Drunk Without Wine

Thirty-five years on the mat and the pavement. Black belt, teacher, boxer - and, according to this book, a complete fraud. Sensei Max spent three decades teaching people how to defend themselves. Then he took the word apart, syllable by syllable, and found the whole book waiting inside it. This is what happens when a martial arts coach who has actually been hit stops selling technique and starts telling the truth: about the ego throwing punches at shadows, about the self-styled king cowering behind a fence of its own making, about why real self-defense was never a fighting stance. But self-defense is the door here, not the room.
What's actually under examination is the mind itself - the craving that runs underneath addiction, the self-pity that passes for depth, the stories a person builds to avoid sitting still - read through the eye of a trained culturologist, not just a coach. This isn't a memoir and it isn't a manual. The subject was never technique. It was freedom. Drunk Without Wine moves the way a real fight moves - fast, profane, occasionally hilarious, and always closer than you'd like.
It's Mark Manson's give-no-fucks candor colliding with the deep-end questions Eckhart Tolle asks, delivered by a man who has actually been punched in the face for a living. Boxing gyms, Bulgakov, Pavlov's dogs, a Sufi drunk who never touched wine - nothing here is off-limits, and nothing gets smoothed over for comfort. Real self-defense and real awakening turn out to be the same move. This book shows you exactly where they meet - and it doesn't flinch on the way there.