A dancing mantis

Fighting is a form of expression. Doesn’t surprise me that so many fighters end up incorporating dance on their training. Legend says Bruce Lee did it. Maybe I should too. To bring more yin to my yang, release the beast in a different way. Like this:

This dance reminds me of a story, though.

A long time ago, in China, a mighty praying mantis decided to challenge the king. It heard his horses coming so it stood there, in the middle of the road where the carriage would pass, performing its sharp forms with an intensity never seen.

The effort didn’t come unnoticed, for the king, who had his head out of the window noticed the little master perform. “What an interesting little dancer,” he said.

Then rode his carriage right over the little bug.

#dance #kungfu #femalefighters #martialarts

This video is a repost of Instagram: @yinchi_lee


不專業螳螂。Relearning mantis and junior long fist


Taichi for real fights?

I grew up doing Taichi under the shadow of Wudang. Shifu never explained why or how, but he would make us perform the slow forms with precision and power, then when we had to fight, he pushed us away from trying to use the moves and positions. “No fantasy,” he would say.

It infuriated me. Took me a flight to America and being in a cage with bigger men to understand the training. How fighting is timing, form and power, and how my slow and precise Taichi allowed me to move and hit with more strength and speed that my outside body looked it could do. Because of Taichi I learned to put my entire body, and gravity and momentum, on any different part of my body. If on top of that you know how to deal with someone coming to crash your skull, no matter how big they are, you can always knock him down.

In a fight, yin is difficult, yang is way more exciting. I am far from being balanced. Very far, in fact. But if there is one reason why I can put men to sleep when few girls my size can, it’s because of the inner power I developed with Taichi.

#taichi #taichichuan #mma #femalefighters #femalemma #internalmartialarts

* this account is fictional, for details check the link on the bio


Instagram Repost @taichi_universal


Thanks to @georgethompson.uk for his amazing video. 🙏

The Inner Power that we are said to get by practicing an internal martial system such as Taijiquan or Baguazhang gives us a much more subtle and potent power; not for fighting a physical attacker, but for fighting off disease by keeping us in a constant state of balance and to enable us to cause ‘things’ to happen in our lives! This may sound mystical but it is quite a natural thing. The human brain is tremendously powerful with the ability to make us ill, make us well, make us happy or sad, and enable us to gather wealth or to change our circumstances in some way. And this is the Internal Power that we gain by doing for instance Taijiquan. But by doing Taijiquan in the manner it was invented, lends itself to an excellent way of self defence as an off-shoot of training to gain inner power.

By erle montaigue

Fighting, for women

For a woman, fighting is different. Technique matters more, intelligence matters more. We can’t rely on our weight and muscles so much. Need leverage, footwork, speed instead. But more than anything, we need inspiration. Not everyone is lucky to have been born in a family of fighters like me, to have been raised by one of the greatest Shifus to ever live. For everyone else, redemption comes from examples of other girls who show we can all be badass in our own way. Build our body the way we want, and kick any fucking ass that dares to mess with us.

The lady on the photo is Ronda Rousey. She had a couple of tough, painful losses, but she still did more to grow interest for female fighting that anyone I’ve ever seen.

Xiexie, Ronda.–

#femalefighter #femalefighters #judo #mma #ufc #rondarousey #femalemma #unitedbyblood


Instagram Repost @rondarousey


Favorite picture of my judo career, en route to winning my first World Cup at 19 – pic by David Finch

Insurmountable Mount of Balance

From everything, balance is the hardest. Yin, yang. Soft, hard. I know it’s possible and worth it. I’ve seen it in action. But I was born with too much yang. Can train both ways, but when I’m fighting, still have trouble letting go. The beast in me always wins.

#femalefifhter #taichi #mma #yinyang #unitedbyblood

Feat instagram photos by @paigevanzantufc and @taichi_universal


* This account is fictional.

The flying masters of Wudang

A legend I hear since I was new to the world is that certain enlightened masters could move through the bodies of their opponents and change places without stepping. For some, this was just how it felt to be outmaneuvered by an expert Tai Chi fighter. For others, evidence of their magical powers. Shifu was one of these masters who could do that. When I asked him which one was real, magic or deception, he answered “both” and chuckled.

#taichi #shadowleap #chi #wudang


Repost from Instagram: @taichi_universal

Taichi has three level to its spiritual development. This are rappresentated by hearth, man and heaven. In the earth stage we learn to relax our body and mind. When the tension are removed then the energy can fill up our body completely and all the movements are directed by along with intentions. In the stage of man the chi is not necessary we only need the intention.

At this stage taichi becomes formless and the mind is infused with the movement inseparably. In heaven stage the intention now merge with the spirit. According to legends practictioners at this level can fly or walk trough walls. These latter stage is impossible to reach in one lifetime unless costant study and practise is mantained troughout each day.


Wtf?! I understand martial artists attraction to fire arms. Disagree, but understand. I can imagine that high capacity may be fun for these people. But can’t understand how they wouldn’t trade more safety for kids against their little shooting thrill. But posting these photos right after a school shooting, @bulletvalentina ?!? C’mon?! You must be better than that. (Bullet Valentina is a UFC fighter)

Artists of Fist

Martial artists, they call us. For a reason. Who, other than artists pour their hearts on pointless passions under risks ordinary people will never understand? Just because they have to express themselves that way. We work on our craft, our mind, then we go perform. We create, in front of everyone, something different, every time. With real risk. Give me a dancer who choreographs the spectacle on the go, and can die while doing it; or a painter whose canvas wants him to fail; a poet who bleeds for his words. There’s no art more art than fighting. If you don’t get it, it’s because your westerner mind can only see art if it’s for sale. Lululemon safe. I am not, neither are my fists. I get paid if I win, but at that point, I have done it already. I have risked everything because… because.#femalefighters #femalemartialartists #unitedbyblood Praise to both @criscyborg and @hollyholm – two amazing artists

The Worst of the Headaches (v2)

(does this version work or this one here is better?)

EVERY WARRIOR WISHES FOR A GLORIOUS, OR AT LEAST WORTHY END. For me, if it was over I’d be content. When the first sting stroke, sharp and deep, through my temple and into my soul, I knew what was coming. The stabbing, the venom, the humming. Piercing through the side of my skull, pouring the poison inside, waiting for my brain to swell. So big it tries to escape through my sight. My parents died young, perhaps I could as well.

The ghost stingers, they never fail. Once started, they will go for hours. Dismaying pain. I wail. Stabbing, squeezing, stabbing, squeezing, stabbing, squeezing, until no wish remains. They would leave me there, on the border of death, crying in vain. Perhaps waiting for the last step after I’m gone insane.

But I’m too weak, I can’t. I never can.

There’s no dignity in staying. No honor in losing. For I know they would come again, few times per day, for weeks, no choosing. Watch me go through life, terrified of its return. Like today.

Today. No different. It stabs, squeezes and stabs more. I pray. Maybe this one will be a short. A yell: help! My body shakes, skin drips both hot and cold. The pain. It answers itself. A squeeze. Strong. Between the ear and the eye, five nails dig into my flesh, like fire. I squint, as hard as I can. Would rip the skin and everything, if I could. Stabs. Many. Growing stronger. Faster. This ain’t a childhood! So much pain they can be heard: Tween! Tween! Tween! My left eyelid falls, lifeless, and the eyeball in-rolls. It always starts that mean. Worse, it goes.

Will this be the time I do it? Squeeze. The head grows from within, tries to thrust my eye out of its hole. I press it back. With the palm, the fist, knee. Hold. Anything I can find, any position I can arrange. Another stab, there’s no change. The face curls, bone and everything, twitching in agony. Another sting. In the darkness of myself, I shriek, the heart drums – in sync with the pain as it comes. I beg the immortals for an end. Stab, stab, stab. Crush me, please. Stab, stab, stab. Engulf me whole. Stab, stab, stab. There is no future from here. Let me go!


Eyes open. Barely. World still there. Why? Carry me, mother! Rob me from hell. Ache still throbs, but light… has shifted? How long has it been the pain persisted? Has the sun gone down already? Or it’s the poison blinding me dull? “Too much yang.” – Shifu said once. A statement so null. Knowing didn’t soften the squeeze. Never stopped the stab.

The pain is full. Breathe, Yinyin, breathe. It’s your heart beat in command.

The torment insists. The stingers, invisible, toxic, grand. Now in swarms. Relentless. Out of my hands. My head, eye, jaw. I kneel and everything I inside erupts, and then more. Through my mouth, green, warm and chunky. I moan the cry of a dying monkey. Scream and curl. Flat on the ground, my body twists over my spills and all I can think is how soothing that is. Not for long, girl.

Please, let the curse take me, this time! Give me the fate of the ancestors of mine. I have no kids, no family for grief. My death is harmless, it has no teeth.

The Dao doesn’t listen, there’s nothing to be done. Head squeezes again, for the mercy of none. Had Shifu left swords, I would have sliced my face. Dropped my aching chunk and ran to the mountains of fate. Had he left a spear, a dart, they would be through my right eye, to the back of the scalp. The image, the peace…

The ground’s dry. Sucked the last moist of mine, leaving only old pieces food. My fingers play with them, my half-digested witnesses of pain. The last meal and it’s thin veil of mud. Underneath, the floor, hard and inviting, whispers a thought: come.

I bang the side of the head against the surface. Too soft of of a puddle for me to escape. The foot of a table. A hard edged stool. The pain dulls me for an instant but it’s not enough. They move, and the irony, so deep: these fists have knocked out so many people. But one cannot punch herself to sleep.

Squeeze, stab. Fuck! Need something hard and unforgiving. A rock, a hammer, any heavy tool will do. The wall! I find the strongest edge of all. Before the next stab, I run. Jump. Hit my head, and go.