby tree making her heart race

An important teaching of martial arts is that the whole world is a dojo. What we learn in here can be applied out there. And vice versa.

Where you step into transformation, there is your dojo.

I can’t leave The Dojo,” Dionysus explained “Why?” I continued my questioning.

Then find other way. I learn in temple. Taught by ancient master. When trouble, always remember wise words of ancient and venerable master.’ ‘What were they?’ ‘Ancient master say: “That boy there! What you eating? Hope you brought enough for everybody!” Ancient master say: “You bad boy! Why you no do homework?” Ancient master say: “What boy laughing? No tell what boy laughing, whole dojo stay in after school!” When remember these wise words, nothing seems so bad.

She sat alone at a table in the corner and looked down at her tray, sampling the rice and beans, and poking idly at the enchilada with her fork. Danny came and sat at her table a moment later. He’d begun to sit with her at lunch these last few weeks, though he hadn’t quite figured out how to speak to her with any degree of comfort since the concert. No one else even had the temerity to approach her on most days. If it was raining and the patio was unusable, it would be more crowded inside, and other kids would have to squeeze in at her table. But today, for some reason, Billy Codrow plumped down across from her, and Wayne Turley came in right behind him. She knew them all from the dojo, but Billy and Wayne had never sat with her before.

A magic dragon-lady running in with a glowing white sword might scare the shit out of the people I’m here to help. So… I’ll play nice.

Ideally, the promotion process should yield a result similar to the very best karate dojos. In top dojos, in order to achieve the next level (for example, being promoted from a brown belt to a black belt), you must defeat an opponent in combat at that level. This guarantees that a new black belt is never a worse fighter than the worst current black belt.

Choose a dojo. There’s Ross Jeffries and the school of Speed Seduction, where subliminal language patterns are used to get a girl aroused. Or Mystery and the Mystery Method, in which social dynamics are manipulated to snag the most desirable woman in a club. Or David DeAngelo and Double Your Dating, in which he advocates keeping the upper hand over a woman through a combination of humor and arrogance that he calls cocky funny. Or Gunwitch and Gunwitch Method, in which the only thing students have to do is project animalistic sexuality and escalate physical contact until the woman stops them. His crude motto: “Make the ho say no.” Or there’s David X, David Shade, Rick H., Major Mark, and Juggler—the newest guru on the scene, who appeared online one day claiming he could pick up women better and faster than any other PUA simply by reading his grocery list. Then there are the inner-circle teachers, like Steve P. and Rasputin, who reveal their techniques only to those they deem worthy. Yes, there are plenty of mentors to choose from, each with his own methods and disciples, each operating under the belief that his way is the way. And the giants do battle constantly

Erica sat beside me and looked at me adoringly, which made me stop breathing again. Then she tenderly ran her fingers through my hair, which nearly gave me a heart attack. And after that, she secretly slipped a radio transmitter into my ear, confirming yet again that the only reason she ever touched me outside of a dojo was as part of an act.

Asking for help in the military is changing. Before, it used to be seen as weak or shameful. It was synonymous with you could no longer handle your load. Fortunately now, it is not normally seen that way. When your household, career, religious beliefs, Dojo, friends, family, or associates view asking for help as being weak, then shame will prevent you from asking for help. We hold in high regard the people and things closest to us. Those inside our circle, especially our circle that we choose. There is no shame in doing a thing of which everyone you love already approves. In other words, you have to feel like it's not acceptable to feel shame. Sometimes this shame and the negative environment is created unintentionally; when the people you surround yourself with never admit mistakes, never have problems, and never forgive mistakes. These create a negative environment. A better description of it is a misleading environment.

I roll my eyes. “Do I need to hit you with a rolled-up newspaper or something? Bad assassin. Bad,” I add, waggling my finger at her.

All we can ever do is our absolute best. All we can ever ask of ourselves is to be better than we were yesterday.

A Spectre. An assassin. A deadly weapon in the shadows, bred to kill dragons. That’s what I am. That’s why they hate me.

Web Application Development In this modern world of computer technology all people are using internet. In particular, to take advantage of this scenario the web provides a way for marketers to get to know the people visiting their sites and start communicating with them. One way of doing this is asking web visitors to subscribe to newsletters, to submit an application form when requesting information on products or provide details to customize their browsing experience when next visiting a particular website. In computing, a web application is a client–server software application in which the client runs in a web browser. HTML5 introduced explicit language support for making applications that are loaded as web pages, but can store data locally and continue to function while offline. Web Applications are dynamic web sites combined with server side programming which provide functionalities such as interacting with users, connecting to back-end databases, and generating results to browsers. Examples of Web Applications are Online Banking, Social Networking, Online Reservations, eCommerce / Shopping Cart Applications, Interactive Games, Online Training, Online Polls, Blogs, Online Forums, Content Management Systems, etc.. Applications are usually broken into logical chunks called “tiers”, where every tier is assigned a role. Traditional applications consist only of 1 tier, which resides on the client machine, but web applications lend themselves to an n-tiered approach by nature. Though many variations are possible, the most common structure is the three-tiered application. In its most common form, the three tiers are called presentation, application and storage, in this order. A web browser is the first tier (presentation), an engine using some dynamic Web content technology (such as ASP, CGI, ColdFusion, Dart, JSP/Java, Node.js, PHP, Python or Ruby on Rails) is the middle tier (application logic), and a database is the third tier (storage).The web browser sends requests to the middle tier, which services them by making queries and updates against the database and generates a user interface. Client Side Scripting / Coding – Client Side Scripting is the type of code that is executed or interpreted by browsers. Client Side Scripting is generally viewable by any visitor to a site (from the view menu click on “View Source” to view the source code). Below are some common Client Side Scripting technologies: HTML (HyperTextMarkup Language) CSS (Cascading Style Sheets) JavaScript Ajax (Asynchronous JavaScript and XML) jQuery (JavaScript Framework Library – commonly used in Ajax development) MooTools (JavaScript Framework Library – commonly used in Ajax development) Dojo Toolkit (JavaScript Framework Library – commonly used in Ajax development) Server Side Scripting / Coding – Server Side Scripting is the type of code that is executed or interpreted by the web server. Server Side Scripting is not viewable or accessible by any visitor or general public. Below are the common Server Side Scripting technologies: PHP (very common Server Side Scripting language – Linux / Unix based Open Source – free redistribution, usually combines with MySQL database) Zend Framework (PHP’s Object Oriented Web Application Framework) ASP (Microsoft Web Server (IIS) Scripting language) ASP.NET (Microsoft’s Web Application Framework – successor of ASP) ColdFusion (Adobe’s Web Application Framework) Ruby on Rails (Ruby programming’s Web Application Framework – free redistribution) Perl (general purpose high-level programming language and Server Side Scripting Language – free redistribution – lost its popularity to PHP) Python (general purpose high-level programming language and Server Side Scripting language – free redistribution). We also provide Training in various Computer Languages. TRIRID provide quality Web Application Development Services. Call us @ 8980010210

Many people "think" they are entitled to dignity, and "believe in the right to dignity," but they are not engaged in the embodied practices that produce dignity. A spirited commitment to dignity is different than assuming we are entitled to be treated with dignity simply because we have reached a certain age, created a certain amount of wealth, attained a particular status, or have the legal right to vote. Dignity is not a given; we are not automatically entitled to it. We embody, or become dignity through a set of practices. Dignity, in other words, is not an ideal or mental construct but an embodiment of what we care about. In the Leadership Dojo, we call this embodying a "stand."p111

The following parable of the stonecutters is a useful metaphor in understanding the connection between language, story, and action. Imagine three stonecutters, each with a mallet in one hand and a cold chisel in the other, sitting on a stool in front of a huge block of granite. To the casual observer it looks as if they are all doing the same thing, cutting on a slab of stone. The are, in other words, all engaged in the same activity. When we ask the first stonecutter what he's doing, he replies, "I'm carving a piece of stone." We move to the second stonecutter and ask her what she's doing. "I'm building a wall," she says. When we ask the same question of the third stonecutter, he answers, "I'm creating a cathedral." p99

Socrates suggests that the more evolved a man is, the more he is able to put aside his fears and hankering after comfort and take a stand for his worth and the worth of those he loves. And if necessary, he will for an "alliance for battle with what seems just," even if he "suffers in hunger, cold, and everything of the sort." This quality of courage to take a stand, to fight for one's value, and to be unwilling to make moral compromises is what we call a "spirited commitment to dignity" in the Leadership Dojo. Exelemplary leaders embody this commitment. p109

Socrates suggests that the more evolved a man is, the more he is able to put aside his fears and hankering after comfort and take a stand for his worth and the worth of those he loves. And if necessary, he will for an "alliance for battle with what seems just," even if he "suffers in hunger, cold, and everything of the sort." This quality of courage to take a stand, to fight for one's value, and to be unwilling to make moral compromises is what we call a "spirited commitment to dignity" in the Leadership Dojo. Exemplary leaders embody this commitment. p109

At one point when he and a colleague were researching emotional expressions by forming their facial muscles into the shape of a specific emotion, Eckman stumbled upon a starling truth about mind and body. At the end of a day of emulating and practicing the muscular shape of sadness, he realized that he felt very, very sad. His colleague corroborated this, and they began to track their reactions as they spent hours shaping the muscles of their faces into a particular emotion. "We weren't expecting this at all. And it happened to both of us. We felt terrible. What we were generating was sadness, anguish." He experienced the same things with other emotions; his heartbeat increased ten to twelve beats when he shaped his face into the expression of anger, and his hands significantly heated up. What we discovered is that expression alone is sufficient to create marked changes in the autonomic nervous system. If you intentionally make a facial expression, you change your physiology. By making the correct expression, you begin to have the changes in your physiology that accompany the emotion. The face is not simply a means of display, but also a means of activating emotion. In other words, simply putting the face into a smile drives the brain to activity typical of happiness- just as a frown does with sadness." p94

TWO YEARS AGO I FOUND AN IMAGE OF A KID WITH HER HANDS COVERING HER FACE. A SEATBELT REACHED ACROSS HER TORSO, RIDING UP HER NECK AND A MOP OF BLONDE HAIR STAYED SWEPT, FOR THE MOMENT, BEHIND HER EARS. HER EYES SEEMED CLEAR AND CALM BUT NOT BLANK, THE ROAD BEHIND HER SEEMED THE SAME, I PUT MYSELF IN HER SEAT THEN I PLAYED IT ALL OUT IN MY HEAD. THE CLAUSTROPHOBIA HITS AS THE SEATBELT TIGHTENS, PREVENTING ME FROM EVEN LEANING FORWARD IN MY SEAT, THE PRESSING ON INTERNAL ORGANS. I LEAN BACK AND FORWARD TO RELEASE IT, THEN BACKWARDS AND FORWARD AGAIN. THERE IT IS I GOT FREE. HOW MUCH OF MY LIFE HAS HAPPENED INSIDE OF A CAR? I WONDER IF THE ODDS ARE THAT I'LL DIE IN ONE, KNOCK ON WOOD-GRAIN. SHOULDN'T SPEAK LIKE THAT. WE LIVE IN CARS IN SOME CITIES, COMMUTING ACROSS SPACE EITHER FOR OUR LIVELIHOOD, OR DEVOURING FOSSIL FUELS FOR JOY. IT'S CLOSE TO AS MUCH TIME AS WE SPEND IN OUR BEDS, MORE FOR SOME. THE FIRST TIME I DID SHROOMS, MY MANAGER HAD TO COME RESCUE ME FROM CALTECH'S 'TRIP DAY. AS I GOT INTO HER CAR, I SWEAR TO GOD THE ALUMINUM CENTER CONSOLE IN HER PORSCHE TRUCK LOOKED LIKE IT WAS BREATHING, LIKE THE THROAT OF SOMETHING. ON THE FREEWAY, LEAVING PASADENA, WE SPOKE AND I LOOKED AWAY, OUTSIDE, AT THE WHEELS AND TIRES OF CARS DOING THAT OPTICAL ILLUSION THING THEY DO WHERE IT LOOKS LIKE THEY'RE SPINNING BACKWARDS, WHICH, ACCORDING TO GOOGLE, HAPPENS BECAUSE OUR BRAINS ARE ASSUMING SOMETHING COMPLETELY WRONG AND SHOWING IT TO US. STARING, I WAS TRANSFIXED BY ALL THE INDICATOR LIGHTS OSCILLATING AND THROBBING AGAINST THE WIND. WE DROVE THRU DOWNTOWN LA HEADED WEST, FLYING ON THE SAME FREEWAYS I USED TO RUN OUTTA GAS ON. WELCOMED IN BY THE PERENNIAL CREATURES, IMPERIAL PALM TREES AND CLIMBING VINES LIVING THEIR LIVES OUT JUST OFF THE SHOULDER. THE FEELING OF FAMILIAR ENHANCED, ON THE 10. I USED TO RIDE AROUND IN MY SINEWY CROSSOVER SUV, SMOKE AND LISTEN TO ROUGH MIXES OF MY OLD SHIT BEFORE IT CAME OUT, OR WHATEVER SOMEONE WANTED TO PLAY WHEN THEY HOOKED UP THEIR IPHONE TO THE AUX CORD A FEW YEARS AND A FEW DAILY-DRIVERS LATER I'M NOT DRIVING MUCH ANYMORE, IT'S BEEN A YEAR SINCE I MOVED TO LONDON, AT THE TIME OF WRITING THIS, AND THERE'S NO PRACTICAL REASON TO DRIVE IN THIS CITY. I ORDERED A GT3 RS AND IT'LL KEEP LOW MILES OUT HERE BUT I GUESS IT'S GOOD TO HAVE IN CASE OF EMERGENCY :) RAF SIMONS ONCE TOLD ME IT WAS CLICHE, MY WHOLE CAR OBSESSION MAYBE IT LINKS TO A DEEP SUBCONSCIOUS STRAIGHT BOY FANTASY. CONSCIOUSLY THOUGH, I DON'T WANT STRAIGHT A LITTLE BENT IS GOOD. I FOUND IT ROMANTIC, SOMETIMES, EDITING THIS PROJECT. THE WHOLE TIME I FELT AS THOUGH I WAS IN THE PRESENCE OF A $16M MCLAREN F1 ARMED WITH A DISPOSABLE CAMERA. MY MEMORIES ARE IN THESE PAGES, PLACES CLOSEBY AND LONG ASS-NUMBING FLIGHTS AWAY. CRUISING THE SUBURBS OF TOKYO IN RWB PORSCHES. THROWING PARTIES AROUND ENGLAND AND MOBBING FREEWAYS IN FOUR PROJECT M3S THAT I BUILT WITH SOME FRIENDS. GOING TO MISSISSIPPI AND PLAYING IN THE MUD WITH AMPHIBIOUS QUADS. STREET-CASTING MODELS AT A RANDOM KUNG FU DOJO OUT IN SENEGAL. COMMISSIONING LIFE-SIZE TOY BOXES FOR THE FUCK OF IT SHOOTING A MUSIC VIDEO FOR FUN WITH TYRONE LEBON, THE GENIUS GIANT. TAKING A BREAK-SLASH-RECONNAISSANCE MISSION TO TULUM, MEXICO, ENJOYING SOME STAR VISIBILITY FOR A CHANGE. RECORDING IN TOKYO, NYC, MIAMI, LA, LONDON, PARIS. STOPPING IN BERLIN TO WITNESS BERGHAIN FOR MYSELF, TRADING JEWELS AND SOAKING IN PARABLES WITH THE MANY-HEADED BRANDON AKA BASEDGOD IN CONVERSATION, I WROTE A STORY IN THE MIDDLE-IT'S CALLED 'GODSPEED', IT'S BASICALLY A REIMAGINED PART OF MY BOYHOOD. BOYS DO CRY, BUT I DON'T THINK I SHED A TEAR FOR A GOOD CHUNK OF MY TEENAGE YEARS. IT'S SURPRISINGLY MY FAVORITE PART OF LIFE SO FAR. SURPRISING, TO ME, BECAUSE THE CURRENT PHASE IS WHAT I WAS ASKING THE COSMOS FOR WHEN I WAS A KID. MAYBE THAT PART HAD IT'S ROUGH STRETCHES TOO, BUT IN MY REARVIEW MIRROR IT'S GETTING SMALL ENOUGH TO CONVINCE MYSELF IT WAS ALL GOOD. AND REALLY THOUGH... IT'S STILL ALL GOOD.