Tulus

The first full week of gamelan studies is now finished - three more to go. But for the time being, dance is on my mind.

Tulus = to do something for the sake of doing it.

After four straight days of gamelan lessons and exercises, I have been assigned a day of dance lessons. To the Balinese, music and dance are generally thought of as a single indistinguishable element. It then follows that in order to become a fine gamelan musician, I must be able to dance.

The principle posture of the male dance is one of exaggerated square-ness. The shoulders are held high to make the neck disappear and the elbows and wrists are fixed at 90 degree angles. My teacher tells me to “stand like a king.” The legs are slightly bent with the feet facing outwards opposite one another. We begin with a simple transfer of weight from one side of the body to the next, lifting the foot and keeping the toes high. The patterns become slightly more complicated, but we never venture far from a “left, right, left, right” situation. The posture is difficult to maintain and inevitably some part of the body begins to sag. This is unacceptable, and I am constantly told to keep the shoulders high, keep the toes up, and keep the back straight. In fifteen minutes I am exhausted and sweaty, so we take a short break to discuss the essentials. My teacher outlines the following:

Firstly, to dance you must be strong. You must believe you are strong. Find the center of your energy (in the stomach) and allow it to draw from the earth, through the feet, and from God, through the head. If you do not do this, you are not strong.

Secondly, doing must simply be done. There is a Balinese word for such a thing. It is tulus – the act of doing for the sake of doing. This is a state of pure action with minimal reflection. If any reflection is necessary, it is only in the most practical sense - completely at the service of action. To dance you must have/be tulus. It then follows that when one does for the sake of doing, it is done at the highest quality possible. There is no reward. There is no point. It is simply the act of doing in its purest state.

After this little pep talk I was simultaneously inspired to dance and ashamed at my constant inner-mind chattering. But for the time being, shame had to take a back seat. I would dance for the sake of dancing, not because I was trying to become a better musician, not because I was trying to enrich this inter-cultural experience, and certainly not because I was trying to impress myself with quick learning skills. It goes without saying that my next attempt was a marked improvement.

This idea of tulus is one that has lurked in my mind for some time, yet I find this experience to be a satisfying articulation of the Jedi principal: “There is no try, there is only do or do not.”

Tulus is everywhere in Bali, not only in the attitudes of the musicians and dancers, but even the strangers you meet on the street. If you ask someone where to find a phone, they walk with you until you are sure to have found it. If you order a three dollar meal in a café, it arrives at your table with carefully carved fruit and a small flower arrangement. If you ask someone in the record shop to recommend a high quality gamelan CD, they will pick out a disc and try their best to emulate favorite tracks by singing the combined rhythmic effects of an entire gamelan orchestra. Women work throughout the day creating “offerings” made of intricately woven banana leaf, flowers, food, and incense to place in temples, shrines, doorways, storefronts, bathrooms, roadsides, kitchen tables, and any other semi-flat surface in reasonable reach. Walking along the road, one sees hundreds of these offerings in each direction, yet most have been blown over by the wind, squashed by motorbikes, or pecked at by roaming chickens. The offering may only last a few moments in the world, yet each day hundreds more are made, just as carefully created as the ones before. This is tulus.