“The enemy limits you therefore gives you your form and founds you”. This sentence from Saint-Exupéry expresses quite well our condition at the end of this first week of the year 2015. The enemy forces me to evolve according to his codes, within a space that he has circumscribed. First I am a prisoner. He chooses the terrain and compels me to remain confined there. Of the two immutable human givens, space and time, he takes space away from me. Taking space away from time is a bit like taking Laurel away from Hardy. The other unit lives on, but is disfigured. She lost the balance offered by the otherness of her spouse. Time is not the same depending on the space in which it evolves. Geography accomplishes destiny with a measure as precise as the hourglass.

Morihei Ueshiba, the inventor of aikido, who was a Zen priest and philosopher, wanted to "change men", to remove from them all inclinations towards violence. He wanted to win, but also for the vanquished to be changed, to never want to fight or attack anyone again. Defeat was transformed into a remedy for the evil of aggression. If the enemy corners me, I avoid it a first time, a second time, a third time... A small ascendant animates me, and inhabits it. In martial arts, there are no sequences beginning with an attack. The art of war is based on defence. I accepted because I couldn't do space otherwise, I accepted because I was attacked, but my adaptation to space must be greater than that of the enemy, because I am not blinded by hate. The hatred is multiple and reveals the presence of Satan on Earth. Hate is never a freedom, or else it is the freedom stolen from the other. Hate knows very well how to hide under a smile or even a laugh. It is always a loss of self, it hurts the aggressor and the victim. So let's be well aware that the enemy is never himself and that to defeat him my greatest strength is to remain myself. To win, I must always win myself. If one part of me gives up on the other, if I'm divisive, if I believe that shaking hands or hugging, strutting in front of the media is enough, I'm finished. I will fly away at the first gust of wind. I must always remain faithful to my destiny, this soul, this freedom, this gift of God. Evil is not a punishment, Pascal tells us, it is a marked path, an obstinacy in seeking God, in agreeing with Him, in loving ¹ . Every evil is a new chance for conversion. All evil is a chance to escape the sharp claws of the worldling sated with identity, power and envy which, while they may prove weapons in battle, found nothing resembling civilization.

The enemy acts on my soul first

“The enemy limits you therefore gives you your form and founds you”. The enemy by limiting me forces me to define what I am through my geography. Geography combines map and territory. Culture and nature. The enemy is strengthened by my weakness. If my culture and my nature do not agree, if they do not respect each other or if I do not respect one or the other, my enemy has won. When I dodge, my mind can't initiate the movement and my body, after reflection, decides to follow it. My body and my mind must be one. It's the art of combat. It is the form. The enemy gives me my form not by molding me, but by deconstructing me ² , if I am not one, if I am made of odds and ends, if I am mended.

And it founds me… because it forces me to abandon myself and find myself again. The enemy is also othered. He forces me to surrender, because I don't want the fight, but I have to. The deployment of my force is right, because it comes to protect what founds me. The force that protects is the only one that preserves us from the will to power. Otherwise, if she is at the service of power, if she forces me to become wild, she signs the victory of the enemy. War forces me to find myself again because I can only win by being this soul that God calls to conversion through evil. The enemy acts first on my soul. He attacks me, he wants me to come onto his land, into his space. My first and decisive challenge is to accept his charge (I can't do otherwise except to be eliminated before I fight), but to change his space into mine, while continuing to act as if it were his. ground of vindictiveness, its form becomes mine, it only founds its loss.

France is so much more than the Republic

France has helped shape the world by loving it. This has always been France's mission. Not for two centuries as our rulers want to believe and make believe. France is so much more than the Republic. It is also easy for the uneducated to make fun of France's mission in history. The enemy is double and internal: he governs us, he embodies our future. From generation to generation, our leaders cultivate a filthy ignorance of which they honor themselves shamelessly. Each new suitor pushes us to believe that we can go further in this furrow of mediocrity. The Republic whose values ​​they continue to brandish suffers the most important setback of its young existence, it, which based its empire on instruction, forgiveness, education, no longer recognizes its children, and its children hate it. Our youth feeds on violence and calls for it. At both ends of the chain, ignorance commands and orders, finding subterfuges so as not to question itself by pointing out scapegoats that it will hunt down even in literature, that is to say how desperate it is. Inconsistency commands and commands because at both ends of the chain, ideology predominates. The Republic and its procession of vague advertising concepts (anti-racism, secularism, etc.) and Islamism, a cancer of Islam, which is slow to realize the Ratisbonne shift ³ . The organic link that has run year after year since the beginning of France, since Clovis, transmitted here and there by a multitude sometimes known, often misunderstood or unknown, little Jeanne or big Charles ⁴ , continues to exist. All you have to do is bend down a little to pick it up, take it in your hands, warm it up and comfort it so that it regains its joie de vivre. And it is certain that only this bond, this small bond so fragile which does not seem like anything, but which has shaped the world, can help us to overcome the ordeal of war. It is equally certain that there is no known leader armed enough to find him. He's been lost for so long. Many people act as if it never existed. As if he were a fantasy. No one seems to have sufficient faith. This is what keeps worrying. When the patient no longer believes in his cure, the disease places its banderillas and waits to strike the blow. Our conversion languishes in waiting. Our destiny cannot be called submission.