ŷ������

I did not have plans to start with Dante any time soon, but lately I had been thinking about not needing to “be ready�� before I did things �� in a bid to get rid of the rationalizing Devil on my left shoulder (telling me that I would need to take a few years to make sure I could understand all the references), I jumped in. There I was, 10 years younger than Dante would have been when he awoke in the woods, but nevertheless ready for a journey. I turned to my right shoulder this time, hoping to find my angel, my guide, someone who could hold my hand through Inferno as Virgil had Dante’s �� the same Dante who wept his way through the 9 circles of Hell. I had to do a double take. A middle-aged man with a rectangular face, a weird mullet, and an 80’s moustache + soul patch was sitting there, smiling at me. I was confused. I was scared. I began to cry, but I could not tell if I was sad. The waterworks were�� reverential? It was the lead singer of the Red Hot Chili Peppers, Anthony Kiedis.



What an odd place to have met him. I dropped to my feet.

Anthony, I said, lead the way. Sing your tunes. What the Hell, get the whole crew together. Let us sink into this blazing fire.

That angel-voiced master of the nonsense smiled. Flea won’t be able to join us today, he said, as he is busy scouring the internet for footage of a concert we played on the 25th of July, 1999�� Woodstock, I believe it was.

Say no more, I urged. Chad?

Chad is being Chad. He needed to have breakfast, mow the lawn, clean the toilets, do grocery shopping, run other errands, and spend some time with his dog.

Sounds like Chad, I said. And what about�� Him?

Anthony looked shaken to his core. Do not even think of invoking his name in the presence of such mire, such filth, he spat out.

I began to cry. I had not thought to bring up His name, but even an allusion had been beyond the realms of proper conduct. I fell to my knees, begging forgiveness. He could see that I was close to fainting, and thus surmised that I was feeling remorse.

Stand, young one, he said. If You Have to Ask, you’ll never know.

We began to walk, coming across Dante and Virgil about to read the famous stone above the gates of hell: “Abandon all hope, ye who enter�� (Lasciate ogne speranza, voi ch’intrate). I did not speak Italian, so Anthony had to do his best. He mentioned that he had picked up a smattering of the language Around the World, as well as in the act of reading recipes online while preparing different risottos (this is not all that he had picked up, but it was not my place to judge). He gave me a general overview of our journey of stalking Dante and Virgil �� as it turned out, he had been down that same road before. He told me that currently we were on Higher Ground, and that our journey concerned The Righteous & the Wicked. We were, in other words, about to enter a Parallel Universe, vastly different to our own, coming out on the Otherside and attempting to Get on Top.

The initial part of the journey went by Easily, and I began to look forward to the deeper circles. Why would I not have done so, seeing as how we encountered famous classical poets in Circle I, Limbo? Homer, Horace, Ovid, Lucan, all names that I knew and had pretended to read in my lifetime. I started to feel slightly embarrassed. My classical knowledge should have been better by now, it really should have. For crying out loud, I hadn’t even read The Iliad, Metamorphoses, or The Aeneid. No matter, I thought. I reminded myself that I had to stop attempting to wait to read “the big works��, to do so “Right on Time��, because somehow I wouldn’t be ready �� I was ready. I was there.

As the journey continued, I turned to Anthony.

I want you to Torture Me, I said.

He looked confused. I�� I didn’t see our relationship that way, he muttered.

No no, I said, I didn’t mean�� not that�� look �� I just meant, I would like you to take me to the boundaries of discomfort, take me out of my zone of rest and relaxation.

He understood the assignment. Not a worry, he said. You want discomfort? This Is the Place, Universally Speaking. Once Dante’s political and geographical references begin, it will be Hard to Concentrate.

I took him at his word as we moved forward. I found that he was right �� the references were sometimes out of control and not of interest on a first journey, but I was hooked regardless. There was precise symbolism in every word, every line, displayed in parallelism and structure. The Devil was truly in the details. When the “mysterious messenger of Heaven�� appeared to allow the duo ahead of us to walk through the Gates of Dis and enter Circle VI, I began to cry.

Wipe your Tear, little one, Anthony said. We Can’t Stop.

I would not want to, I replied. This is One Way Traffic. I am having trouble taking in the gravity of the situation, the buzz of the place. I wish this feeling was more readily and communally available in the 21st Century.

I shed tears once again when faced with Circle VII, Round 2, The Wood of the Suicides. I felt that there was So Much I could have done and said, but remained silent, weeping as Virgil advised Dante to snap a twig off of one of the poor trees.

Coming to the Malebolge, Circle VIII, and its magnificent descending ditches, Anthony asked if I felt Dosed yet.

Oh, more than that, my good Savior, I replied. I am blown away. But beyond that, I have a question.

Go for it, little butterfly, said Anthony.

I find myself wondering where I would be if Dante was to place me in his Inferno. Do you ever think that? Where you would be?

Oh, only all the time, he answered. I think I would own property across several circles. I could settle with the carnal, maybe the gluttonous. You could make a case for the heretics, but maybe even the seducers and the panderers. Speaking of which, take a look down. Here we are, Circle VIII, Bolgia 1.

I took a look down and was immediately surprised to see someone I knew. Is that... Yoko Ono’s soul? I asked. Why is she wailing like a banshee?

I know, he said. Her soul is doomed to roam this ditch, making noises that she passes as “art�� back above ground. Let’s keep moving, there is So Much I want to show you, and I fear we are running out of time.

Other sights wowed me. Ulysses, why were you so far down? I shed a tear out of pity. The Giants at the central pit of Malebolge, what a sight that was! I shed another tear due to being mortally afraid. Anthony watched and allowed me to cry.

As we approached the final portion of our journey, he took me aside.

Hey, he said, By the Way, we are about to encounter the Poster Child of this place. Get ready. This is the climax.

I followed, only to see Satan/Lucifer/Dis/Beelzebub, gnawing on Cassius, Brutus, and of course, Judas Iscariot. I was bitterly disappointed, as I had been expecting more. I guess it was deeply symbolic in a way, as I reasoned to myself. These Are the Ways, It’s Only Natural. This is Hell, after all. Disappointment was the name of the game.

We followed the poets down Satan’s nut sack. Finally, we all walked out “once more beneath the stars�� (E quindi uscimmo a riveder le stelle).

Anthony gave me a look of pride. You ready for the next bit kid? He asked.

I wasn’t sure that I was. Will you be with me? I replied.

Wipe your tears, he said. I will be with you for most of the journey.

Most...? Now I was afraid. I began to cry.

Reader, I have spared you the trouble of the minute details of our journey and have given you some highlights only, but some further notes are worth mentioning. We can start with that very topic: notes. Mr. Ciardi’s notes were immaculate. Each canto began with a summary of what was about to follow, and the back of each canto had detailed notes that held my hand along with my spiritual guide. I was too wrapped in the spectacle to be paying attention to the terza rima rhyme scheme, at least until my stalking of Dante in Purgatorio, the story of which will follow soon. Mainly, I remember being blown away by the dark forest (selva oscura) and how pertinent it was to all our lives �� I would often find myself at its mouth once every several years, and continue to do so to this day.

Even now, when I look back on the whole journey, I smile. It’s an all-knowing smile, showing less than it contains. Until next time. Until Purgatorio, where I relay what happened when Anthony took me up the mountain.