Shaolin.

Zen Stories : The Gift of Insults

GoodnightNina.

There once lived a great warrior. Though quite old, he still was able to defeat any challenger. His reputation extended far and wide throughout the land and many students gathered to study under him. One day an infamous young warrior arrived at the village. He was determined to be the first man to defeat the great master. Along with his strength, he had an uncanny ability to spot and exploit any weakness in an opponent. He would wait for his opponent to make the first move, thus revealing a weakness, and then would strike with merciless force and lightning speed. No one had ever lasted with him in a match beyond the first move. Much against the advice of his concerned students, the old master gladly accepted the young warrior’s challenge. As the two squared off for battle, the young warrior began to hurl insults at the old master. He…

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Sun Tzu – The Supreme Art

The supreme art of war is to subdue the enemy without fighting.
– Sun Tzu

 

Zen Samurai -Poetry of war. By Nina Yin

Meditation on inevitable death should be performed daily, once ones body and mind are at peace; they should imagine being ripped apart by arrows, swords, and spears.

Being thrown off thousand foot cliffs, dying of disease, or commuting seppuku at the deaths of one’s master.

One should consider themselves as dead..

-Hagakure

Why should I be afraid to face anything, death….

Here and now I stand strong as myrtle trees. In depth in the substance of the way.

Although tyrant treachery stands to my face clutching weapons; I have nothing to hide nor fear… with weapons of my own.

Do not attest to who and what I am before I eclipse your mind into the nothingness in which we came from.

You cannot acclimate to this level of which you I fear not; devil in the midst, you make me laugh as I draw my sword.

Like an olden tax collector in Roman times you harass the poor and underprivileged. You disgrace the city we worked so hard to rise.

I didn’t know it was tax collection day….

I cut you down at dawn and watch the sunrise twinkle in your pool of blood, wiping my blade on your Babylonian uniform.

Bowing unto your rotting flesh.

-Nina