The Parthenon - Athens, Greece

“I say that as a city, we are the school of the world.”
— Pericles, Funeral Oration

Victory has a way of revealing what a city is really made of. The Athenian victory in the Persian Wars didn’t just preserve the city—it propelled it into leadership, laying the groundwork for its golden age. Athens emerged victorious and elevated. The spoils of war, both literal and symbolic, fueled a cultural explosion: drama, philosophy, sculpture, architecture. It was an era defined by power and vision. And at the heart of that vision stood the Parthenon.

What made it remarkable wasn’t just its size or cost (though it was massive and expensive). It was the precision. The subtlety. The intention behind every column and stone. There are almost no straight lines in the Parthenon. The columns swell slightly in the middle (entasis), and the base curves gently. These distortions counteract optical illusions, making the structure appear perfectly straight to the human eye. It was designed not for math, but for how we see.

And yet, the Parthenon wasn’t just a work of art—it was a political statement. Funded by the Delian League, a wartime alliance turned Athenian revenue stream, it was a bold display of dominance. Art became diplomacy. Architecture became soft power. The Parthenon told the rest of Greece: Athens leads now.

Even in ruins, it remains one of the most iconic structures in human history. Architects still study its proportions. Artists still draw from its ideals.

Tourists still climb the Acropolis to catch a glimpse of what it meant to build something for the ages.

Its survival through war, explosion, looting, and time is a tribute to the spirit of Athens. Yet it was also a show of confidence—designed by elites, towering over a city that knew its influence. The Parthenon wasn’t just a celebration of what Athens was; it was a projection of what it wanted to be.

That mattered, because in Athens, greatness wasn’t inherited—it was made. The city believed in effort, debate, and shaping citizens through participation. 

In his Funeral Oration, Pericles captured that spirit when he said:

“We are called a democracy, for the power is in the hands of the many than in the few. What counts is not a person’s class, but their merit. I say that as a city, we are the school of the world.”

The Parthenon was the classroom. The lesson? That culture can be power. That form can carry meaning. That vision, shaped and carved into stone, can still speak.

Imanari Jiu-Jitsu - Tokyo, Japan

Mastery isn’t just skill. It’s an unspoken connection—a precise harmony of humility, purpose, and presence. I learned this in a Tokyo basement, where a legend transformed an ordinary morning into something unforgettable.

The streets of Tokyo are still asleep when you emerge from Akebonobashi Station. The winter air bites, sharp and clean, and the only sound comes from a vending machine humming softly on the corner. A small sign beside it reads: Imanari’s Jiu Jitsu. The arrow points downward, leading to a staircase that vanishes into the earth.

Descending into the dojo, the scent of clean mats and detergent greets you. The space is stark, fluorescent lights bouncing off pristine gray mats. Two men sit near the entrance, speaking quietly in Japanese. One of them, unmistakably, is Masakazu Imanari. His wiry frame and sharp gaze radiate an effortless presence.

When he notices you, he smiles, his expression warm, almost playful. “Training?” he asks. His voice carries no pretense, just genuine curiosity. After introductions, he surprises you by switching briefly to Spanish, eager to connect on your terms. Even here, in a basement far from home, Imanari’s kindness cuts through the cold.

Shoes off, you step onto the mats. The faint rhythm of James Brown’s Black Caesar album plays in the background—a smooth, unexpected counterpoint to the room’s quiet energy. One by one, students arrive. Some are locals; others, like you, are travelers drawn by the reputation of the Ashikan Judan—the “Master of Leglocks.”

Class begins with warm-ups, led by Imanari himself. His movements are deliberate, precise, and strangely calm, as if every motion carries a deeper purpose. Today’s lesson: single-leg X into heel hook variations, a technique that has become synonymous with his name. His instruction is mostly in Japanese, but words are unnecessary. His mastery transcends language, his body demonstrating what words never could.

You fumble at first, your attempts clumsy compared to the fluidity of his movements. He notices. Without hesitation, he’s beside you, guiding your hands and shifting your weight until it clicks. His touch is precise, his manner encouraging but unflinching. When you get it right, he nods—not with fanfare, but with quiet acknowledgment. Progress, no matter how small, deserves recognition.

Sparring begins. It’s a test of adaptability, and Imanari leads by example. He rolls with everyone, from white belts to seasoned black belts. When it’s your turn, he matches your energy—firm yet technical, pushing just enough to challenge you without overwhelming. His approach is fluid, a mirror reflecting your effort and intent. You feel the gap in skill, vast yet inspiring, like staring at the ocean from the shore.

As the session winds down, the dojo pulses with life. James Brown’s The Payback provides a steady beat as students linger—some sparring, others exchanging tips or packing their gear. Imanari stays, a constant presence, his focus unwavering. He rolls with those who ask, answers questions, and shares quiet moments with his students.

When it’s your turn to approach, you ask him, with the help of Google Translate, about the connection between jiu jitsu and the Japanese aesthetic of wabi-sabi. His reply is simple but profound: “Even after a tough practice and a lot of pain, we can still say things like, ‘Thank you.’” His words echo long after the mats empty, a reminder of the beauty in imperfection and perseverance.

Emerging into the now-bright Tokyo morning, you carry more than the ache of exertion. You carry the weight of an experience that transcends technique—a glimpse into what mastery truly means. It isn’t about perfection; it’s about humility, connection, and the quiet joy of learning.

In a cold basement dojo, under the watchful eye of a legend, you found not just a teacher but a philosophy. And you leave knowing that mastery is not just an endpoint—it’s a way of being.

Written by Esteban Galvez

Visit Imanari Jiu-Jitsu while in Tokyo

Address: Japan, 〒160-0006 Tokyo, Shinjuku City, Funamachi, 8−4 YKB舟町 B1