Easter Time used to mean a lot to me. I was once a Christian. I would pray every day and I believed in a creator, the Lord. I felt pain when I imagined the journey of Christ as he carried the cross, just a man who was burdened with all of our sin. The son of God. The one who had been sent as a saviour, to teach us all and to inspire.

I would imagine him stumbling in exhaustion, beaten, thirsty, in pain. The crowd watching, soldiers kicking him, officials indifferent to his religious importance, the wealthy and commoner screaming, yelling, tormenting him. As he fell, I imagined a beggar going to his aid, or thanks to Ben Hur, a Charlton Heston insert, returning kindness. A weeping sex worker offering him water, a labourer trying to help carry the cross. Jesus walked on deliberately, despite those there to help or the mob there to jeer at him.

Each nail smashed through his flesh, a savage blow. Pain. The crown of thorns forced down his head, blood running into his eyes. Then raised, with an indignity of torment before all.

“I love you,” my Grandma told me that he had said to them all.

“I forgive you,” he said above a whisper. The apostles and those who loved him crying, each helpless as they watched. He loved them. Those who had come for entertainment witnessed the gore, the misery, the pain. He forgave them. Those soldiers who murdered him, doing their job, did so for pay, mercenaries of government. They raised Jesus alongside a thief and other criminals. He forgave them. Justice to them was whatever they were paid to do. For the Roman government, it was another day to reign. For Christ, he reigned on long after. I dearly once believed.

To the faithful it was a day of mourning. To be a holiday of celebration, to give thanks, to sacrifice and to endure the burdens of the world. To look beyond ourselves, and into the distance at strangers and those who may have wronged us, to say, “I Love You.” To stand tall and say, “I forgive you.”

I once believed all of that. I believed that a man should be capable, answering to the morality of his own conscience. To be better, to stand for the weak and those who are unable to stand for themselves. To be charitable, to do what is right. Strength was not in the capacity to harm or exploit, but in the ability to protect and to be kind. To also, suffer. To endure. To sacrifice. To go without if others were in need.

That is charity. It is voluntary. It’s setting an example.

The killers, those who would make Jesus and scores of others, a martyr they engaged in welfare. That is not charity. Welfare needs coercion and creates obedience and dependency. Charity is goodwill, fosters community, it nurtures and invigorates. Be charitable.

The killers acted according to law, the law of man. They waged wars of conquest and imperial ambition. The glory went to themselves and claimed it was for the abstract of Rome. Their Gods existed only to validate their needs, their greed, their desires.

Jesus and his kingdom found it’s strength in nobility, kindness that came from being the example. Not forcing, not imposing, not by being another version of Rome. But instead being Christ like, walking among the poor, befriending the outcasts, labouring, toiling, knowing others and experiencing their world, our shared world. Refraining from the corruption of temptations or vices that others may enjoy. Helping them not through force or prohibition. Not in censoring, or cutting off their tongue, be a better, strong and inspiring person. Set the example, live on through the words and teachings of the Prince of Peace.

My grandparents also told me that we only know our strength and faith, when we are surrounded by temptation. We don’t swipe the chocolate bar from another, we may witness them eat it and still say that we do not need to. We don’t steal from another out of spite or because we are hungry. We don’t block others eyes from sin or bind them up because of it, we avoid it, we show that we can live that life of goodness. We do not need to ban this or that, we simply don’t have to indulge in it ourselves. That is inspiring others through deed. I was told that we should not fear sin and temptation, to be good in ourselves, be good to others. Then sin and temptation can not break us.

I left the faith, in part due to the hypocrisy and actions of others who claimed to be believers. In them I saw a God, that I did not believe in. If they were hateful, then so was their God. If they were jealous, then they had that God as well. If they wanted revenge and violence, they found such a God. The Bible could prove us all correct, and wrong. We could find whatever God our own ego and intuition, desire and ambition required.

Through the TV I would then witness the first Gulf War, it was exciting to see the missiles go in and out at nighttime. CNN broadcasts washed the television here in Australia with imagery that bewildered a young mind. My Grandpa, a World War Two veteran, was dying of cancer during the war. I remember sitting in a hospital room alongside of him while watching the TV as he lay in pain, a bible near his bedside. I felt joy in seeing the new Stealth fighters on the screen, the tomahawk missiles.

In between his pain, the good strong man that my Grandpa was took my hand, and he told me, “war was not a thing to smile about.”

I did not realise I was smiling. He had often commented on my fascination with the old war films and the military books that I would read eagerly on his lounge room floor. He had discussed faith, and scripture with me from time to time. Morality lessons and how to be a good man, nothing preachy. Always with a lesson wrapped inside each story.

He asked me to pray for those who were dying over there, those scared people, the families, the innocent. It then occurred to me that this was not a battlefield in the desert, where only soldiers met. Rather it was a city, homes were under attack. People were being punished because of a leader. I felt guilt, shame. Disgust. We prayed.

So from then on as I held my rosaries, prayed in bed each night not only for my family, my friends, anyone I could imagine. I also prayed for the bad people, those who I had experienced in my life, bullies and otherwise. Those who I only knew as villains through the news and movies. I prayed for them to be forgiven. I could never love them. I could only pray that they would find love, peace.

It turns out as I grew older, that empathy for others, especially the alien foreigner was often rare. People were slurs, collectives. In war time, a claimed Christian could snub his nose at the suffering of strangers, including children. Claim to love Christ, even use his name to validate mass murder. Is this not the worse form of taking it in vain? I have seen those with a crucifix in their bio, who often talk about Christ, celebrate dead children. One even said, “if they give up the hostages, they would not need to die.” As though children, were responsible for the actions of a few. I never believed in this Christ, was I wrong? Is this the true faith?

The Christ, the Lord that I prayed to, that I once believed in would never have condemned strangers to pain and death. I found the religion of peace, one that I loved, that I cherished is also filled with spite, hate, bitterness. An extension of the very killers of Christ himself. It is not the faith of the people, the individual but instead one that validates nation, government, ideology, imperialism, war. I am told that such people are not true Christians, they disagree. Who is right? Who decides? I am often reminded that the Right especially loves Christ, he is their lord above all else. I only ever see them worshipping the State, the modern day Rome. Is that the love they know?

This Easter, as an atheist, as one who once believed. How, I wish at times that I still did. I wish for that faith of peace to return. Where Christ is Lord and not a slogan, or an avatar. Where Christ is an example. The true Christ, well perhaps that is naivety, the one I loved. The Christ I was taught. The one who sacrificed, and forgave. The one who wanted peace, the one who would not endorse missiles into the families of strangers, the saviour who promoted charity, not coercion. The Christ who was an anarchist, a rebel, a loving punk, a dissident, a revolutionary for good.

In one of her last Easters my Grandma told me that we can find the peace in the world around us, in the flower, under a tree, in the chirps of a bird. That we don’t need to listen to men tell us what they think we should believe. In her last years she became a bit of a rebel, defiant but always kind. She always reminded me that anger is not the answer, patience first. I miss her and the Christ that she believed in. The Christ or version of faith that I see others use as their self expression is all very alien to me. Maybe I was just wrong, and they are right. That may be why the world burns, war is always the way and the real religion is coercion. The true cult of death is their faith.

Happy Easter and Peace be with you all.

The cancel culture mob is upset over a piece of media, this time it’s because a girl character in a television show based on a video game did something that they were OUTRAGED about. A fictional character was able to defeat a man in an unarmed struggle. Her being smaller, and a female versus him being bigger and man defied all mathematics and reason to them. It was apparently unrealistic. For me personally, as far as fight scenes go and the context for her “win”, it was done pretty well.

There was no Marvel spinning, parkour and acrobatic excess which we have become used to when we see a female protagonatist in action, whether it’s against zombies in Resident Evil or Werewolves or Vampires or even men in Underworld or Comic Book movie #45666. No lazy Bourne choppy up close cut scenes hiding the actors inability. No Gun Fu of John Wick. Instead we saw a good display of ground fighting and grappling which showcased a potential outcome in a fictional medium.

Women have defeated men in fights, in those unsanctioned and sanctioned. They have defended themselves in unarmed combat against men, fought themselves free of rape and managed to defeat a domestic abuser or mugger. It does happen. I have known women who have done this and there are incidents on film, many recorded, reported where this happens. Many rapes and assaults occur when the victim is attacked from a trusted loved one, are ambushed or they do not fight back due to fear or the surreal violent intimacy of the moment. The nature of violence women face will differ from men, who generally don’t encounter ambush scenarios like those mentioned but deal with confrontational violence.

In this case the propaganda is not that women can beat any man but rather, we must believe that any man can beat every woman.

Many males think that they can fight, many women think that they do not need to know how to fight. Few women are willing to learn or practice the arts of violence, and few men think that they need to. This is a disparity in view points. Males that do train are generally doing it for the mirror, they may stand in front of the mirror and hope that the Tren, phonk music and shadows will alleviate them to a point of Anime might. One curl, or press or lift at a time. This for whatever reason in some minds makes them violent and capable of dominating another human in unarmed combat. Or those males who train martial arts and combat sports do so as a hobby or to play a sport. Very few males now train for self defence and less to be a protector.

Or many males may just play games, that anger and indignation or rage that they express is enough. “I am so angry!” the entitled male roars as though this is even an attribute at all. The discipline of study, the humility of work and distance of experience is a rare thing. Especially in an age where autism and mental health and entitlement are the premier identifiers for many individuals. The age of identity politics has created a collectivist derangement, where a person is no longer an individual but instead a gender, race, sex, mental condition, religion, what console they play, whatever. These identifiers become identity and how one treats and calibrates others abilities or even worth. The character of an individual lost, everything is instead cosplay or an avatar of insincerity. Entitlement.

In the case of women in the combat sports or martial arts we continue to see a demented denial of their hard work and capabilities. A woman going on a date with a new man is always leery of mentioning her training or sports background because it will usually be down played as useless or he may spin it into a flirty slur, “I bet I could take you.” Many are drawn to the training as a need to protect themselves because of a fear of being attacked, or because they already have been.

Those of us, especially heavyweights, who played the violent sports and continue to train daily know how hard it is to find training partners, especially those competent. We are grateful for any who one turns up. In the past, when preparing for a heavyweight cage fight which I took on short notice, much of the training that I did was with an ex, who was forty kilograms lighter than me. We adjusted. She turned up ever time. It’s hard to find good training partners, especially for heavier fighters. I managed to win via first round submission, despite a lack of time for camp and having to mostly drill with her. We are grateful for those who are willing to help. For a combat athlete having people to train with that don’t make it all about themselves or act as a reckless entity in the gym. Or for those who want to train beyond sports, finding those who want to train for real violence, self defence or otherwise.

For a lady this problem is even more apparent. She is often expected to train with men and those bigger than her. Males generally are less flexible and rigid, so this means the take downs and ground aspect can vary to what can be expected if she is to compete against another woman. Men, especially when frustrated and fatigued may also rely on strength and power, rather than their minds or technique. Risk of injury from even just drilling is ever apparent. This means that a lot of ladies develop an adaptive mindset in training, they tend to “take what they can get.” Whereas those spoiled for choice, usually dudes under Middleweight, may gain an entitled mindset in the gym and with obsess with their “careers” or “training,” making poor gym partners. Despite such an abundance of similar weight and shaped bodies, they can develop a ‘main character’ syndrome. (Not all of you…;)

As for the current outrage, it will pass, but the experts will use a clip of a man in an armlock, who stands up on a lady who isn’t trying to finish the lock as…evidence?

Train much?

I guess when the world is in the screen, the news feed is your life and those memes and avatars that you engage with is your sustenance, one gains a limited insight. When streaming and gaming, sprites and pixels is the main form of input that you receive, what do you really know?

And then those manly men outside the digital, who know that, generally speaking women are ‘weaker’ than men. Sure. But, that does not mean that such strength ensure certain victory. There are some ladies who train, smart and hard and would do very well, have won.

Cue footage of Lucia Rijker getting knocked out or mentions about trans fighter, Fallon Fox who was also defeated by a biological, cis, whatever fucking PC word thing it is for a woman these days. Yes, a transitioned male, who became a transgender woman injured a biological woman in the cage. And yes, that same transgender woman had her ass beat by a biological woman in the cage as well.

But, no one talks about Ashlee Evans Smith because memers don’t like reality, only narratives.

Such is fighting. Ever tried it?

“Yeah, but Jon Jones would beat any female fighter…”

Yeah, and most males too.

We don’t need to cuckold the abilities and discipline of others to represent oneself. Individual combat is about individuals. Whether a man beats a woman, or vice versa that is two individuals locked in combat. If you derive joy or a sense of accomplishment from that outcome, because of a persons gender, then maybe you need to get out of the cuck chair and climb into the bed yourself to gain a better view. BUT, seeing as that seem to be most peoples thing in regards to many things, your opinion is just that and you won’t know what you don’t know.

As a father, son, brother, husband, boyfriend or a man and if your view is that a woman should simply yield, comply when attacked and never learn or practice self defence or how to fight. That she should never turn up, never try, never fight, never defend. That says everything about you, and nothing about her. If that is the case, then boy, you better man the fuck up and be the most capable in all facets of skill at arms, unarmed combat, if they are expected to be dependent on your ability to protect them. If they must, rely on you.

Back to the show based on the game. I am told that I should be outraged because the algorithm slut memers and content creators told me, the girl playing the role is wrong and should be cancelled. The show itself is a terrible adaption. It’s woke or not ideologically pure or that it deviated from the game to much. Whatever. I am not writing about any of those points of politically correctness and contention made by the detractors, only that the scene itself was decent. There was no mostly boys throwing popcorn at a screen and cheering over a craft that mines while I watched this. That in itself was refreshing, or is that how game adaptions must be viewed now?

I would go so far as to say, seeing a scene with such choreography, would entice me to watch a show like that. But, I am checked out on game and comic adaptions, I think I am done with IP slop made by corporations just for the sake of, content creation and because people will watch it regardless. People will also make money-careers from reviewing and hating such slop. Whether it’s slop or not, whether it’s too Left, too Right or woke or not doesn’t matter. The sequence was pretty cool. Now, I gotta go train. See you there.