STRIDE 3
Fighting & Surviving
The feeling: “I’m tired of being beaten down. I’m mad. I’m hurt. And I’m afraid. But I’m going to show up for myself even if no one else will. I’m going to fight for myself.”
BAM! I saw the Milky Way, rockets and stars!! It was the summer of my tenth year and that left-handed punch came straight at me without hesitation and landed squarely on my right eye.
My best friend that summer and two years before was Sean Blakemore. We both loved to draw, explore the woods like Indiana Jones for ancient relics, and while the summers away at the pool in our apartment complex.
In the neighborhood there was a cast of ruffians known as the O’Malleys, an Irish family with ten kids, whose bad attitude had rode roughshod over the vicinity for years with their bullying and nasty mouths.Their reputation and cruel exploits were well known near and far, and every kid knew to watch their back on the way to and from school, or while out and about at the park or local convenience store. Kids everywhere were tired of feeling the oppression that hung everywhere like an ominous thundercloud threatening lunch money and physical safety, but rarely did someone dare to tangle with the O’Malleys.They ruled the neighborhood roost with a heavy hand, and man, they were trouble with a capital T.
One day that summer the swimming pool was playing full bore with a cacophony of neighborhood kids blaring away with screams of glee and blasting boom boxes. Sean and I were playing underwater games like Marco Polo and Man from Atlantis, having the time of our lives like we did every day in the haze of long summer days. In the middle of one of our classic make-believe 007 James Bond underwater knife fights, Elliott O’Malley, the youngest O’Malley kid who was still a few years older than me and my buddy, appeared out of nowhere snatched up Sean and held him in a tight neck cradle thrashing him about in the water without a chance to breathe.This was of course the infamous feared water torture game of bullies—Dunking! The classic mismatched contest where a bigger kid forcibly deprives his victim of the breath of life and steals his pride as his own.
And this is what Elliott was doing to my best friend, dunking the hell out of him with nothing to breathe but chlorinated H2O, heaving him up and down with no mercy in his eyes or heart until Sean caught enough oxygen to cry out for him to stop. “Shut your mouth, little baby,” Elliott growled. “If you don’t shut up I’ll drown you for real!”
Elliott had big pounds and inches on us both, but despite that and the water being up to my chest, without a second thought I started crawl stroking to my friend’s side with iron in my eyes and yelled, “Elliott, leave him alone!!You are a big meany and a big A-hole!!”
Elliott turned toward me and dropped Sean in gasping convulsions with arms akimbo. “Hey little chump! What are you gonna do about it?” he challenged.
“I will freakin’ kick your butt, you bastard!” My words spat out like fire in hopes of scaring the big bully with my bluster and toughness. Instead, and without a moment’s notice, his left fist came slamming in fast and hard directly to my right eye, and I fell back seeing rockets and stars as the water splashed in around me!
In such a moment of violence and oppression many courses of action are possible, but as for me at ten years of age, on that day I came up out of the water with my fists of fury a-swinging. I buried my head into my enemy’s chest and just started throwing hooks and uppercuts to the body, a full-on onslaught of punches to the liver, belly, and ribs.
As I banged away I literally felt my blasted eye swelling shut, but I paid no mind, I was in the slipstream of the eternal fight for right. In the background the sounds of Sean screaming, “Get him, Rudy! You can take him!” rang through, further fueling the fire in my belly and the pressure of my assault.
“Get him, Rudy! Get him!You can do it!”
Then somehow, to my surprise, another sound began to filter in. It was Elliott’s voice. Big bad Elliott, who until this moment I had only seen as someone to fear and acquiesce my pride and pennies to, was crying, “Rudy, stop! Stop! Pleeeease stop!”
Hearing these words from an O’Malley gangster didn’t seem possible, so I kept right on pounding, but Elliott cried again, “I give up! Please stop, Rudy. I don’t want to fight anymore! I’m sorry . . . I give up!!”
There’s a similar scene in the popular holiday film A Christmas Story in which the neighborhood hooligan, Scut Farkus, has been repeatedly razzing Ralph and his friends on their way to and from school, leaving the boys in a constant state of run or get beat up. Then something happens. It seems like any other day of getting bullied by Scut, except that Ralph’s now under the pressure of getting a C+ grade on his homework and losing his hopes of ever getting a Red Ryder BB gun for Christmas. So when the usual snowball and tormenting are lobbed his way as he walks home from school, this time something snaps; instead of running away, Ralph rushes forward and knocks Scut to the ground, impaling him with a barrage of punches and foul language. And he continues throwing fists until the bully cries out for mercy, and Ralph is finally wrested from attack mode by his mother. And for Ralph, things were different after that.
With my brothers at the swimming pool.
A similar thing happened in the swimming pool as I assailed Elliott with unabashed abandon and a barrage of punches for tormenting my friend with Dunking. As I realized the tide had turned, other realizations flooded over me. And so I stopped.
And things were different after that.
In the moments that followed I felt myself a champion and a hero. A hero to myself, to my friend, and to others looking on who feared the O’Malleys just like we did. I stood up for my friend and myself that day, and in doing so I knew something more about myself that I liked.
I liked knowing there was a seat of courage inside of me available to be tapped at any moment.
I liked knowing I can show up for myself.
I liked knowing that I am willing to fight for myself, no matter the odds.
I liked the thought I had done my heroes proud.
I liked feeling that on that day, the phrase “You are a hero” meant me.
The Time to Fight
In the Dunking incident with the bully at the pool, the life-giving supply of air was cut off to my friend Sean when his ability to breathe was suppressed. Without air, life continues on for only a few minutes, making fight and survive feel immediately paramount when we cannot catch a breath. In Latin, spiritus is the word for “breath,” as well as “spirit” and “energy.” So in a sense you could even say that his spirit and energy were imperiled.
In traditional Chinese culture, chi is taken to be the active forming part of any living thing, or the flow of energy that sustains living beings, the term literally translating as “air” or “breath.” Chi is produced by the universe issuing forth to manifest as an ongoing cosmic balance of yin and yang, a continual process between seemingly opposing forces that actively give rise to each other in an interconnected interdependent relationship.
For thousands of years Asian cultures have given great attention to maintaining the balance and flow of chi in all things. For instance, feng shui is based on calculating the balance of chi as it relates to the placement of furniture or other elements in a living space because this directly affects the energy level of the occupants. In Chinese medicine, chi in the body is thought to circulate in channels called meridians, and when the flow through the meridians is disrupted, blocked, or unbalanced, it may result in illness. Thus treatments such as acupuncture are performed to clear those blockages and restore the flow of chi for optimum health.
In Dunking it is well understood that Elliott O’Malley had no intention of actually drowning my friend Sean. So if real mortal danger was not the intent, what instead was going on? Perhaps a number of things, but to me it seems that Elliott was primarily engaged in an act of theft rather than murder. By physically overwhelming and intimidating someone, by producing fear and angst in his victim, the bully created a scenario for taking. And by picking on someone younger and smaller, being willing to hurt and cause harm to another, he increased his odds to near certainty of being able to take. Much as a mythological vampire sucks the life giving blood of their victims in order to live, Elliott felt his own life energy stores swell when taking the energy and spirit of others, leaving the victim feeling drained and violated, distressed, anxious, or uncomfortable at the exercise of unjust authority. In other words, his tool in this robbery was oppression.
Oppression.
The Latin root of the word means “to press” or “to crush.” And isn’t that the way it can feel when the yoke of a tyrant weighs heavily down? From a childhood Dunking game to an unfair boss to a smothering relationship or anyone keeping another person or people under subservience and hardship.
In such moments as these is held an invitation to muster your courage and stand in resolution for yourself, for others, or “what’s right,” a seed of opportunity intoned as the loud quiet voice of the hero’s call. The courage to stand up for yourself is an ever-present thread in the fabric of us all. Even when it doesn’t seem so, seems out of sight, out of reach, feels missing or dormant, or even unwanted.
My grandmother on my mother’s side was forged on the hard anvil of the 1930s Depression working the fields up and down the Midwest from Mexico to Canada. She had a strong jaw and the look of a fair-skinned Spaniard who had crossed many oceans. One of six children, she grew up hard tack and hard scrabble attending school in the small south Texas town of Pharr where deep-rooted racism and sexism were alive and in full force.
During WWII the man who would later become her husband was serving in the Army. He was handsome with his old world La tino style melding machismo and bravado with charismatic suave, and he cut a striking figure in uniform with his brown skin and dark eyes. In the jubilance of a postwar world where people instantly wed at the drop of a kiss, my grandfather wooed her with the style of a triumphant troubadour and they married.
Soon after saying “I do” they had their first child when she was still eighteen years old, and in their first eight years of marriage they produced four children, the youngest being my mother. Like most women of her generation, my grandmother stayed home raising her children, cooking and cleaning, and fending for her growing family.
Like most men of his generation, my grandfather was the breadwinner of the home. To support his young family, he worked as an auto mechanic and the boss man of migrant field workers. Like too many men of too many generations, whether it was his upbringing as a child, or the time at war in his youth, whatever it was, as many before and after him, the man was violent. And with a malevolent mean streak to boot.
By the time I knew him much later in life, he had dark stained teeth and eyes yellowed from so much coffee and whiskey poured down his throat.Whenever I heard him talk, or felt him beating the life out of me, I could smell cheap bourbon blowing on his breath. Back as a young man he was still handsome, but just as unsavory, demanding absolute dominion over his household, and the need for prescient awareness from his wife to foresee when the other shoe would drop raining down bitter tyranny on all those in his path. All would feel the ruthless smack of his hand and belt, and the sting of his furious words. Sometimes you could see it coming for miles like a storm brooding on the horizon, while others might strike like lightning out of a clear sky at an unbeknownst provocation.
As the days and months and years passed in this chaotic atmosphere of familial feuding, amidst working to raise kids and protect against a ruthless dictator, my grandmother would find the time to read. She loved books by Louis L’amour and others about the Old West, where heroes loomed large against the bad guys, and characters like L’amour’s fictional Sackett family would inspire and keep her company with their cattle drives and frontier lessons learned cowboy-style of friendship, love, and the value of education.
As the heavy hand of her husband smacked away at her self-image bringing it low to the ground, she filled her heart and mind with images of the Western hero. While the social mores and constructs of the country around her said to “stand by your man,” the hope of “the good guys always win” kept a pioneering light aglow in her life’s landscape that was otherwise dark and desolate of loving-kindness. On the days when it seemed there was nothing left to hope for, I believe that somewhere inside a still small voice must have kept crying out like the little boy at the end of the movie Shane, “And mother wants you—I know she does!”
It was in this household of booming babies that my grandmother carried all the burdens of a battered woman. Perhaps it would really never happen again. This time he’ll stop. Or perhaps she deserved it. It was her fault the house was a mess. Or maybe she could learn to walk more carefully on eggshells, or this time they could work it out, or . . . just somehow it would be okay, somehow, only if. She was stuck in the cycle, doubting herself and hoping for little more.
The problem with all that in this kind of situation is even though the storm may sometimes subside with a patch of sun shining through, the problem never really resolves and goes away. Like a twister, it threatens from they sky above, kicking up dust, then recedes back into the clouds, only to return and touch down with greater ferocity when least expected, carelessly rearranging fences and homes and lives wherever it goes without a regret.The oppression on such dark thundercloud days can be stifling.
It was on such a day as this that my grandmother received her Enlightenment. Like a lightning bolt, it hit her while she was in the tub.
After a long day of tending kids she drew a bath filled with warm water and bubbles to soothe away the tensions of the day and find a few minutes of quiet time for herself. But suddenly out of nowhere, like a loud blustering version of the shower scene in the movie Psycho, into the bathroom rushed her wild-eyed husband screaming with broomstick in hand. With no warning he tore into the shower curtain and began beating down on her naked body again and again until the broomstick finally broke across her back.
Like so many times before, she never really knew the reason for the attack.
But this time that was it.
Like in the western movies of old, where the bad and the ugly go “too far” or “crosses the line,” the reluctant hero within my grandmother finally found its voice and shouted an inner resolution: “Enough! I’m tired of being beat down! I’m going to fight for myself!”
She didn’t say anything out loud at the time, but within a week she was gone.
She moved from Texas to Kansas City and in the midst of Americana 1950s Donna Reed expectations of dutiful wife at home, as mother of four and at the ripe age of thirty; she filed for divorce and enrolled in college to become a nurse.
She laid stake and struck out on her own hero’s journey to save her life, and in her case, the saving was perhaps even quite literal.
Whether or not this story of my grandmother’s fighting and surviving is like your own situation, I imagine there may be some aspect of your life that at sometime or another, or now, may feel similarly entrapping or oppressive. Because no matter how extreme or pedestrian your experience seems to be, that is not the point. As a human family, we’ve experienced everything along this continuum, but in general I suspect many of life’s events and circumstances typically fall somewhere in between.
For instance, take my buddy Jake. He has worked at the same law firm for years, watching as others less qualified are promoted around him to receive accolades and significantly more money than he earns. “I feel like I’ve not only hit a glass ceiling, but that the powers that be are pressing it down on me. I keep telling myself they must have their reasons, and I can guess at what they are, but it doesn’t matter. I’m tired of the unfairness and feeling like I’m being held back. I know I do excellent work and I want more than this.”
Another friend, Marie, revealed, “I think sometimes I’m my own worst enemy. Over the years I feel like I’ve given everything I’ve got to my family and kids. And while I have no regrets about that, so many times I feel taken for granted, or worse yet, feel taken advantage of by my adult children. They seem to think nothing of asking me for big chunks of money as a loan and then never paying it back, as if it has no effect on me. But it does, not only financially, but emotionally as well. So even though I’ve been the one saying ‘yes’ in this unhealthy scenario of give and take, I need it to stop.”
In another case an acquaintance Kelly shared, “As a kid no matter what I did it was never good enough for my dad. Straight A report card, gold medals won, college scholarship, it didn’t matter. For most of my life I haven’t even been aware of the constant loop in my head of dad’s voice repeating over and over, ‘you were just lucky’, ‘you don’t deserve this’, or ‘why do you even try’. Now it’s been a whole decade since he passed away, but the voice is still there dragging me down into an utter lack of confidence. I hear my boss telling me good job, and I say thank you, but deep down I never really believe it or that I deserve the praise. But every time that happens, it feels like a piece of me somewhere inside is dying.”
Whether oppression comes from without or within, the effects are the same and can feel like a death of hope and dreams, or a loss of self. We may have something taken from us, physically or emotionally, freedom or rights, in an instant or slowly over time, in plain sight or via sleight of hand so you don’t really notice it’s missing until it’s gone.We may feel we are the doormat, the abused, the unworthy, undeserving, unloved, and that it just won’t ever stop. But perhaps there’s another possibility to consider.
If there are times you feel like this, but then ignore, resist, or otherwise put away or stuff down your anger or pain and do nothing, consider the words of an early American statesman Henry Clay, “an oppressed people are authorized whenever they can to rise and break their fetters.”
An oppressed people are authorized whenever they can to rise and break their fetters.
In the case of national or societal oppression, perhaps a group or governing body will give approval for an uprising, much as the United States of America proclaimed its independence as its own country against Britain. But in the case of our individual lives, from where does this authority come?
Sometimes another person or groups or governing bodies may still give approval for certain matters in life, and these may be real considerations. But I’d like to raise another possibility for why certain bars remain in your cage, why you continue to remain in particular oppressive situations. I raise the consideration because I’ve done this myself and have felt the power of such shackles. And if I’ve done it, I suspect it’s possible that you may have too.
I realize there have been times in my life that the only real reason I was still under the weight of an oppressive situation is because I hadn’t authorized myself to rise and break free. I had to give myself permission to fight!
Is it possible you are still caged in certain ways because you haven’t given yourself permission to fight?
Have you not authorized yourself to feel angry?
Have you withheld approval to acknowledge your pain? To feel deserving, or worth it?
If so, if you can relate to this somehow, I can understand.
Emotions of anger and rage can in themselves be scary.
Pain can feel overwhelming.
Fear can paralyze.
Thoughts of can’t or shouldn’t, or feelings of guilt, of not being worthy, deserving, or lovable can keep us whirling as if moored in an eddy of the ebb and flow of life.
But whether you think you can or should or could, consider the possibility that each time you recognize the yoke of tyranny pressing down; this is an opportunity for freedom. Each moment you feel a little piece of you may slip away if you acquiesce, that is an opportunity to step into more of your life. All such moments are simply the hero’s call sounding an invitation for you to stand up, sit down, draw a line in the sand, put a stake in the ground, or whatever it takes to tackle your enemies and fight the good fight.
The author of my favorite pirate book Treasure Island, Robert Louis Stevenson once said, “You cannot run away from a weakness; you must some time fight it out or perish; and if that be so, why not now, and where you stand?”
Whether a cage, a weakness, or other oppressor, now and then in life there comes a time to submit or fight.
In such a time, the hero fights.
THE HERO’S WHETSTONE: BREATHE YOUR FLOW OF POWER
Hi-yah!
If you’ve ever seen a kung fu movie, you’ve heard the fighters shout “Hi-yah” when they’re throwing a punch. In martial arts hi-yah is not so much a battle cry as it is the release of the fighter’s concentrated energy in a single explosive focus of will.
In Japanese martial arts this is referred to as kiai. The term describes both the coordination of breath with activity and the audible sound. Kiai can also be silent, a relaxed and powerful exhalation that adds power to movement. Martial arts students endlessly practice various techniques for breathing, body alignment, and focusing intent, to use kiai while performing martial arts.
Some martial artists become so skilled with their mastery of the use of kiai or similar techniques, they may amaze onlookers by breaking through bricks or layers of boards. Bruce Lee was famous for his one-inch-punch demonstrations where holding his fist motionless just one inch away from an opponent’s chest, he would then punch forward and literally knock them off their feet. Wow!! That’s no joke.
You may never smash through a pile of boards with your bare hands, and that’s okay. But for this whetstone we’re going to invoke the power of kiai by focusing on a breathing exercise. So as with other whetstones we’ve already done, let’s go ahead and start this one by taking three deep breaths in and out. As you breathe, close your eyes and feel strength flowing in and stress flowing out with each breath. Allow yourself to relax and feel settled.
As is comfortable for you, sit or stand with your back in an erect position, and place your hands on your belly. Breathe in slowly pulling the air from down deep in your abdomen fully expanding the lungs and belly, and hold your breath for a moment. Now breathe out through your mouth forcibly zpushing air from your abdomen. Feel your abdominal muscles contract while you exhale, and do not engage your chest to move your breath. Repeat this while concentrating on specifically using your abdominal muscles to blow air out, until you can clearly feel like your belly is breathing and not your chest.
Now using this same kind of abdominal breathing, I want you to focus on your exhale only and quickly blow out ten breaths. Concentrate on forcefully exhaling. Don’t think about whether you’re going to inhale, just blow and blow. And blow. And blow . . .
Feel how even though you’re only concentrating on the exhalation that somehow there’s always air available for your next exhale, the inhale happening naturally and automatically to fuel the next forceful blow of air. It’s not something to worry about or spend time over thinking. Just exhale a powerful breath.
Now I want you to throw a punch.Yes, that’s right, a punch.
Whether you’ve thrown a zillion punches or not one in your life, I don’t care.
If you’re worried about “looking funny” or doing it “right,” just tell yourself that for now it doesn’t matter.
Stop thinking about it, and just throw your fist out there with gusto. POW!
Yes!
Now throw one more punch and forcefully exhale at the same time. If you feel the urge, even yell Hi-yah!
If you feel inner resistance, that’s fine, just notice it, but still punch.
Go ahead, try it!
If you still feel any resistance from inside, I want you to keep punching with your powerful exhale, with one hand, or using both hands one after the other, until it feels okay to do so.
So go ahead and punch away. Hi-yah!
Throwing my powerful Hi-ya punch!
Okay, now we’re going to put it all together, and add a twist.
Whether you’re a seasoned boxer that’s accustomed to throwing physical punches, or a first-time “fighter,” as you do this I want you to pay particular attention to what’s going on inside emotionally and mentally.Your body, mind, and spirit working together are the key.
First, think of a time, circumstance, or person, something in your life when you’ve felt beaten down, caged, or oppressed, where you didn’t or haven’t stood up and fought as you wish. It could be something going on in your life now, or from your childhood, adolescence, or last month. It could be an outside abuser, an internal enemy, a bar from your cage, or a difficult situation. It doesn’t matter what you choose, but focus on something that’s meaningful to you.
In your mind’s eye imagine what this “enemy” looks like, and take mental note of your emotions.
Now just imagine punching at this enemy. Don’t move your hands; just imagine doing it in your mind.
As you throw this imaginary punch, I want you to consider the following questions and do so without judgment or editing. Let the answers be whatever they are. Be gentle and compassionate with yourself, but be honest.
• What emotions are you feeling?
• What are your feelings about? Your enemy? The punch? Yourself? Some or all or none of these?
If this seems too challenging, try selecting another difficulty in your life to focus on, but try again until you can build a clear picture of your feelings and what they’re about.
You may find that most of your emotions are directed at your enemy. Maybe you have anger or rage that comes to the front.
Or perhaps your imaginary punch brings up feelings of fear or guilt at the very thought of standing up for yourself.
Whatever it is, even if it’s uncomfortable, it’s okay.
Your emotions can feel powerful and even overwhelming, but they provide information about your journey and can even serve as a compass for your journey. So for now, simply see it and feel it without judgment or editing.Whatever it is, these are the elements that oppress, that keep you caged, stuck and mired.
This is your truth.
Take your truth in hand, your emotions about your enemy, yourself, your ability to fight, whatever is there, and own it by saying it out loud.
There is power in the sound of words and hearing the truth in your ear, so say it aloud and clear.
Now with the truth in your mind and heart, take your truth in hand and punch.
Punch with your powerful exhale. Hi-yah!
Punch at or with or for your truth.
Hi-yah!
Punch with emotion.
Punch with abandon.
Punch for yourself, for your revolution.
Hi-yah!
When you are all punched out, settle everything down and mentally note any shifts in how you feel—in your emotions, in your body, mind and spirit. Just sit with this for a few moments, and feel what it’s like. For I oftentimes feel as if in a revolution or even a festival when I fight for myself or against an oppression.
The past few years a lot of women have been coming to my boxing classes, more women than men. These ladies range from stay-at-home moms to busy professionals, many are middle-aged or even retired. Most have never thrown a punch in their lives and have zero interest in entering the boxing ring. The first time they put on boxing gloves they feel nervous and shy about throwing their fist to hit anything. They’re outside their comfort zone, but they go ahead and manage to get out a few wobbly thumps.
What’s amazing to me is to see the transformation that comes over these women as they drive on in the classes and become comfortable with throwing a punch. There’s just something about the experience of a physical visceral punch that changes them inside and out. Not only do their bodies become stronger, but their mind and spirits alight. Suddenly they are powerful! Taking swings at me, and hard, they’re seeing with the eye of the tiger and are having the time of their lives. It’s wonderful!
And this is the same transformation that happens to any hero that answers the call to fight for his or her self.
Even if you’re afraid, or don’t think you can, I promise that you’ll quickly learn you can do more than you thought. With the forward momentum of a punch, you will breathe and live the natural pulsating flow of your power.
You will discover your old limits weren’t real.
You will realize that life is full of possibility.
Freedom is possible.
Consider Your Fighting Style
The author of Les Misérables, Victor Hugo, once wrote, “Those who live are those who fight.”
Few things in life will make you feel more alive than combat experience. Combat is one of the most friction filled experiences in the universe, and to me one of the most creative. Whether on a real battlefield of war or as a metaphor in your life, if you can get through and survive, the learning that is achieved is lifelong and amazing.
Survival, Evasion, Resistance, and Escape, otherwise known as SERE school to Recon Marines, is an intense two-week course in learning how to survive if lost or downed behind enemy lines and resisting interrogation if captured and tortured. A few days of academic studying in a classroom and then you’re dropped, quite literally, into the middle of nowhere in the desert with nothing but your wits about you. No firearm, no food, no water—just your clothes, a knife, a compass, a map, and some parachute nylon and cord.Your mission is to survive off the land and evade being captured by the enemy while enroute to an objective destination.
I had been on the run for about six days with only grasshoppers, ants, deermoss, and a little bit of rabbit to eat, the equivalent of one single meal for six days. By the third day of oppressive heat with no sleep and traveling long distances while foraging for food and evading enemy detection, the real truth of character starts to come out. Fatigue, hunger, pain—these things can easily degrade what you think of as your humanity, or completely lay naked your true courage and lightness of being.
One day in captivity is worse than a hundred days on the run, a thought I took very seriously and used all my skills and creativity to avoid enemy capture. However, in SERE school there’s no such thing as not being captured because part of the training is for resisting interrogation and surviving as a prisoner of war. But I made it until the sirens signaled anyone not already caught to show themselves, and I was one of the last taken in.
As a young Marine.
Although I had heard all the rumors about how brutally realistic SERE was, I still wasn’t prepared for what I saw when I came into the detention area. People being corralled and pushed around like cattle. Female pilots being degraded and struck and put face down in the dirt. Servicemen and women in bonds and being abused. It’s one thing to see it in a movie; it’s quite another to watch it happen in the flesh. Even if it isn’t “real,” the feel of a fist in your face is the same.
The “enemy” guards spoke with a Soviet accent, and one of them pulled me out of the truck, called me spetznatz, and punched me in the stomach. My blood immediately hit boiling and I was ready to lay him flat, but he had his AK-47 pointed at my head and told me to lie down in the dirt. In my cargo pocket was a knife, but it was taken from me as I was searched while one of the guards had his boot on my neck. I could take no more. When the guard released his boot from my throat, I jumped up with my hands now ziptied behind me, and I shoulder checked and swept my oppressor landing him with a thud on the ground. I then steadied myself for the fight to come. One guard came from behind with his rifle and two others wrestled with me from the front until I noticed a gun across my neck and the guard was steadily squeezing. I thought I was going to die fighting.
“So, spetznatz, you think you are Rambo? Me think I know how make you listen and behave,” the senior guard said in a thick Russian accent.
I was expecting to next get bloodied in a bad beating. Instead the guard very nonchalantly brought out a very small, very weak air crewman. His eyes were like a frantic sheep about to be slaughtered. Three guards commenced kicking this serviceman in the stomach and legs until he fell to the ground. Then they picked him up and smashed him repeatedly in the face with thunderous blows from their hands. Next they took turns judo tossing and throwing this already defeated man, his eyes tearing as he screamed for them to stop, but the guards only laughed at him. And the beating went on.
My shame and anger at having started this fight because of my pride sickened me. I began to plead with them to stop. “Please stop hurting him, I beg you! I won’t step out of line again I promise, just please stop.”
In the sixth century BC, Sun-Tzu wrote The Art of War, one of the world’s oldest books on military strategy. From millennia long ago, Sun-Tzu’s words still ring true: “If you know the enemy and know yourself, you need not fear the result of a hundred battles. If you know yourself but not the enemy, for every victory gained you will also suffer a defeat. If you know neither the enemy nor yourself, you will succumb in every battle.”
That day I succumbed in battle and my enemy prevailed. They knew me better than I did myself; they understood my flaws and motivations. They saw my weakness in my willingness to engage in the fight with violence, not with a balanced mindfulness. My passion to protect and defend was exploited as well. And when I could not protect that young serviceman, my self-esteem and pride were shamed. I was so easily defeated by my enemy, not by their guns, but by their psychology.
I’ll never forget that little American flyer that was beaten because of my pride. But I am so grateful for the lessons I learned that day. For the rest of my SERE school training I was successful because I chose a new fighting style, one of brains and not brawn. I kept my head in the game and my willingness to keep on no matter what.
1st Recon Battalion sticker I illustrated.
As a Marine, a martial artist, a boxer, and a kid who had to fight to survive on the street, I’ve thrown a lot of punches in my lifetime, but this stride of Fighting & Surviving isn’t about hitting with your fist or getting physical. The hero’s power and courage is not about violent aggression.
In fact, one of my greatest and most inspiring warrior heroes never threw a strike during his battles. He innately understood the wisdom in The Art of War when Sun-Tzu wrote, “To fight and conquer in all your battles is not supreme excellence; supreme excellence consists in breaking the enemy’s resistance without fighting.”
This warrior grew up cradled in the arms of his culture, even marrying at the age of thirteen in an arranged child marriage. He went to school and started a family in the traditions of his home, and only traveled abroad for his higher education and training as a barrister. Although he wasn’t particularly religious growing up, as a young man he began studying the various religions and philosophies of the world, expanding his mental and spiritual horizons, and became a vegetarian. His life was relatively sheltered and safe, but all that changed when his law practice proved difficult to establish in his homeland of India, and he ventured to accept a position in a foreign country.
Upon traveling to his new job, Mohandas Gandhi was welcomed to South Africa with the harsh realities of the social and legal discrimination directed at Indians there in 1893. For the first time in his life, he witnessed and experienced firsthand the oppression of racism, prejudice, and injustice. Can’t sit in first class, must give up your seat, must sanction yourself as less because someone else deems so, legislates so, says so, and says so with force or else.
From the depths of who he was as a human being, his natural instinct was to resist the oppression. His action was to fight for himself. While still en route to his new employment, he resisted and fought by simply refusing the oppressive actions of others, for which he was thrown from a train, beaten on a stagecoach, barred from hotels, and other hardships that Indians endured in South Africa at that time.
But he didn’t stop and he never gave up. For the remainder of his life Mahatma Gandhi was a warrior that fought for others living under the yoke of tyranny and oppression, whether in South Africa or later in his home country of India. He became the Great Soul and practitioner of nonviolence and truth. His practice and advocacy of nonviolent civil disobedience eventually led an entire nation to courageously stand and fight with their hearts and truth to be counted as its own sovereign self. On numerous occasions he was imprisoned for many years for his actions, but he understood that even these were weapons in his arsenal of truth, and eventually India was emancipated from the British Empire to rule itself.
So to anyone that may feel a resistance to fighting for yourself because it feels violent or somehow bad, I gently respond with find and live your hero truth. Fighting in the sense of this Stride is not about aggression to harm and take from others, it is about having a warrior mindset of strength and power for standing in the aspirations you hold for yourself and others.
To someone that may always feel at the ready to physically fight for what they want, I respond with vigor to find and live your hero truth. Physicality can appear and feel very powerful, and there are cheers when a hero like Superman uses his tremendous strength to protect. But perhaps even because of such bodily prowess, a true hero must be vigilantly mindful to not be seduced by his or her own strength and the ease with which they could wield it as a weapon to violate and take from others, or to exact revenge. Remember, with great power comes great responsibility.
Do not worry that you may make mistakes in fighting for yourself. I’ve made and still make mistakes, and I promise you will too. And when you do, these will be valuable lessons to take forward to the next adventure. If you find and live the hero truth of who you are, the true path will open before you.
In popular culture the term “martial arts” is often thought of as the fighting systems from the Far East, such as kung fu, judo, or tae kwon do, but the term actually applies more broadly and refers to any combat system from around the world. Martial arts are literally the arts of war, with codified practices and traditions of training for combat. From sword fencing in Europe to the wrestling of Native Americans, martial arts is comprised of more fighting systems, techniques, and styles than one person could ever hope to even study in a lifetime. The beauty and fun of this is knowing there is an endless source of fighting forms to explore and draw from that will always be at the ready for your journey. And the same is true for fighting for yourself or against oppression in a non-military sense.
So stand up and fight for yourself, yes!
Stand up knowing you are forever the student of your life, learning new strategies and tactics in following the guidance of Gandhi to “be the change you wish to see.”
And if a shadow of doubt comes, remember these words also from the Great Soul: “Men often become what they believe themselves to be. If I believe I cannot do something, it makes me incapable of doing it. But when I believe I can, then I acquire the ability to do it even if I didn’t have it in the beginning.”
Breathe this in and feel it in your heart.
Believe in yourself.
Believe in your hero truth.
Stand up believing you are and will be the skilled fighter needed for your life, capable of protecting and defending, reaching and dreaming.Whether you’ve experienced life so far as a seasoned battlefield warrior or someone who would never hurt a fly, the lessons of the hero’s journey apply to us all as a process of finding and living our hero truth.
Stand up knowing that by fighting the good fight you will truly live.
Fighting on the Other Side
Similar to the medieval knights of Europe and their concept of chivalry, the Samurai were a class of warriors in feudal Japan who lived by a moral code called Bushido, or “Way of the Warrior.” Bushido puts an emphasis on loyalty, self-sacrifice, justice, benevolence, love, frugality, martial arts mastery, and honor until death. Buddhism and Confucianism influenced Bushido in philosophy, and specific etiquettes were practiced in everyday life as well as in war to temper the violent warrior existence.
Practicing tai chi in Kansas City.
Among these the discipline of the Sword was balanced with the arts of the Tea Ceremony, Brush, Poetry, and Flower Arrangement. The Tea Ceremony demanded meticulous attention to detail and adherence to strict protocols of dress, equipment, venue, and style, all intended for creating a sublime aesthetic experience. The sensitivity of preparing the hot drink for royalty and peasants alike was an immersion in the action of serving and being gracious in that service role. In doing so, the feminine nature of this act helps to balance the masculine warrior energy and berserker violence of a man who also serves in battle.
I write this in a place of realization about my own warrior journeys. For most every inch of my life I had been on the Sword side of life, from surviving the rough and tumble craziness of my childhood to fighting for years as a Recon Marine in three war zones. I had no real concept of softness especially when it came to my self-concept and internal dialogue. I had no compassion at all for myself, and often others unless I was in a “service” role to them.
Sword and shield, grappling and striking, guns and gravestones, that was the world that I was always in. I was in a constant mode of survival trying to protect myself and armoring my heart. By the time I was done on the battlefields of the Middle East, I lost some of my love for myself. Maybe a lot of it.
The philosopher Friedrich Nietzsche scribed, “Whoever fights monsters should see to it that in the process he does not become a monster. And if you gaze long enough into an abyss, the abyss will gaze back into you.”
As I was thrown home from the abyss of war, I felt its gaze upon me and it was terrifying. Of all places, the abyss found me in the parking lot of an ice cream parlor. My wife and I were headed there for some cool refreshment on a warm summer day, just a few short months after leaving the overamped hot zone of war in Ramadi, Iraq. Ramadi had been a nonstop vigilance of kill or be killed, of dangerous raids and go numb and watch your back.
Although home for awhile the effects of Ramadi and my two previous tours, for which there is no decompression chamber afforded our warriors reentering “nice” society, plus my marriage shakily on the rocks, and . . . well, I still felt on edge. Or more accurately I was hypervigilant, walking around in civilian clothes but really just a plainclothes weapon at the ready at anytime and anyplace to fight.
I pulled into the parking lot scanning the area for an open spot when I came upon a car parked right in front of me blocking my way. I thought, “This SOB is out of his mind! What is he doing blocking my way?! He is messing with the wrong man! Today’s the day he learns a lesson!” My wife sitting next to me saw my crazy eyes and veins popping all over my arms and neck, and before she could stop me I was out the door and running to the car that had stopped my passage.
From the car ahead a father and son stepped out in complete shock at the Terminator rushing them. I was screaming that I am here to kill them, and inside I actually felt elation because with two of them maybe they would have some slim chance of surviving. Like I wanted still to be the “Good Guy” and fight an honorable fight . . . or maybe I was hoping that together they could destroy me and stop my madness. In retrospect I think it was probably a mixture of both.
I remember feeling my blood rage at the perceived insult along with a simultaneous self-loathing for stepping into the insane killer pace I was walking in that parking lot in Oceanside, California.The father and son were stepping away from their car and then running, but I wanted them to stay and fight so I could somehow feel it again. The fear and liberation of fighting or dying bathed in blood and adrenaline, complete fury and violence, but somehow with a strange calm because I felt I was master of the moment, master of the chaos.
But they would not fight!
My wife may as well have been a thousand miles away, because even though she had been screaming and begging me to stop—“Please, baby, don’t hurt them! They didn’t do anything! Please, you have to stop! PLLEAASE STOP!”—I didn’t hear anything. I had target fixation and was in the zone of the fight because they had dared to block me in. The reality was in fact they hadn’t blocked me in, but in my insanity I couldn’t see that either.
Badass.
When I finally gave up on the father and son returning to fight, I sat back inside my car feeling completely ashamed that I did not get to fight and hurt those people because they ran away. I was so angry and ashamed for not finishing my enemies, and I apologized to my wife for my failure.
Then I saw her face. The fear she had of me. The fear and uncertainty in her face because I was nothing at all like the man she fell in love with and married. Now I was a monster. And for the very first time I realized that I had left something out there on the battlefield. Years before I had wanted to protect my brothers, defend my friend Sean, and rescue little birds that fell from a nest. And now, after years of warrior adrenaline, my answer to fear and rage was to kill. I had gained so much power and knowledge through all of those firefights and missions, but I had lost something so important and precious. And now I was completely mad sitting in the parking lot of the ice cream parlor with my wife witnessing my descent into insanity.
She saw emptiness where my kind soul used to be. I now saw the emptiness in the reflection of her cream soda colored eyes.The abyss was gazing at me through those same eyes that years ago had promised me to stay by my side and love me forever.The same eyes I would never get back to.
“When valor preys on reason, it eats the sword it fights with,” penned William Shakespeare.
My “valor” had puffed so large there was no room for reason to exist, and not only was it eating my sword it was swallowing me whole as well. All my life I was a warrior to protect and honor, but staring back at me now from the mirror was an image of all the enemies and oppressors that had so often beat and crushed and dehumanized me. I had become my darkest fears; I was now my own enemy.
I am thankful for the truth shown back to me in those eyes, even though it hurt and felt ugly. But it’s what I needed to see to even have a chance at beginning to regain my balance.
As the weeks and months passed I went in search of my own versions of the Samurai’s Tea Ceremony, Brush, Poetry, and Flower Arrangement practices, the feminine caring aspects of myself, and began my work in fighting my way back to a more balanced self.
“The ultimate tragedy is not the oppression and cruelty by the bad people but the silence over that by the good people.” Martin Luther King Jr. said these words when talking about the civil rights movement and issues in society, but I think they apply just as well to the individual.
When you see yourself out of line in an act of oppression and cruelty, no matter how extreme or small, it becomes the responsibility of your hero self to speak up and stand for the right.
If you are fighting for revenge, find your hero.
If you are acting out of malevolence, avarice or greed, ask where is your hero.
If fighting for what you want feels more like the antics of a spoiled petulant child, as in Veruca Salt saying, “I want it now,” in Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory, find your hero before you find yourself declared a bad egg.
Or if you’re fighting simply to fight, or out of spite, to make yourself look tough, or even out of laziness. Go find your hero.
When you see yourself in such a situation, have your hero show up with compassion and kindness, generosity and love. Be fair and truthful as a friend would be.
Then take responsibility and move on to bring yourself back into your balanced hero self. Because that’s what heroes do.
THE HERO’S WHETSTONE: A BALANCED FIGHTER BE
The ability to balance is something people do every day as a regular part of life. In keeping your balance to stand or walk, you are continually processing inputs coming in from multiple senses, such as vision, perception of pressure, and the muscle system, all of this done automatically behind the scenes without even thinking about it. But add on a heavy backpack and step onto a balance beam or on rocks to cross a rushing stream, and suddenly you’re fully engaged in an attentive way to keep your balance and not fall off.
If you were to imagine a man that only worked out and trained one arm and not the other for a boxing match, you would expect his abilities to perform in the ring to be severely compromised. In life, just as in the ring, it’s important to pay mindful attention to maintaining a balance in many ways as a fighter.
As we begin this whetstone, I want to remind you to engage that part of yourself that is your friendly nonjudgmental self to act as a third-party observer. Also, keep in mind there are no right or wrong answers here; it’s just your truth to use as information for your journey. Not to be used to harangue yourself or others.This is such a powerful tactic, I want to be sure it’s remembered here.
Sit in a relaxed comfortable posture and take three deep centering breaths to begin this whetstone, inhaling deep through the nose into the belly, exhaling slowly through the mouth.
As you sit in this relaxed energy, remember your work in the previous whetstone, Breathe Your Flow of Power, where I asked you to think of a time, circumstance, or person, something in your life when you’ve felt beaten down, caged, or oppressed, and then did a breathing and punching exercise. Hi-yah!
Spend a moment to consider your reactions to moving through the exercise of that whetstone, as well as other situations in your life similar to the one you used in Breathe Your Flow of Power, where you have been faced with a submit or fight scenario. Hold these in mind while you consider the following questions with gentle truth and honesty.
• What pattern do you see in how you typically respond to moments when you feel oppressed, whether internal or from outside? Are you more likely to submit or fight? Is there a difference in your response to internal or external oppression?
• When you stand up for yourself, what is your style of fighting? Are you aggressive? Passive? Angry? Logical? Silent? Loving? Compassionate? Argumentative? Quiet? Loud? Overbearing? Have a tantrum? Get physical?
As you consider the questions above, you may find obvious patterns that jump out at you, or that your responses may be different for various scenarios or times in your life. Whatever the answers are, see and feel them for what they are.
In Chinese philosophy, yin and yang are interconnected interdependent seemingly opposing natural forces in the world that are in a relationship of continual process of balance. Yin translates as “shady place” and yang means “sunny place,” describing the play of sunlight over a mountain and in the valley. As the sun crosses the sky, yin and yang trade places with each other over the course of the day, revealing what was hidden and hiding what was revealed. The mountain always contains some of both aspects to varying degrees, with each side in perfect concert and unison with the other, information available to the whole about the balance between the two and the value of each.
In thinking of his inner balance between the aggressive nature of Sword and the softer characteristics of the Tea Ceremony, a samurai warrior may choose to devote more time to studying the craft of the discipline where he needs improvement or more experience. For instance, if he find himself more aggressive in his daily life, he may choose to immerse himself in the service of the Tea Ceremony, or vice versa if his martial spirit is low.
As you think of your style of fighting in responding to oppressive situations, would you be well served to become softer or harder in your approach? Or to change your approach completely? Would it be valuable to look more to the feminine or masculine side of yourself for more skills and tools in dealing with the challenges in your life? I invite you to consider writing your thoughts down or speaking them aloud as there is power in giving them a concrete voice.
Take this information and explore the myriad possibilities of alternative forms to utilize in fighting for yourself and others. Perhaps even take a boxing class if that puts you more in touch with your own power. Or study dance or volunteer to read to children if tapping into your softer side feels right. Discover new ways of communicating your needs and wants with others. I invite you to get creative and have fun with it.
Another important aspect to maintaining balance as a fighter is balancing your resources and assets when a heavy burden is added to your load, or when you realize there is a fight to be had in order to survive.
• In moments when you decide to fight, do you give yourself enough room and energy to pay mindful attention to what needs to be done?
• Do you typically feel overwhelmed? Or that you are too thinly stretched and everything suffers?
To be an effective fighter, to survive the trials of the day, we need to engage our hero wisdom to keep us well balanced and attuned for the journey. If you find yourself without the resources you need or feel overwhelmed, find and live your hero truth for taking care to lighten your load, or find more support, even talk with a friend, something that will improve your ability to stand up for yourself as needed.
I want to take a moment to recognize and honor the work you’ve done with the whetstones in this stride of Fighting & Surviving. No matter what has been revealed in this stride by looking at your hero truth, it is such wonderful information to inform you on your journey. Always treasure and use it as such.
No matter your circumstance, the hero’s path is always and ever, eternally here to call upon.
We all have the seed of hero inside as part of our cosmic makeup, always available to fight for the right.
The opportunity is always available right here right now to start where you are and make a difference.
As always you are a hero.
Fight to be the hero you wish to see.
