The Langmann Family on one of their snowy adventures!

The Langmanns work and play hard. They put their heart and soul into everything they do. They are always off climbing some mountain or riding their bikes someplace amazing. Dad, Vince, was in an Iron Man competition last summer and is on the Mt. Hood Ski Patrol all winter on the weekends. Birgit, mom, rides her bike to and from the University of Portland every day. During Mas Jasmine’s brown sash test, the entire family ran the five miles with her all the way. This is no ordinary family!

Mas Jasmine is 12 and will be testing for the rank of black belt this month on the 18th. The test is long and challenging. It doesn’t surprise me that Mas Jasmine is as courageous as she is. I’ve seen her family’s determination to support her training and I’ve seen their consistency over the years. I’ve felt their understanding that this isn’t just any martial art, but is also an incredible road to self development. Their comitment to one another, to their daughter and to Tulen Center is beautiful. It is with great pleasure that I introduce you to the Langmann family.

The Langmanns have been a part of the Tulen Center family for over 5 years. Brigit and Vince are both in the medical field. We have seen Brigit work hard at her studies and she is about to graduate and get her nursing degree. The Langmanns have two beautiful daughters:  Mas Jasmine (12) and Sophia (10). They have lived in Portland since 2004. In August, we will be very sad to say goodbye as they move off to live on the East Coast and we hope they will come back and visit us whenever they can. Meanwhile, we’ll have to plan field trips to Albany, New York!

How did you become a part of the Poekoelan Family?

“My youngest daughter Sophia took a Little Monkeys class at the Garden Home Rec Center. She enjoyed it, but afterwards, Jasmine asked me if she could try it out. Sophia eventually stopped training but Jasmine has been a student ever since.” -Brigit

What activities do you do as a family? What will you miss about Portland?

“We like anything outside: hiking, biking, reading, and just adventuring. Our favorite dinners are curry and tacos! But those don’t really go together… We will miss the people in Portland. However, we do love new experiences.” -Brigit

What do you love about Poekoelan?

“I love Poekoelan because I love training and I love the people that train here too. I think that Poekoelan is very important because a girl needs to know how to protect herself if she is walking alone. I know that I can defend myself! I am very excited for my Black Belt test and I have been training very hard.” –Mas Jasmine

One summer, a few years back, my husband, my two kids and I were visiting Jon, his wife and his two kids in Western MA, and we had the opportunity to join his Dojang for a class. Both of our families were there and it was a wonderful evening, full of sharing and respect. Even though the style wasn’t Poekoelan Tjimindie Tulen, we all felt very at home and very welcome.

As part of the black belt testing process, students at Ashfield Tae Kwan Do are asked to write an essay. Jon sent me his, and I loved it. Jon’s a writer, he’s smart and he’s pretty funny. So I’m grateful he’s letting me share this with you. Enjoy!

Crouching Tiger
By JONATHAN DIAMOND
Essay submitted for the rank of black belt
Ashfield Tae Kwon Do
Master Roger Lynch
April 20th 2012

Jon visiting Tulen Center in 2008 learning Choke Front Second Variation

An author and father of two whom I admire once wrote that, the moment you become a dad you find yourself making some big promises. As you cradle that baby in your arms you silently swear to be a paragon of virtue; to be strong, kind, brave, prudent, smart about money, and good with tools. In short, you promise to be someone else, someone better, and someone who will instill in his children a sense of discipline, confidence, power and safety—which is why I thought I might need some help. So as soon as my sons were old enough I signed them up for a martial arts class.

We chose Tae Kwon Do because the school is close to our home and is run by a
man who conducts the classes the way Jesus would if he thought the best way for “peace and love to be multiplied” was to teach children how to use their bodies as weapons. A year after enrolling the boys I joined too. As I quickly discovered, when you take up a discipline like Tae Kwon Do at my age you’re probably not going to develop ‘abs of steel’. A starring role in the latest martial arts blockbuster “Crouching Tiger, Hidden Cellulite” is more likely. Why would my opponent bother with a wrist grab when I have love handles I kept wondering to myself?

Riding home from the Dojang (school) last month my oldest son, Julian, asked me
how I thought his class had gone. “I’m really trying to bump my game up a notch or two
and train as if I were already a red belt,” he said. I told him it showed. And then he
started talking animatedly about a match he’d had with one of our young black belts, Eli.

When I first met Eli he was a painfully shy, awkward teenager. Eli started his training when he was seven, the same age as my sons Julian and Oliver began theirs. Despite his formidable skills—his flying kicks have the hang time of a LeBron James dunk shot—Eli had to wait a long time to test for his black belt. This is because our Master won’t test anyone for the rank of black belt before his or her eighteenth birthday. However, the match Julian was referring to took place six months ago just before Eli
headed off to the Coast Guard. “Master Lynch said we were so fast he was having a hard time keeping up with our kicks and punches—that was my best match ever!” he said excitedly. He was right. Julian then remarked how much he loved sparring with Eli and that he missed his gentle presence and intense, wiry energy in the Dojang since he’d been gone. I realized that I love Eli too. For the same reasons Julian does. And that got me thinking that there isn’t a single man I’ve met who sits on the board of this school, past or present, that I wouldn’t be thrilled—ecstatic—to have either of my sons turn out like. Not one.

You just can’t imagine how good that feels to me as a father. I am privileged to
have my sons be part of something like that. I want them to understand that when you
find a place as special as this you don’t sit on the sidelines and watch, you join in. When
you discover something this good, you do whatever you have to do to support it and
while that will, inevitably, entail a lot of hard work and sacrifice, it’s neither. It’s service.

My Journey
This strikes at the core of what has been, for me, the most challenging part of this journey—that is, trying to figure out my place in the Dojang and Tae Kwon Do’s in my life. What is the meaning and purpose of all this training, beyond staying healthy and fit?
I often feel like the Emma Goldman of Tae Kwon Do: “If I can’t dance, I don’t want to
be in your martial art…” Taking myself, and the form, more seriously has been an
important part of the process for me. More specifically, learning how to channel my
natural joy and zest for life in constructive ways so my energy doesn’t distract from, but
contributes to, the work of the community has been crucial to my process. Like most
journeys or quests of this type, it’s involved a lot of searching.

In my case, it’s required my trying to stay more in the present moment during
class—in stretches and basics, not just when sparring or doing forms. My mantra for the
past six months has been focus, Focus, FOCUS. Honestly, that’s been a lifelong project
for me.

One of the most stressful moments in this effort took place when I was testing for
my yellow belt. Prior to demonstrating my test form, Master Markey asked me to
describe, “In one word, please” the most essential part of Tae Kwon Do. As the black
belts sitting on the board in front of me waited patiently for my response, I could feel the
stares of all the friends and family members gathered in the audience behind me. Hoping to buy a little time, I inhaled and stood up on my toes with my arms raised over my head, as if readying to perform one of the moves in Palgwe Pal Jang or Koryo. And then I found it. “Breath,” I said, exhaling and lowering my arms to my side. No matter what else I manage to accomplish in my training, I will always remember the look of astonishment and pleasure on Master Markey’s face when I came up with that answer. I felt as if I’d uncovered the secret of the universe. But this master student exchange, with its Freudian overtones of child-like admiration and parental approval, did not result in my cracking the code of an ancient practice. These moments, as gratifying as they can be when they happen, are more like flotation devices than Rosetta Stones. They buoy our spirits and help us stay afloat and remain calm when we find ourselves in a tight spot or trying to comprehend one of life’s inexplicable mysteries. Similar to the haikus Master Lynch occasionally reads before class, they’re little alleluias. They are our way of offering praise to the world.

Tae Kwon Do hasn’t unlocked the secret of happiness or blessed me with wisdom
beyond my years. It hasn’t mended my parents’ broken marriage, healed the wounds of
childhood or filled that empty space deep inside me. What Tae Kwon Do has done is gift
me a Dojang full of people who love me despite my shortcomings, or, more accurately,
because of them. I haven’t experienced a sense of community this powerful or a love this unconditional outside a twelve-step meeting. It provides me a spiritual practice that gets me through my toughest days (most of them anyway). And, best of all, for the first time ever, I’m actually meditating in the company of others—even if we spend the rest of class, trying to kill each other or learning how to inflict terrible, horrible, unmentionable pain on an unsuspecting attacker.

It Takes a Village
On Saturdays the Dojang transforms into a Korean version of Brigadoon, the
village of Scottish folklore that appears out of the clouds every hundred years. You never know who is going to show up. Former students return from college. A green belt and mother of two who took thirteen years off to raise her family comes back to continue her training. Black belts visit from strange, exotic, faraway lands like Japan and Turners
Falls. And, no matter how long it’s been since we’ve seen each other, time freezes.
Relationships pick up right where they left off. It’s an odd kind of intimacy. You can
stand next to a person for three, five, seven years without knowing much else about him
other than what brand of deodorant he uses (or that he doesn’t), but you share this intense bond together. Or, conversely, between bows and a quick handshake, you might learn about a huge death or tragedy in someone’s life. Two of my sparring partners, Dan and Louise, lost parents last year, Louise her mother, Dan both his mom and dad. Sometimes our toughest fights are the ones we face outside the Dojang.

One Tuesday in class we were learning how to perform the butterfly kick. Crescent kick. Plant. Spin counterclockwise. Fall on my ass. Repeat. Crescent kick. Plant. Spin counterclockwise. Fall on my ass. Mine was a beautiful kick (other than that last part). At the end of class, I was sparring with one of my teachers, Ms. Lorde. Ms. Lorde is a third-degree black belt. Pound for pound she is easily the most powerful person in the
Dojang. She’s also the reason they call what we do an “art.” During sparring lower ranks
are encouraged to try out any new kicks or combinations taught earlier. Mae West said
when choosing between two evils, she likes to pick the one she hasn’t tried before. So I tried my butterfly kick (again). Crescent kick. Plant. Spin counterclockwise. Land…Land! Ms. Lorde just stood staring at me, her feet cemented to the floor. I did another. This time, neither of us moved. And then (I feel like Dave Barry when he writes, “I’M NOT MAKING THIS UP”) she took both my gloved hands in hers and started jumping up and down shouting, “Oh my God, Jonathan! You ARE a butterfly!!”

The majority of students who make it to the rank of black belt, in any practice, not just Tae Kwon Do, are not, necessarily, the most skilled or talented martial artists in their disciplines. Some, like Ms. Lorde, clearly are. What it takes for most of us to achieve this milestone is, more than anything, a boatload of persistence and resilience. It is a long, long journey. There are so many setbacks and detours you encounter along the way—some good (e.g., children and school), some bad (e.g., injuries and family crises). When Ms. Lorde, or one of the other black belts, carries on like that in response to some small thing we did in class, well…Reactions like that have the half-life of plutonium. They can sustain you through a lot of the hard times and help you roll with all the little speed bumps life puts in your path.

The Heart is a Muscle
Ours is a family Dojang. The majority of us are not athletic, young twentysomething
year-olds like Eli or testosterone-charged teens like my sons. Consequently, some of the most impressive displays of Tae Kwon Do come from our hearts not our bodies, or surface in random acts of kindness.

It all starts with Master Lynch. In the kids class he sees where the children are, where they’ve been and where they’re ready to go. He doesn’t pander to them. And the kids know it. He teaches the adults the same way. He has a gift for finding that one special thing each of us does well and nurturing it. He brings grace and beauty out of clumsiness. Out of crudeness he gets poetry. He’s constantly asking us to stretch beyond our limits. He leads by example. I’ll never forget the morning Master Markey and Master White carried him into the Dojang to teach class following his abdominal surgery. Their love for him was so tangible that day you could have broken it like a board. Collectively, these men have over eight decades of Tae Kwon Do between them. Seventeen stripes adorn their black belts. But, to me, that tender exchange between the three of them was as powerful as any move executed by a Zen warrior on a field of battle.

Another of my teachers is a second degree and a breast cancer survivor. After she was diagnosed, our whole class sat with her in Muknyum (meditation) and prayed for her treatment to go well. She attended classes right up until the day of her operation. As soon as the stitches healed she started chemotherapy and resumed her training. Up all night. Sick. Sometimes she would just stop in the middle of one of her forms, like an exhausted caribou at a watering hole, and stand motionless in the middle of the Dojang. After a couple of minutes had passed she would continue on like nothing happened. I’ve never witnessed a more daring act of bravery in my life.

For some, just standing is an accomplishment. A young girl who trained with my sons in the kids’ class, suffers from a potentially life-threatening neuromuscular disease. Her parents are two of my teachers I’ve worked with the longest. They have three daughters, two of whom have the same illness. I don’t know how this family found the time to cook breakfast, never mind achieve the rank of black belt. In class, we’d take turns helping this student keep her balance and stay on her feet.

In the Dojang, life works the way it does in a family or in church: The less broken
take care of the more broken.

Giving Thanks
I keep coming back to parenting. Barbara Kingsolver wrote that mothers parent from the bottom up. That’s the way Master Lynch teaches class. We don’t separate ourselves by rank or skill. Everyone stays together. When a new student joins the Dojang, we all practice getting into Junbi (ready position) and learn how to bow all over again.

The Hyungs (forms) we study en route to our black belt are named after different elements found in nature—such as heaven, lake, fire, thunder, wind, water, mountain, and earth. They are patterns with set moves we repeat each time we demonstrate them, but, as in the natural world, there is room for self-expression. In class, we visualize ourselves moving like the wind (Oh Jang), leaping like flames in a wildfire (Sam Jang) or
ascending a steep mountain (Chil Jang). The images are powerful and archetypal and lend themselves easily to interpretation. Except for Koryo, which, simply, means Korea. The first of the black belt forms, the name “Koryo” derives from a proud dynasty whose spirit is reflected in its movements. In the opening move, we cup our hands in the shape of a circle (yin yang) and hold it out in front of us. Mr. Rawlings shared with me that when trying to make this form his own he pictures holding someone he loves and admires inside that circle. For me, this would include my wife Dana and my sons, Julian and Oliver, especially. Tae Kwon Do is a lifelong bond, one we will always share no matter what adversity life throws at us, or what conflicts transpire between us.

Another person who inspires me in the Dojang is my training partner, Dan, whom I have been blessed to have as a guide and companion on this adventure. Dan is a black belt and advanced student in two other martial arts. I’ve both marveled at and benefited from his ability to synthesize the myriad disciplines he’s studied. Observing Dan’s process made me realize that I’ve spent a lot more time thinking about what I need Tae Kwon Do to do for me—for example, helping me write and be a better father to my kids—than I have thinking about what I need to do for my Tae Kwon Do. Of course, there is a strong kismet between the two. The things I most need to work on in life— patience, balance, grace, and focus—are the same skills I’m trying to concentrate on in my training. What’s more, there’s hope!

On a recent trip to New York City I was practicing one of my forms in the hotel’s fitness center when I found myself confused about the position of my hands between moves. Four years ago that conundrum would have sent me dumpster diving into my computer bag searching for the wrinkled, folded up worksheets with the pictures of all my forms. You know, the ones that always manage to illustrate everything except the one move you’re seeking to clarify. (I don’t have much experience with weapons training but if I had to pick one to use in a fight I would become a master at drawing those tiny diagrams as nothing frustrates and brings a grown man to his knees faster.) However, this time I wasn’t panicked. I was simply curious. Because, while I didn’t know what my teachers would say, I understood enough to appreciate that there wasn’t a clear answer to my query. It was the sort of question that generates a kind of Talmudic dialogue among the black belts in the Dojang that reminds you that Tae Kwon Do is not a science with set rules and laws. It’s a tradition, handed down from one generation to the next. Becoming a black belt means that I am now part of that dialogue.

Like the bell Master Lynch rings during Muknyum to indicate the beginning of class—the first chime, to honor our past teachers, the second, our current instructors and the third, the future ones we will soon join—if someone asked me what to call my black belt test I would answer, “A good start!”

Vivek, Mas Hersh, Gargi and Sonali Gupta

Introducing the Gupta Family in Sonali’s words:

Myself, Sonali, am a part-time school teacher at Living Wisdom school and a mom of two wonderful kids; My loving husband, Vivek is a software professional working at ARRIS Inc. Our daughter, Gargi, is a junior at ISB (International School of Beaverton) this year, and Mas Hersh is in 7th grade also at ISB.

As a family, we love to spend most of our time together; it could be driving to-and-fro, going shopping or relaxing at home watching a nice movie.

Mas Hersh started his training at Tulen Center in January 2010. For the longest time, Mas Hersh had shown keen interest in Martial arts. About a year before he started, we had heard about & watched Mas Rowan’s brown sash test. It left an impression on our minds. So on the 2nd of Jan’10, our family walked into Tulen Center on Canyon Road.

We remember that day clearly. Mas Hersh attended an hour long class and after returning home, he slept for three hours straight! We admire the amount of strength & stamina he has developed through the training at Tulen Center.

Recently, Mas Hersh injured his knee and was asked not to put any weight on that leg. He came up to us and said,” I am so… grateful to Goeroe and Mas Rob for giving me good training on my crane stance….!”

We are fortunate to have Tulen Center in our lives. We are thankful to Pendekkar Silvia and Goeroe Jeff for their loving, caring guidance and encouragement to Mas Hersh in this journey.

My Father-in-law, kind hearted soul that he is, saw my challenges and struggles that first year and offered to pay for lessons for me the second year. I was THRILLED when they put me in with the beginner kids. That was just my speed! I had an amazing instructor who had been teaching for almost thirty years. She was patient and kind. She was an expert at watching what I did and feeding back to me the different ways I could experiment with the skis, the poles and my weight and balance. I was getting the hang of it! I was actually starting to have fun! I was smiling!

Over the years, my martial arts training has helped me more ways than I can count. I have gained strength, endurance, balance and a certain small amount of grace. I have learned to stand up for myself, to respect myself and to live with integrity. And I have learned to roll!

Back on the slopes, we faced a challenging hill. From my position at the top, I wondered how I’d ever make it down. I started gingerly at first, picking up speed as I felt more confident. Before I knew it, I was going faster than I’d ever gone before, loving the feel of the wind in my face and the swish of the skis through the snow. Just as suddenly, I felt myself starting to careen out of control, out of balance, and going really fast, heading straight toward some big trees. Big trees with hard trunks! Without thinking, I did a dive roll. I dove off those skis and tumbled through the snow doing two rolls downhill before I came to a stop in a pile of snow. I got up laughing, covered with more white fluff than an arctic polar bear. I collected my skis and poles and made my way down to my instructor, happy to have stayed so calm, acted so fast, and ready to keep going.

When I got to her, she asked if I was OK. I said sure, it was actually kind of a hoot. She got very quiet and looked at me, tilting her head. Finally, she said, “I have been teaching skiing a long time and have never seen anyone do that. Are you sure you are OK. I’m so relieved. I thought we’d have to call the medical patrol. But you thought it was…fun? I can’t believe you got up laughing. I really haven’t ever seen anything like that in all my days instructing.” I told her about my training, and then it was her turn to laugh. “No wonder”, she said, “now it all makes sense!”  Later that day, when she was recounting the story to someone sitting next to us on the lift, she learned how old I was and was shocked.

So yes, in the art of Poekoelan Tjimindie Tulen, I learn all sorts of things: to fight, to build my character, to work out hard, to help create peace in the world, to face my fears, to believe in myself and to live with compassion. And I learn to roll! I, of course, think everyone should train Poekoelan. You never know when a good solid dive roll will come in handy! Even when you’re in your 50’s!

Happy Skiing!

Pendekkar Silvia

Mas Brad

Dear Pendekkar,

I want to thank you and Goeroe Jeff for believing in me.  I honestly wanted to walk off the floor a number of times during the “Men’s Class in 2010” – I did not think this was for me.  I am so glad I kept training with your encouragement as well as Goeroe Jeff’s.  The Tulen community is so special – the encouragement from Mas Rob H, Mas Divonna, and Mas Twila to keep me going.  I made the decision to keep training after seeing M. Rob F. while walking my dog and I said I think I will keep training, and I did.  So did he.  I was amazed when I made that decision and very glad I did.

I have not felt as good spiritually and physically since my 20s.  It has been an unbelievable experience.  At first I was sore after class but my body has adjusted and keeps getting stronger.  For me, martial arts is not something to dabble in like a spin class at the gym.  As Mas Goeroe Agoeng Barbara says, you need to practice every day.  I feel I need to come to class at least 2-3 days a week and practice at least 2 times – luckily I am a Golden and you and Goeroe Jeff have allowed me to practice during off hours.  Not practicing makes Poekoelan very frustrating since I am slow to learn set movements.

As I’ve said before, the humbling nature of Poekoelan has really helped me.  (I am such a “know it all” but keeping my mouth shut at class is a good thing.)  Mas Cy really helped me with set 2.  Mas Hirsh has been an inspiration to me.  Mas Emily, Mas Rowan, Mas Lisa and the home grown SWTC Black Belts are awesome.  M. Rob H has taken me under his wing and that has been great.

I feel my training has become much more focused now that I have lost weight and feel comfortable in third phase.  Learning the basics of the holds was very hard and set one still seems impossible.  My goal for this year is to try to clear my mind for evening classes which is very difficult but that is improving.

My general recommendation for adults is try it for 3 months and then make a commitment.  The situation with the Men’s class is almost better than private training since you get a black belt to instruct(sometimes 2) and adult attackers that are pretty friendly and since I am down to 161 – I am easier to throw…..

Mas Brad

I will let my wonderful teammates speak for themselves:

BANTOE FARLEY WELCH, 3RD DEGREE BLACK BELT:

I am now too old to STOP training!

It was 1995 – I was 45 years old. I had been watching our son, Mas Brendan, train with Goeroe Karin for at least a couple of months. Bantoe Katherine had tested for Gold … it felt like the ship was leaving the shore and I had to jump on or be left behind.

Honestly, I tried to ease into my training … and I was successful with that (my nature is not to be very hard on myself) until that fateful day when Bantoe Katherine convinced me it was time to see what it was like at the evening classes. You already know the story: Goeroe Jeff’s mat: me, 7-ft tall Mas Nick and Mas Cathy Cummins (Olympic judo practitioner) – I really did limp home from that one, but I also realized that it was all survivable. That experience was pivotal in my early training.

The most challenging thing about starting to train was letting go of the fear of failure – just stepping onto the mat for the first time is an accomplishment. Is it harder when you are in your forties? I think it’s really the same at any age. That first step is really the hardest. Of course, in PTT, there are many, many steps. The opportunity to visualize your fear – burn it – and watch intention emerge from the ashes – is always present.

I wish I could communicate everything I’ve learned about myself by training – but that’s not possible. I carry with me all the amazing experiences I have had with my teachers and my teammates – so many powerful events. You accept the gifts by simply saying “yes” – and it all flows from there. It is the beauty of this art that I had a very similar experience this weekend at GBA as I had 17 years ago when I first stepped on the mat. Accept, breath, flow and don’t be concerned with outcomes.

Gatong rajong,

Bantoe Farley

MAS DIVONNA RATLIFF, GREEN SASH/CUN TAO BLACK BELT:

I started training a few months after turning 50.  I was feeling very old, tired, and overweight.  One day I had to run to catch up a walk signal and couldn’t believe how hard it was to get my body to move against gravity!  And I would avoid sitting on the floor because it was so hard to get up again!  It was depressing to see my future of increasing disability ahead of me.  I had once been in very good shape, when I trained in martial arts more than 20 years previously.  When my daughter started training in Karate, it brought back those memories and that longing to be able to move in that way and feel that good again.  But I thought I was too old, and I felt very intimidated by all those young, strong people training, and I just didn’t feel safe exposing my weakness in that environment.  I was afraid of others’, and my own, judgment.  

When the karate school closed my daughter & I eventually found Tulen Center and she started training there.  What a difference!  After a few months being there and watching how the instructors worked with people, I started to imagine myself letting down my guard enough to get moving again.  It took me a long time to get up the courage to walk onto the training floor.  Then one night I had a dream.  I was training a martial art, and the teacher in my dream said to me: “the hardest part is walking through the door.”  It was so true!  For the first couple of years, every time I went to train was not just physical exercise, it was an exercise in overcoming my fears and self-doubt enough to step onto the training floor. I was often the oldest and most out-of-shape person there.  Many times I lost the battle and stayed home, but I kept going back.  My instructors and the other students were very kind and patient.  They met me where I was, working with me to improve little by little.  Every time I finished class, I felt an achievement I didn’t get anyplace else.  At first I thought the training was all about the physical, but now I realize that breaking through the fear that held me back was and still is the biggest part of my training.  It’s no longer hard to get myself to class, but I am always pushing into the edge of my limitations, both real and perceived.  It’s not always comfortable, but it’s an exciting place to be.  The best thing about it is that I don’t have to worry about “trying” to move forward.  I know that if I just keep walking through the door, the transformation happens. 

Five years after stepping onto the training floor for the first time, I am amazed and grateful at my progress.  I can move in ways I no longer thought possible, I struggle much less with depression, I’ve lost more than 30 pounds, and I’m healthier than I have been in 20 years.  Growing older is not the depressing progression of infirmity it once appeared to be.  Most importantly, though, I look at the possibilities in my life in a whole new way.  The transformation is still very much in process, and I understand that it’s never “done.”  In Poekoelan, our sash color is the outward display of how far we have come and how much we have left to learn.  Every class we practice acceptance of our rank, and for me the acceptance extends to where I am in life.  It is exciting to know that the only thing I need to do to keep the process moving forward is to keep showing up for class.

MAS CHRISTINA TRAUNWEISER, 1ST DEGREE BLACK BELT:

I started training when my daughter opened her new school as a way to support her endeavor, and to hang out with the lovely people who were her friends and students.  I had always admired and respected the practice of Poekoelan, and a part of me had always looked for a way to try it.  I was 62 years young.

I think the first “secret” for me was to have very small goals.  They were as follows.

• Have fun
• Be safe
• Enjoy the process
• Fear not

I had no ambition other than that.  No one was more surprised than me when after MANY months in Cun Tao I was awarded a white sash.  I would have been perfectly happy to remain a white sash forever.

Worried about falling?  I still don’t do it full on.  Bones are kinda old, and joints are kinda stiff.

Worried about fighting?  Never fear.  No one is allowed to really hurt older people.  Everyone in all the schools has heard the cry “DON’T HURT MY MOM!”  Except for minor bumps, and a small bruise here and there to brag about, I rarely even notice a strike.

As I recall my incredible promotions from sash to sash– to brown sash which brought everyone to tears, and my equally incredible promotion to black belt (MORE TEARS!)  I also recall that in Poekoelan, each person has their own test, and Poekoelan or not, we are testing every day of our lives.  So why not test with a warm, supportive group who will carry your load when you are having trouble doing it yourself?

Poekoelan is truly the “broken mirror” form of martial arts.

Xoxoxoxo Mas Mom

http://www.npr.org/templates/story/story.php?storyId=6682415

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And just so you know, May is FREE self-defense month at Tulen Center: http://tulencenter.com/welcome-to-tulen-center/free/

Pre-registration has begun for our summer day camps: http://tulencenter.com/about/summer-camps/

XOXO Pendekkar Silvia

It had been a good year. Henry, who at the time was 10, was in his first year of wrestling, and was undefeated so far. He was ready to face his final match, a kid in his weight class who had several more years of experience.

My husband had checked in with Henry, so we knew he was nervous as he anticipated the big match. Up in the stands, we chatted amongst ourselves whiling away the eternal wait.

Henry was next. I searched the crowds looking for him and there he was! There was my son in cross-legged position, we call it “silat”, with wrists on his knees, thumb touching middle finger, back straight. And though I wasn’t close enough to see or hear him, I knew he was breathing deeply in through his nose and out through his mouth.

When I do my daily meditation, it’s a chance for my brain to rest. I can literally feel it relaxing. The world is a busy place, and to be able to find some quiet and peace in the midst of it all is a real gift our art gives to each of us.

So the crowds were loud and the gym was vibrating with energy! In the midst of the chaos, Henry was preparing himself for his biggest match yet in the best way he knew how: by breathing deeply, quieting his mind, and setting his intention.

I’ve taught a lot of kids over the years and this is one thing I know to be true: when we share a genuine gift with children, one that they sense is pure, honest and authentic, they know it, they feel it and they “get” it. And what a gift! To know that no matter what, be it scary, sad, overwhelming or negative, they always have a tool they can rely on. They can do their meditation and face their challenges from this place of internal strength, being calm and clear. I am so grateful to receive this gift, and so blessed that I get to pass it on.

Terima Kashi Banyak,

Pendekkar Silvia

By Goeroe Louise Rafkin who runs Studio Naga, our sister school in Oakland, CA.

At the end of every one of my martial arts classes, the kids shake hands with each other. It’s my favorite moment, and one that not every child is comfortable with, initially. As I watch them pumping their arms—some, eventually, with the enthusiasm of puppies—I think, this is why I teach. The training is about learning to get along, about respecting each other, about being connected.

But in 25 years of teaching martial arts, I’ve noticed a gradual slippage in the ways kids relate to other kids—and to adults—a sad trend away from kindness.

The news is everywhere: Bullying is epidemic. In the current frenzy about bullying at school, fingers are pointing every which way. Mostly they’re aimed at school administrators, who toss cash at the situation, both out of genuine concern and to guard against lawsuits.

Mandates for safe schools mean action, and there’s interesting work being done. Yet remedies to bullying have generally focused on the victim—“Learn to fight back,” or “Just walk away,” or, more popular these days, “Stand up to the bully.” All of these strategies can work, at times, and I support—and teach—them all; I’m especially committed to self-defense.

But since when has the best solution to a problem been the correction of the victim? As if the bully is an immutable object, when, in fact, the bully is another kid (or adult) with hopes and fears and insecurities, seeking a way to belong and get by. The popular assumption that bullies are misfits with rotten self-images is challenged by major studies, at U.C.L.A. and elsewhere, showing that bullies are actually considered “cool.” Bullies are often popular, wield power in their peer groups, have friends, and even possess a fair shake of self-esteem. What they lack is impulse control, empathy for others, and respect for authority.

So what is our responsibility? What can we do as parents, teachers, and neighbors, to teach a more inclusive and compassionate way of relating?

Because anyone with a toddler knows behavior is monkey-see, monkey-do from the get-go, the first thing we all can do is look at our own behavior. When is the last time you cursed a bad driver (modeling poor impulse control)? Called a coworker or family member an idiot (exhibiting a lack of empathy)? Undermined your child’s teacher or coach (showing lack of respect for authority)?

Was any of this in front of kids, yours or others? We’ve all done it, and worse. And these days, our kids bear witness to a lot more of our questionable behavior than in yesteryear. The imaginary wall between kids and parents has been all but erased; they’re listening to our telephone conversations, watching us work at home. Monkeys are seeing and monkeys are doing.

Since the 16th century, when fight-to-the-death life skills were eclipsed by the age of weaponry, martial arts training has focused on teaching a way of life, about how to live without fear, gain confidence, and be better people. We’ve got centuries-old traditions shaping our community. Yet martial arts philosophy is adaptable to both home and school. Away from my studio, I (too often!) have a salty mouth and can be as catty and demanding as the best, or worst. But around my students, both in class and out, I know I’m the “highest rank” and both my kicks—and my behavior—will be copied.

Running a school with zero tolerance for bullying, I’ve had to think deeply about our community values. We have slogans: “Cliquey is icky”; “You can’t say you can’t play.” But the most central tenets of martial arts are civility and respect—not always culturally lauded these days. Last fall, when the president of the United States was called a liar by an elected representative during a congressional address, I felt we’d reached a new low. “You can disagree without being disagreeable” is a phrase easily understood by kids, though it takes guts to use it with adults.

As the head of my school, I am often on the receiving end of what I’ll politely call “disagreeable behavior” by parents. There are those that challenge my school policies (no, there is no exception, not even for you), and those who strongly question our rules (children must wear uniforms, even if they don’t feel like it that day). Last week, a parent was outraged that his child, underage for the school yet “gifted,” was not allowed in. In each of these cases, parents tried to verbally bully me into their way of thinking; in two instances, I was criticized personally.

In martial arts, our code of conduct doesn’t depend on context but is applicable to everyone—parents and kids—all the time. This challenges those who want special treatment or who think the rules shouldn’t apply to their kids, for whatever reason. But a single set of rules creates a safe container for everyone. We don’t put up with disrespectful behavior on the training floor, nor is it okay for kids to bow respectfully in class and then treat their parents like servants.

Decades of martial arts experience have shown me that compassion can be taught. Last year, at our Tilden overnight camp, a young boy new to our school brandished a pocketknife at another threateningly. We set up an apology session where each talked about what they felt. It went . . . okay. But that night, during the great game, “Five Minutes of Fame,” in which kids talk about their lives, the new boy spoke: 27 foster placements before a forever home. The next day the bully and the bullied became buddies; compassion and understanding won out over fear and anger.

When kids come to Studio Naga, they are taught to say hello, to ask about my day, and to respond when I ask them about theirs. They are required to mentor newer students, to clean bathrooms, to empty trash. And at the close of every class, the last thing we do is exchange the Indonesian phrase gotong-royong. Roughly translated, it means, “I learn from you, and you learn from me,” or, more formally, “We share a goal.”

In martial arts, we bow an awful lot, but it goes both ways: I to them, them to me. We share the responsibility of what we create. It comes back to all of us, really. Those fingers are pointing right at me.

Published in The Monthly, East Bay’s Premier Magazine of culture and Commerce

For information about our upcoming Anti-Bullying Training Seminars: http://tulencenter.com/anti-bullying-workshop-for-families/

For information about summer camps with Goeroe Louise: www.studionaga.com

We have all sorts of kids training at our school. Big kids, small kids, kids who do well in school, kids who struggle with academics. We have kids who can stay focused for a whole class and kids who are easily distracted. We have kids from all walks of life and from all possible points on any given spectrum. There is a place for each and every one of them in this art.

Our Teacher, Mas Goeroe Agoeng Willy Wetzel, said that as his students, each of us is like the rose. We are all different and yet we are all beautiful.

As an instructor, we get to learn just as much from our students as they learn from us. Say I have a student on my mat that has trouble focusing. If I find myself getting irritated, I am encouraged to look inside myself and figure out why that bothers me. Maybe there is something about myself that needs changing, some way in which I could be more understanding or set boundaries more clearly or compassionately. If I am working with a student who interrupts me or other students, or talks out of turn, I get to find joy in their enthusiasm. As I teach them how to protect themself, I also get to guide them to find and harness their own self-control.

When we bow onto the floor to instruct, we are taught to open our hearts. If I look for the beauty in each student, then that is what I find! This principle holds true even when I work with students who challenge me in some way. As I dig deeper to find more patience, this gives our students breathing room to be who they are, and at the same time, it makes me a better teacher.

As instructors we are reminded to let go of our ego and to focus on reaching the student who is right in front of us. I might discover a new way to explain or demonstrate a particular move or strike. One of our instructors might see a special glimmer of strength or speed we can nurture as the student develops. A shy student is accepted exactly as she is and begins to feel safe speaking up. She finds strength in her voice and a new confidence with friends, family and in school.

We are taught to practice compassion as a primary principle in our lives and on the floor as we teach. All of this makes us stronger instructors, and what joy it brings to us as well!

One of the many gifts of the rose is that it teaches us to look for beauty in each and every person that walks through the door of our school and onto the training floor. Some days, I think I am the luckiest soul alive, to be surrounded by so much vast beauty! My heart is full to overflowing almost every single day, and for this I thank my Teachers and that amazing flower, the rose.