Acrobats of the Gods: Dance and Transformation

Newsletter; Vol. 16, No. 1, September 1990

Acrobats of the Gods: Dance and Transformation. By Joan Dexter Blackmer. (Toronto: Inner City Books, 1989, 124 pages.)

In the introduction to her book, Joan Blackmer points to the current explosion of interest and participation in physical activities of all types as a sign that the body seems to be seeking a more conscious place in human life after two thousand years of Christian repression. Blackmer sees as underlying this health and fitness craze a need in both men and women to honor and connect with the four aspects of the feminine archetype, which Marie-Louise von Franz describes as follows: the first stage is the instinctual and biological feminine, as symbolized by Eve; the second is romantic and aesthetic as well as sexual, epitomized by Faust’s Helen; the third level raises erotic love to the heights of spiritual devotion, as in the case of the Virgin Mary; and the fourth level, symbolized by Sapientia, is transcendent wisdom.

Of the myriad types of physical training now available and in vogue, Blackmer chooses to focus on dance as a possible pathway to facilitate individuation in those people needing to channel overflowing currents of Dionysiac energy or in those in quest of healing mind/body splits. Through dancing, there is the opportunity to enter a sacred space where one can become an acrobat of the gods, a vessel for the divine energy, embodying the archetype of the Kore, the daughter of the earth goddess, Demeter, if she is a woman, or being a consort of the Great Mother, if one is male. The acrobat-dancer builds the staircase down which the spiritual aspects of the feminine can descend within the individual, uniting with their bodily sisters Eve and Helen. A conscious body can become a conduit by which feminine wisdom can find material manifestation in our lives.

Throughout her book, Blackmer draws a number of fascinating parallels between the often grueling training of a dancer and the stages of individuation, the alchemical process, and the initiation of the shaman. Just as in the case of individuation, Blackmer perceives dancing to be an opus contra naturam, in which the dancer is compelled to confront his/her own body as shadow, to divide the original infantile identity of body and ego into separate entities, and to learn through the pain of developing physical consciousness that the ego’s will and the will of the Self do not always coincide.

The dancer learns objectivity first through the observing eyes of her teacher, then the dance studio mirror, and ultimately, through the keenness of her proprioceptive, kinesthetic sense, which Blackmer regards as akin to learning how to withdraw one’s psychological projections. A mark of a high degree of individuation is the ability to hold the tension of opposites within oneself—the dancer’s version of this arduous task is to balance all the muscular and energetic polarities in his body, so that he may become a “living mandala,” as Blackmer puts it.

Blackmer is of the opinion that dancers are seldom thinking types; their verbal expression often takes the form of imagery. One image that Blackmer refers to as being of the greatest value to her comes from Martha Graham: “Imagine you are holding a large jewel in the triangle at the base of your rib cage. Don’t let it fall out!” Thus the stone becomes symbolic of the centering of the front of one’s body, while the tree, symbolizing the spine, centers the back of our bodies. Blackmer reminds us that both the stone and the tree are as well alchemical symbols of wholeness. She also states that for both men and women, the front of the body is readily identified with the ego, while the back represents the more unconscious elements in one’s psyche.

The foregoing observations of Blackmer have been corroborated by my own life experience. In January, I attended Level III of the Person Centered Expressive Therapy Institute in California. A major part of our work there had to do with visualizing separately the right and left side of our bodies through movement, drawing them more or less to life scale, putting them up on the wall, and then taking turns dancing our own images while everyone else acted as witnesses and providers of musical accompaniment.

While attending the Institute, I was a victim of a purse snatching that took place from the rear. One of the other participants mentioned Blackmer’s book (which I had not read at the time) in relation to imagery associated with the different parts of our bodies and suggested that I might want to do the same type of exercise for the front and back of my body as we had already done for our right and left sides. I decided to take her advice, particularly when I remembered that twice in my elementary school days, I had been injured by other children colliding with me from the rear. The results I got for the front and back parts of my body were as different as day and night in every way—the movement patterns, the nature of the drawings, and the contents of the written free associations I made afterwards. The whole exploration pattern was quite an eye-opener and helped me to cope better with what it was feeling at the time.

In conclusion, I think that Joan Blackmer, in combining her expertise as a Jungian analyst and former modern dancer and teacher, has written a most readable and thought-provoking book for all those searching for ways in which body and spirit can be reunited and more harmoniously integrated.

—Valerie Broege