You are on page 1of 17

Aydan Dunnigan, M.Div.

Dance of Transformation. A Memoir.

Dunnigan, Aydan Trauma to Tango: Dance of Transformation. A Memoir. Copyright 2012 Aydan Dunnigan All rights are reserved. The use of any part of this publication, reproduced, transmitted in any form or by any means electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, or stored in a retrieval system without the prior written consent of the publisher, is an infringement of the copyright law. ISBN: 978-0-9866999-0-0 Edition: 10.3 Cover design: PageMaster Publications Contact information: aydan@traumatotango.com www.traumatotango.com Published by: Earth Sky Reflections www.earthskyreflections.com

PUBLICATION ASSISTANCE AND DIGITAL PRINTING IN CANADA BY

www.pagemaster.ca

Let no one lightly set about such a work. Memory, once waked, will play the tyrant. I found I must set down...passions and thoughts of my own which I had clean forgotten. The past which I wrote down was not the past that I thought I had (all these years) been remembering. I did not, even when I had finished the book, see clearly many things that I see now. The change which the writing wrought in me (and of which I did not write) was only a beginning only to prepare me for the gods surgery. They used my own pen to probe my wound.
C.S. Lewis, Till We Have Faces.

We set up for ourselves in the first dozen years of our life all of the stumbling blocks or traumas we will need for our growth, balance or eventual wholeness and then spend 30-40 years re-working these themes until at last we rejoin our essence in beauty and fullness.
Gwendolyn Jansma, Letters

Preface
Haunted by ghosts of the recent and distant past, the author jettisons his religious faith, his marriage and his socially secured life as a pastor and heads off to the tango salons of Buenos Aires. He searches out portals to the fabled nightlife of this infamous city, driven by an irrational hope that this seamy, sensual dance will transform his inner turmoil into something of elegance and beauty. As he wanders through narrow, dimly lit cobblestoned streets, tensions surface between sex and sensuality, piety and passion, love and lust. Inner voices challenge him to unravel and embrace the intricacies and intimacies of love, both on and off the dance floor. Often comic, at times tragic, always insightful, this memoir inspires the reader to risk it all on the courageous and difficult journey of inner healing and fit in a little fun and frolic along the way.

IntroductIon
One or two things are all you need to travel over the blue pond, over the deep roughage of the trees and through the stiff flowers of lightning some deep memory of pleasure, some cutting knowledge of pain.
Mary Oliver, New and Selected Poems.

at first blush, it might appear rather brash and insensitive to

consider childhood trauma and sexual abuse in the same context as dance, especially tango with its overtures of the sensual and erotic; this seemingly trivializes the pain and travesty of the one and degrades and sullies the other. Nonetheless, I was driven in my journey of healing by the conviction that I would find transformation of inner wounds through confronting and enacting those very dynamics on the dance floor. Such is the mystique of Tango, a dance that plumbs the depths of depravity and exposes something of elegance and beauty. Born in the brothels and bordellos of Buenos Aires and crafted on the blood soaked floors of slaughter houses, it embodies the human spirits indomitable thirst for music and movement and romance. Tango is a metaphor for the intertwining of the tragic and beautiful, the earthy and the ethereal. To highlight the synergistic tension between the dance and life experience, I have interjected into the chronology of the story, my learning on the dance floor. Ultimately I hope to create the image that dance flows through all of life, that life itself is dance.

contents
Monster in the Bedroom ................................................................................. 3 O Tango InTerlude ..................................................... 9 at the Crossroads ........................................................................................... 11 The Straight and narrow................................................................................ 17 The Halo Fades ............................................................................................... 21 O Tango InTerlude ....................................................25 on the road ................................................................................................... 27 In Search of Community ................................................................................ 32 Showers of Blessing ....................................................................................... 37 opening to love ............................................................................................. 41 dust devils ..................................................................................................... 45 The Mystical Forest ........................................................................................ 47 Into the Shadow............................................................................................. 53 O Tango InTerlude ....................................................55 Psychic Split .................................................................................................... 57 Blessings and Curses ...................................................................................... 63 Psychic Support .............................................................................................. 67 The Magnificent Self ...................................................................................... 71 Setting Course ................................................................................................ 78

The Bishop arrives ......................................................................................... 81 O Tango InTerlude ....................................................88 Sentencing...................................................................................................... 90 adultery ......................................................................................................... 96 The Blacksmiths Bellows ............................................................................... 99 The day of reckoning .................................................................................. 106 O Tango InTerlude .................................................. 110 Cults ............................................................................................................. 112 Letting Go ..................................................................................................... 116 O Tango InTerlude .................................................. 121 open Space .................................................................................................. 123 Burned at the Stake ..................................................................................... 129 emptying the Closet ..................................................................................... 135 O Tango InTerlude .................................................. 141 long-lost Friends.......................................................................................... 142 Forgiving the dream .................................................................................... 148 House Cleaning ............................................................................................ 152 O Tango InTerlude .................................................. 155 name Change............................................................................................... 159 Monkeys Idea .............................................................................................. 162

The dance of love........................................................................................ 166 Still point ...................................................................................................... 173 O Tango InTerlude .................................................. 175 acknowledgements ..................................................................................... 176 about the author ......................................................................................... 177

Aydan Dunnigan

Monster In the BedrooM


for always night and day I hear lake water lapping with low sounds by the shore; in the deep hearts core.
William Butler Yeats, Innisfree

a child growing up on the North Shore of Lake Superior learns


to embrace life through the pores of the skin. ~ My childhood buddy Scott and I careen across the iced expanse of the largest skating rink in the world. Ours. The steel wind drives us forward, skate blades scoring the marbled ice, frozen hands gripping the bed sheet billowing between us. Shards of crystallized air lacerate our face and lungs. No thought is given to the tortuousness skate home. ~ The tentacled rays of the morning summer sun seep in through my bedroom window, prying loose my survival-grip on my koala teddy, guardian of the night. First up and out, I step into the back yard and am assaulted by a barrage of smells and sounds: buzzing bees and trilling robins and scents of lilac and apple blossoms wafting on a bracing breeze. In the distance is the hypnotic cadence of waves washing over the rocky shoreline, unrelenting in their task of cleansing, sculpting and polishing. ~ My girl-friend Sandy and I follow the well-worn path across the field behind the house and climb to the top of the hill. From there, so it seems, one can see beyond the earths curvature. We sink down into the welcoming grass, warmth

Trauma to Tango

radiating up from the granite rock of the Pre-Cambrian Shield. A cooling breeze blows gently off Lake Superior. A solitary freighter creeping out from behind the Sleeping Giant threads its way across the horizon, a pencil line of smoke tracing its passage. Clouds drift overhead in fanciful shapes, sunlight dances hypnotically off the water. Our fantasies carry us away to a world of our creating, a world without pain and abuse. Sandy envisions herself a ballerina, spinning freely. I a kite, soaring ever higher until home diminishes to a pinpoint below.

~
Our stately childhood home stood on an acre of highway frontage, serving as a prop for the distinguished community profile that my parents had cultivated. Inside, the main floor was open concept, with the den, dining room and living room blended into one large area. There was hardwood floor throughout and a large granite and amethyst fireplace at the far end, a focal point for parties that went on into the wee hours of the morning. What provided extra space on the main floor created congestion on the second. All five siblings were squeezed into two bedrooms. My sister got a room all to herself. We four boys, spanning an age range of over ten years, co-habited the other room. A bedroom is an intimate environment where much more gets shared than simply dressers and bunk beds. It is the stage for lifes most formative experiences and exchanges, a place of vulnerability and intimacy. Often a blanket pulled tightly over the head is the only protection against disturbing intrusions from a sordid adult world. Often it is not enough.

~
Sandy is sleeping over, she in the upper bunk, I on the bottom. The adults are downstairs, thick into their partying. The sound of footsteps ascending the staircase are barely

Aydan Dunnigan

perceptible above the din. A bulky frame stands silhouetted in the bedroom doorway and then enters the room. The ladder strains at the end of the bed. The pleas, muffled protests, whimpers, sobs are swallowed by the darkness. I lay motionless in the bed beneath, under the covers, clinging to my teddy.

~
In a recurring nightmare, I am sitting on a stool, alone in the middle of a cold, damp basement. In the shadows stirs a large, grotesque, toad-like creature. It rouses itself and begins heading in my direction. I try desperately to escape but am frozen to this stool, paralysed. The monster emerges from the shadows. A low, throbbing pulse vibrates in the floorboards and rafters. I try to run but am not able to escape. On reaching me, it swallows me whole, and then regurgitates me and spits me out. I am returned to the stool, inside out, a slimy, marbled, jelly-textured blob. I wet my bed, again.

~
On my fifth birthday I receive my favourite gift of all time: a 78 LP, Howdy Doody and the Musical Forest. Hello boys and girls. My name is Buffalo Bob Smith and Im here to tell you about an amazing adventure of my friend Howdy Doody. And what an amazing adventure it is. I clamber up into the back of the piano with Howdy and Twinkle, the good musical elf, and journey to the Good Musical Forest. At the same time, in another part of town Mr. Bluster slides down his big bass tuba with Clunky, the mean musical elf, and exit into the Mean Musical Forest where all the bad musical sounds were made. Eventually Howdy and Mr. Bluster, Twinkle and Clunky all end up in the same woods on that fateful morning when

Trauma to Tango

the Good Musical Forest and the Bad Musical Forest determine to settle their differences by going to war. At the height of the battle, with the two opposing musical forests hurtling music at the other side with all the might they can muster, into the thick of the conflict rushes Howdy. Through his courage and impertinence he convinces the warring factions to become friends and play together in harmony. Howdy Doody was my spiritual mentor, a puppet of courage and principle, always ready to say and do the right thing. Of course he had his detractors, like Mister Bluster, who was as lacking in moral fibre as much as Howdy was exuding it. But despite his geeky clothes and freckled face, Howdy was able to overcome obstacles, overpower bullies and make the world a kinder place. I determine when my chance to confront evil comes, I will rush into the middle of the conflict and get everyone to shake hands and be friends, just like Howdy.

~
On my sisters dresser was a small, ornate ivory, white and pink music box with a soldier and ballerina dancing to the intricacies of a Mozart sonata. We would steal it away into the closet down the hall and allow ourselves to be enfolded within its magic. The young soldier, outfitted in a red Victorian Infantry uniform with gold buttons and buckles and shoulder hasps, would assume his supportive role gallantly. His prima ballerina, laced in white from head to toe, would pirouette on the rotating pedestal. Her one arm was raised overhead and her other rested on the shoulder of her protector as she balanced gracefully on one foot. For hours the two would circle each other delicately, tirelessly, hypnotically. But today the enchantment is broken. Footfalls interrupt from down the hallway. The creaking door cuts through the tinkling melody. The monster presses. The music box is knocked aside. The soldier snaps from his post on the pedestal

Aydan Dunnigan

and tumbles into the shadows. His ballerina teeters and then falls into the arms of her abuser.

~
At some point in the throws of these unholy invasions, I begin to develop adaptive strategies: dissociation, blackouts, memory loss. My mind begins to lie about what is happening. My body stops feeling. My spirit leaves my body. I imagine myself somewhere else, pretending that I am not in danger and that this isnt happening to me.

~
At age seven, I went to see the Walt Disney movie Bambi. Here was nature at its most benign and romantic with swaying willows, chirping birds, soft cuddly animals that frolic through the wilderness without a care. All the while, Bambi is safe and secure as the sole object of his mothers affection. Then the unthinkable happens. The pristine, pastoral setting is rent asunder by the violent intrusion of some dark force. Fires flare and guns blast and quails scatter. Crows are screeching as frothing hunting dogs are tearing through the forest, viciously ripping apart everything in their path. Bambis mother urges Bambi to run and hide. Bambi looks up in terror and bewilderment. Whats the matter, Mother? His mother responds, Man has entered the forest. They begin their frenzied race through the woods, trying to outrun the fire and the dogs and the guns until, suddenly, a shot rings out and Bambis mother falls. Bambi wanders aimlessly through the forest, crying, Mother, where are you, Mother? Here was revealed the deep secret about evil in the world. Men leave in their wake carnage and destruction and death. They destroy the innocence and safety of a childs world, leaving him scarred and alone. I for one, would defy the laws of my physiology and refuse

to grow up to be a man and remain close to my mother for the rest of my life.

~
A recurring nightmare suggests otherwise: I go out behind the house among the spruce trees to pet a young fawn. It is sweet and soft and I am compassionate. Suddenly my fawn shape-shifts into a wolf, standing upright, fully clothed, talking. I am terrified by the wolfs cleverness and importunity and attempt to dream it back into the harmless fawn. It will not change. The door is fixed open onto an adult world marred by the conflicting realities of power and vulnerability, cunning and innocence, predator and prey.

Aydan Dunnigan

O tango Interlude
I am not sure what delusions possessed my wife Patricia and

I to sign up for tango lessons. Certainly, neither Patricia nor I anticipated the life-altering implications that committing to simple dance lessons would have. We were celebrating our engagement at La Boheme, a romantic Heritage Inn in the distinguished Highlands neighbourhood of Edmonton, Alberta. After passing the night in the Da Vinci room, decorated in nineteenth century European dcor, we rose the next morning to come down for breakfast. At the bottom of the broad ornate staircase was posted a picture of an attractive young woman seductively draped in a silky dress, clinging to her dashing partner. Tango lessons, Tuesday evening, at this very establishment. We signed up immediately. What was the lure? Did we envision ourselves transformed into the slinky, sexy couple on the brochure? Perhaps we were in the mood to do something impetuous and risqu. Patricia and I rarely danced and our bodies were far beyond the slinky stage. Perhaps the raw sensuality and passion reawakened primal instincts that had been repressed or demonized. Whatever the reason, our early lessons were nothing as advertized. Our attempts at tango were neither pretty nor the least bit erotic. It felt more like a stylized version of all-star wrestling. To translate what was being instructed and demonstrated into actual movements was excruciatingly painful for both of us. I would often just stare blankly at my feet, physically and mentally paralyzed, unable to discern my left from my right, let alone command them to move in a particular pattern. We would come away from our lessons sweating,

frustrated, despairing that we would ever capture that romantic feeling that had first inspired our journey. Every once in awhile, Patricia and I would catch a wave of symmetry. But mostly we persevered.

Aydan Dunnigan

177

aBout the author

Aydan Dunnigan received a Master of Divinity Degree from Lutheran Theological Seminary, Saskatoon, a Master of Theology Degree from Regent Theological College, Vancouver, and BA from Lakehead University, Thunder Bay. Formerly an ordained pastor of the Lutheran Church, Aydan now works with adults with disabilities for Alberta Social Services. Aydan is a recent winner of earth-based spirituality writing competition. Aydan and Patricia Dunnigan keep their heritage home in Edmonton open to the comings and goings of eight adult children and sixteen grandchildren. Patricia keeps her finger in her consulting and counselling career. Both continue to explore newly evolving therapies for treatment of trauma. In addition to tango, they enjoy writing, hiking, skiing, photography, and most other outdoor activities.

You might also like