How I Changed My Relationship with Jiu-Jitsu
The Art of Flow
When I first stepped onto the jiu-jitsu mat in the mid-90s, I was full of anticipation, excitement—and a fair amount of dread. Every session felt like stepping into a battlefield, where egos clashed and every roll was treated like a fight to the death. ‘The Gentle Art,’ they called it, but there was nothing gentle about the bruised ribs, the strained joints, and the constant pressure to prove yourself. My relationship with jiu-jitsu was a love-hate one for a long time, and I couldn’t shake the feeling that something about it was missing.
My introduction to Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu (BJJ) was, like many martial artists of my generation, sparked by Royce Gracie’s legendary performances in the early UFC events. Royce was small by comparison to his opponents, yet he dominated them with grappling techniques, timing, and strategy, showcasing a level of mastery that left the martial arts world in awe. It was a revelation. I wanted to understand that ground game, to master the skills that allowed someone to dominate as he had.
By 1995, I had thrown myself into BJJ, but it wasn’t the smooth, effortless journey I had imagined. Resources in South Africa were scarce back then, especially outside of Brazil. As only one of two people teaching ‘Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu’ at that time in South Africa, I primarily taught myself (I began teaching jiu-jitsu as a white belt). But as a head bouncer in several of Johannesburg’s most notorious nightclubs, the stakes were real—each night held the possibility of a violent encounter. Jiu-jitsu wasn’t a sport for me; it was survival.
But the more I trained, the more I struggled with the culture around jiu-jitsu. Early on, as a blue belt, I travelled to the States and Brazil, but it seemed every roll became a test of masculinity, where tapping out was seen as a weakness. It was as if the very essence of jiu-jitsu—or at least what I thought it was meant to be based on leverage and flow—had been swallowed by ego. I questioned how an art that was supposed to be gentle had become so rigid and aggressive. Where was the flow? Where was the gentleness? Where was the philosophy of human flourishing?
It was only later on, as I began to delve into the history of ‘Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu’ and its historical mother art ‘jiu-jitsu’ from Japan, that I came to learn that historically, of course, jujutsu was a combat-oriented martial art used by samurai to incapacitate or kill opponents in the chaos of battle. Its techniques were not geared toward spirituality or religious asceticism, as some myths suggest, but toward practical, real-world survival. As such, many notable samurai later transitioned into religious roles, especially within Shinto and Zen Buddhism, as a way to seek inner peace and spiritual fulfilment after a life dedicated to warfare.
One powerful example of a samurai who, after surviving warfare, sought spiritual solace is Tesshū Yamaoka (1836–1888). Known for his martial prowess and leadership during the turbulent end of the Edo period, Yamaoka realised that war and combat did not quell his inner shadows. Turning to Zen Buddhism, he devoted himself to meditation and self-discipline, ultimately achieving enlightenment under the guidance of master Tekisui Giboku. Yamaoka’s journey highlights the spiritual path many samurai took after realising that true mastery lay not in combat, but in conquering the self, leading him to found the Muto-ryu school of swordsmanship, where martial skill and Zen philosophy merged in the pursuit of inner peace.
A Shift in Perspective
Taking the above into account, the turning point in my journey came when I earned my black belt. With that milestone, I felt a certain freedom to explore the art on my own terms. I realised that the battle I was experiencing wasn’t with jiu-jitsu itself—it was with how I was approaching it, how I was taught to approach it. Instead of seeing each roll as a fight to be won, what if I treated it as a conversation? A dialogue of movements, timing, and energy.
That shift changed everything. I started to see jiu-jitsu not as a fight for dominance, but as a dance—a practice of adaptability and flow. This realisation led to the birth of Crazy Monkey Jiu-Jitsu, an approach that blended the harmonious concept of flow with the core principle of self-preservation. It didn’t happen overnight. It took years of researching, honing, experimenting, and refining the approach. With the blessing and guidance of my coach, Master Rigan Machado, under whom I earned my blue belt all the way to my 5th-degree black belt, I embarked on a journey to embrace jiu-jitsu’s true potential; a martial art for real-world survival, but practised with mindfulness and a focus on human flourishing. In other words, applying the principles of jiu-jitsu experienced and discovered on the mat to take on the martial arts of everyday life more skillfully.
Embracing the Flow
To this end, I developed a pedagogical method called ‘Challenge Play’ to help bring this idea to life. In Challenge Play, rolling becomes an engaging dance where both partners contribute to the experience. The goal isn’t to beat your opponent; it’s to learn from them. It’s about adaptability, responsiveness, and being fully present in the moment. There’s no room for hyper-competitiveness or the need to constantly fight for status in this approach.
The idea is that jiu-jitsu isn't just about winning or losing; it’s about continuing to evolve. If you focus solely on victory or the finish, you limit the possibilities for growth. But when the practice itself becomes the reward—when each roll is an opportunity to discover new layers of yourself and your skills—then jiu-jitsu transforms. There’s no ‘end' to achieve; instead, the journey itself is the point, an ongoing process where learning is never finished.
Rather than seeking to dominate, we roll to explore, to test boundaries, and to adapt. In this approach, there are no fixed outcomes, only opportunities to improve, no matter the result. This means every roll is valuable—not because of the final tap or escape, but because of what it reveals along the way. And when we view jiu-jitsu this way, every partner, no matter their level, becomes a teacher.
This mindset shifts the focus from conquest to continuous growth. Instead of seeing rolling as a battle with an opponent, we approach it as an experience that helps us push beyond our current limits, both physically and mentally. It’s a practice where the real goal isn’t winning, but discovering something new every time we step on the mat.
Self-Preservation as the Core
While flow became a central part of my jiu-jitsu, I never lost sight of its practical application for self-protection. Crazy Monkey Jiu-Jitsu stays true to the roots of the art—reaching back to the Samurai and the battlefields of Japan—by maintaining a strong emphasis on self-preservation. From day one, our white belt curriculum focuses on what I call ‘Street-Jits’.
We prepare our students for real-world scenarios, where unpredictability is the only constant. I’ve taught this approach to everyone from real-world warriors like law enforcement and military professionals to everyday people seeking to defend themselves. The goal is the same: functionality in the face of real interpersonal conflict.
Our training integrates techniques that are adaptable to various situations, acknowledging that a street confrontation is vastly different from a controlled sport environment. We focus on principles like leverage, timing, and efficiency to ensure our skills are effective when it truly matters. Our students are also taught how to apply strikes and, more importantly, how to neutralise a striking opponent with their grappling skills.
As my coach Master Rigan Machado once said about my approach, "Rodney's approach to 'Street-Jits' is simple, functional, and it works. I encourage all jiu-jitsu academies to train and certify in his program.”
The Mat, The Street, and Life
The philosophy of Crazy Monkey Jiu-Jitsu extends beyond the mat. It applies to three main areas of life:
The Mat: Here, we create an ego-free environment where training is cooperative and focused on flow. It’s about learning and personal growth, not domination.
The Street: We prioritise self-preservation, adapting techniques for real-world situations. We train with the knowledge that survival is the ultimate goal.
Life: No, you don’t have to go through ‘fight’ training only to realise it has no answers to help you develop inner peace like so many Samurai found out the hard way. In our approach, the principles of how we coach jiu-jitsu—calmness under pressure, adaptability, resilience, and inner peace on the mat—become metaphors for how to handle life's challenges. Jiu-jitsu, in this sense, becomes a tool for personal development.
This holistic approach ensures that jiu-jitsu isn’t just about mastering techniques—it’s about mastering life.
Flow as The Way
Adopting flow has not only enhanced my jiu-jitsu but also transformed my life and the lives of my students. I’ve learned to be more present, to let go of anger, and to respond with a deep sense of calm, presence, and focus rather than to react.
In our training environment, we prioritise safety and enjoyment over aggression. We discourage hyper-competitiveness and ego-driven behaviour. Many of my students are professionals who come to jiu-jitsu for relief from their high-stress careers. They don’t want to step into an environment where they have to worry about getting injured or dealing with someone’s unresolved trauma being expressed through aggression on the mat.
That’s why I have a strong philosophy I call the ‘Zero Meathead Policy.’ I won’t tolerate destructive, ego-driven behaviour on the mat. Even today, when I’m on a mat that isn’t my own, if I see someone tearing up the room with that kind of energy, I politely decline to roll with them or leave the room. Much of the injuries I still struggle with came from never saying no to people who were using jiu-jitsu to avoid dealing with their shadows. In the end, constantly rolling with people who needed the mat to feed their ego left me sacrificing my long-term health for their short-term validation, and I refuse to see any of my students having to now endure the same.
The Mat Doesn’t Lie
One thing I’ve learned over the years is that the mat doesn’t lie. You can watch someone roll and understand a lot about who they are without ever exchanging words. Jiu-jitsu reveals a person’s character in a way that’s impossible to hide.
Rolling can be a life-changing experience if approached with the right mindset. But it can also be destructive (yes, something most people in jiu-jitsu don't want to discuss). If every time you step on the mat, you’re met with aggression and dominance, it embeds itself into your psyche. Instead of jiu-jitsu becoming a path to personal liberation, it can, unintentionally, deepen the struggles you already face.
Changing the Culture
To truly change my relationship with jiu-jitsu, I realised I had to influence the culture around it. I had to create an environment that valued flow and self-preservation over ego and hyper-competition.
This meant:
Encouraging students to check their egos at the door (I always remember a sign saying this at Rigan Machado’s school in my early visits there in the mid-90s).
Promoting cooperative learning and mutual respect.
Emphasising the real-world application of jiu-jitsu for self-preservation.
Integrating life lessons into every training session.
The result? A community of practitioners who are not only skilled martial artists but mindful individuals, capable of handling life’s challenges with grace.
An Invitation
If you’ve ever felt the same frustration I did—the disconnect between what the philosophy of jiu-jitsu ought to be and how it’s often practised—I invite you to explore the Crazy Monkey Way to Jiu-Jitsu. It’s a path that honours the art’s rich heritage, acknowledging where things have gone wrong, while adapting it for modern needs.
By changing my relationship with jiu-jitsu, I’ve found a deeper appreciation for the art and a more fulfilling way to practice it. The art of flow has not only transformed my time on the mat but also my approach to life’s challenges.
Come step onto the mat with me, and let’s embark on this journey together. Discover how the gentle art can truly be gentle, powerful, and transformative—all at once.
Excellent article with often overlooked, or forgotten, training principles