For some, it’s about the violence. Jiu Jitsu is, after all, two bodies negotiating a single space. If played to its logical conclusion, one body is dead or, at the very least, unusable. It’s a slow, unfolding art.
To me, when I roll with my betters — which, if I’m honest, is most everyone — it feels like reverse-engineering a sculpture. Who creates and who uncreates often changes and more often overlaps. There are the strong-willed blue belts where the engineering is more a dismantling. You’re the Confederate statue and they’re the righteous chains pulling you down. There are the systematic upper-belts who soften your marble and iron to reveal your loosely constructed framework. One minute you’re a stone monument and next you’re a toothpick. And then, there are the folks like my Professor — kindhearted, patient kinetic-scholars. No matter how fluid you think you are they seem to perceive you as static. And in that static-state can form and unform you to their liking.
On my best days, Jiu Jitsu is a molecular, art therapy. As good for the soul as anything I’ve ever tried. Worst days, which there are many, I leave class egoscraped and injured, but feeling very much reset. An occasional and always-necessary return to zero.
Sadly, I’m taking some time off — end of days and all — but I’ll be back.
If you’re ever in Salt Lake and wanna wrassle, swing by.
Michael Farfel 
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