Talking to Dante in the Spirit Worldby Daniel Cooper

Canto 1

Halfway through my mortal journey, or so I
thought, I found myself in a dark, dreary wood,
a dull wilderness so overgrown that nigh

the sun was at its summit, and still, I could
not see but few paces before or behind.
I sought in vain to go the way I thought should

lie the trail, but only more gloom did I find.
I couldn’t see the strait path I had strayed from.
Long had I believed I knew the way, but blind

I was from the very start. In this darksome
forest, I could neither go back nor advance.
All my great knowledge and learning was, in sum,

a set of trinkets I now looked at askance.
I was lost and knew not whither I should go.
It seemed that I was doomed, when a sunny lance,

pierced the gloom. Whence came the beam I did not know.
The misty chains of darkness were torn from me,
their hold broken as the light began to grow.

I walked the now clear path to an emerald lea.
Sunshine warmed the breeze that round about me whirled,
and I knelt, wept tears of joy on bended knee.

Hello, my friend, welcome to the Spirit World,
said an accented voice I had never known.
I stood, looked. A man in robes, furled and unfurled

by mild, tender wind, stood on a cobblestone
road, watching me with smiling eyes. “Who are you?”
I asked surprised. He said in a gentle tone,

Amico, I have been sent to help you do
that which God wants you to do while in this realm
of spirits. I will help you and guide you through,

but the journey is yours, you are at the helm.
I will merely give aid where aid is wanting.
The pursuit of learning and knowledge can whelm

the mortal mind. Your mission may be daunting,
and I will be with you at every stride
as a guide, a comrade, a friend, not taunting,

but helping you, serving you, right by your side
until the day comes when your journey is o’er,
your lessons acquired, and then you decide

to go back to the earth, that far distant shore,
where the greatest teacher is experience,
to live and to grow ’til you’re ready for more.

Thus finished his speech. I marveled in silence,
then asked him, “But who are you, what is your name?”
Forgive me, I almost forgot. From Florence

I hailed, and in life I attained some small fame.
Dante, they called me, Dante Alighieri.
I stared stupefied, not a single word came

from my mouth. For quite some time, I did tarry,
staring until I felt awkward, then, finally,
I spoke: “Wait, you’re the Dante Alighieri,

Florentine poet who wrote so divinely,
master of language, of the popular word?”
I don’t know about that, he smiled benignly.

I wrote what I did so my voice would be heard
in the highest of spheres, to glorify God;
not for praise of men, but so all would be stirred

down in the depths of their hearts; not for the laud
of the world, but to praise the Lord of the Earth;
not for mortal fame, but so all would be awed

by Divine loving flame, who gave us our birth,
who made a plan for our joy, our happiness,
and our progress, who bestowed eternal worth

on us one and all. Of this I bear witness.
I mutely awaited the end of his talk
then responded with all of the friendliness

I could convey, “I don’t mean to scorn, to mock,
or tease, please, don’t misunderstand my question,
but didn’t you want the laurels, and to walk

head held high among rivals in expression
of your poetic superiority?
Is desiring greatness such a transgression?”

He said with a scowl, Assign priority
to the glory of God and you’ll ne’er go wrong.
Then, he grinned. But, when the opportunity

appears to adore God with beautiful song
in addition to gaining fame without end,
you should, of course, take the chance, for you belong

to that God to Whom your poem will ascend,
and God will not fault you some small wish. He then
pointed to the path of stone. Now we will wend

our way through this pure place. If it’s in my ken,
I will give answers to you if you agree
to talk as we walk over mount and through glen.

The trek has only begun. “Okay. Let’s see,
when did you have your famed vision?” In what sense?
“When did you see what you said you saw?” Who me?

“Yes.” Never, I made it up. “What’s your defense?”
I asked in disgust. I do not understand.
“You lied, you said you had a vision, and hence–”

I certainly did not. He held up a hand.
“You implied it.” Did I? “I think so.” Maybe
so. “But, why?” Marketing, it had to be grand.

“Marketing?” Listen, the whole thing was to be
an allegory, a symbol if you will.
Theological treatises aren’t, you see,

what common people like to read. It takes skill,
if I say so myself, to tell first-rate tales
that regular folk will not write off as swill.

The best stories are those with some small details
that make the listener think they might be true,
because it is truth that pulls us through the veils

between earth and the heavens, gives us some clue
about God, life, the nature of existence.
Good stories allow these basic truths to shine through.

We ambled along, the trees our audience.
I wanted people to read it, to be stirred,
to be moved, to feel the Spirit’s influence.

I think it worked, no? I watched a purple bird
land on a tree covered in bright red flowers.
“So… you lied in order to have the truth heard?”

I would like to think, that I did good for our
world by committing a minor transgression.
I thought about this, then I wondered the hour,

for the daylight waned as the earth’s progression
continued onward as it ever had done.
The nighttime began its evening accession

of the sky and the land, usurping the sun.
I marveled, “In Paradise, darkness can rule?”
Don’t worry, my friend, this is part of the fun–

discovering the diverse ways we are fools
for thinking we know so much more than we do
about the hereafter. This sphere is the school

that will help you root out your pride or subdue
it. Now the night comes, lie down, rest, for you are
safe. Sprawled on the grass, what beauty I did view.

My eyes were filled with heaven’s jewels, the stars.

Canto 2

And it came to pass, as sunshine touched my face
I opened my eyes to a glorious day.
I said a brief prayer, thanked God for the grace

bestowed upon me. As I finished to pray
I opened my eyes, looked up and saw my guide.
Shock hit me again. He was really Dante!

Good morning, sleepyhead, he said smiling wide,
Get up now, let’s go! There’s so much to do and
to see, so much to learn, and no time to bide.

I got up on my feet, looked ’round at the land,
noticed our cobblestone road, narrow and neat.
This country you see is not small, it is grand,

we cannot even hope to see or to meet
everything and everyone of interest.
Our time is so short, but I think we can greet

those who will mean most to you. Come, we go west.
He now started to head back to the stone path.
I quickly obeyed, feeling he must know best.

Our first stop will help you see the aftermath
of mortal life spent in sin; we go to those
who linger in prison, who writhe from the wrath

of their own guilty conscience; to those who chose
to hurt the souls of others and in doing
so also harmed their own. Now o’er the trees rose

great dark clouds. It seemed that a storm was brewing
to one side of the road, o’er the path our quest
was sure to lead. It forked, we kept pursuing

the road to the west which, just as I had guessed,
progressed to the heart of the rising dry squall.
It was a well-worn lane, and thus, I assessed,

the one more traveled by, which, of course, made all
the difference. As we walked along, the green
trees and brilliant flowers gave way to dismal

browns and greys of scrubland, making for a scene
at once bleak and sad. Here dwell they who ere death
sinned against God and neighbor. From a ravine

far from the road, came strange sounds. I held my breath
in fear, then worked up the courage to ask what
it was. What you hear is this land’s shibboleth:

‘weeping and wailing and gnashing of teeth,’ gut-
racking screams and heart-wrenching shrieks. All the folk
here like to make a commotion, that’s all. “But,

what is the cause of the pain that should evoke
such terrible laments?” They are wracked by guilt.
“Guilt? That’s it? No hellish torture, fire, smoke,

lakes of brimstone, demons stabbing to the hilt–”
No, no, he laughed, as if a joke of highest
caliber had been told. Those you hear had built

their own hells by their deeds. Even now they wrest
the tools of peace and healing from the hands of
a loving God who wants only that they rest

from all their wicked wishes and choose to love
themselves and their fellow beings. “Wait, you mean–”
Yes, my friend, they’re free to leave. Just as a dove

can jump into the sky when it wills, their scenes
of suffering can end whenever they wish.
They simply have to choose to exit, to clean

the heart, to open the mind, and the hell-ish
existence they’ve chosen there to feel will end.
Many here are closed tight like unto a dish,

unfortunately, and only time will mend
the hurts they self-inflict. “Is there nothing we
can do for them?” If you want, we can descend

to their plane, and when we are in the Valley
of the Shadow of Death, or the VSD,
you can see if there are some you can help free

from their state of blindness with a call, a plea
to reason and to righteousness. I have been
here many times myself. Oh, please watch the scree.

He made this last request when to my chagrin,
I had almost put my foot on a loose rock.
He saved me from a fall worse than any sin,

methinks. I thanked him and made as if to walk
towards a narrow staircase. Amico, not
the stairs. Let’s take the elevator. What shock

I felt to see such a thing here. Someone brought
this and installed it years ago, it’s better
than stairs, am I right? He must have read my thought

and said this to explain: I am a debtor
as are you. We are all beggars, and depend
on God for everything. God loosed our fetters

at no cost and we are free. We choose to spend
our time serving our fellow beings and, thus,
in the service of God. So you see, my friend,

such a thing as this is not superfluous,
not an extravagance, no! We requested
it to save time and energy. Without fuss

it was approved. Now the stairs aren’t congested
with visitors as they once were, and we can
descend and reascend fast with legs rested.

He reached out, pressed the down button. I began
to get nervous. Again, it seemed that he could
read my mind. Don’t worry, amico, the plan

is to go down for a brief visit. It should
not take longer than a few minutes. You will
see why. Are you okay? I nodded. “I’m good,

thanks.” We stepped into the elevator. Chill
air seeped in as we sank into the abyss.
An electronic bell o’erhead chimed its shrill

note and the car stopped. My guide said with a hiss,
Abandon all hope, you who enter this place.
I looked up in dread. He laughed heartily. This

is only a joke. But you should see your face.
He laughed again. Don’t worry, nothing to fear.
As we stepped out into the cold, murky space,

I noted that there weren’t as many shades here
as I had imagined that there would be. “Where
are all those who made the ruckus I did hear

earlier? The infernal din which did scare
me upstairs suggested that the denizens
here were many.” Though their shrieks ring through the air,

they’re relatively few. Greater are our friends
in number, actually. I was confused.
“But I thought–” All people have only to cleanse

themselves and then, when done, they are all excused
to leave. “But, what about, fallen angels, or
demons and the like?” Sinners here aren’t abused,

amico, and so those awful things of lore
aren’t necessary. Also, they don’t exist.
No, there are only people here, nothing more.

“Who keeps them in this place, why do they persist
in staying in this dark ravine?” They stay here
of their own free agency. A kind of mist

covers their eyes, you could call it a veneer
of sin. They are not able even to see
the exits until they’ve chosen to give ear

to Christ’s words. Then, their eyes will see, and the Tree
of Life will take root in their heart, they’ll be whole.
Once healed, they will climb the stairs and be

on their way. “Why the stairs? Can’t they leave this hole
faster in the elevator.” I suppose,
but it’s just for visitors. It does the soul

some good to do a little work; effort shows
us what we really want. Is the steep climb worth
the toil? Well, you could have told this tale in prose,

but you value verse. It’s like that. On the earth
these things are hard to see, it can be more clear
here at times due to the comparative dearth

of distraction. We retraced our steps, went near
the stairs. “Can I climb them, would that be allowed?”
If you want to, go ahead, and I will cheer

you on from the elevator. I’m not too proud
to avoid extra stairs. He winked. We can meet
at the top. As I climbed, I wondered aloud

what had happened to the devil, that old cheat,
and the hosts of heaven who had followed him
in the life before creation. When my feet

had scaled the final stair, I surveyed the dim
landscape for my teacher and posed to him my
question. He answered thus: You should sing a hymn

of thanksgiving to our Parents up on high
for They are merciful to all. Those foremost
of sinners, Satan’s disciples, have all nigh

moved on. The last are soon to give up the ghost
and return to the Spirit World. They have long
since repented and become some of the most

committed of Christ’s disciples, most are strong
in the Way. Only one remains down below:
Lucifer himself. But even he belongs

to God’s family, and can’t remain so low
forever. Jesus himself ministers each
day to him so that he may verily know

that he is loved and wanted. I’ve heard him preach
and have every confidence that Christ will win
his brother over in the end. He will reach

him, don’t worry, for they are eternal kin,
as are we all. At this thought I was amazed
at God’s goodness. Well, it seems that we have been

here for long enough. Let our Mother be praised,
and our Father, for all that we know and are.
Come, let us get back on the road. He thus gazed

east, and walked onward by the light of the stars.

Canto 3

Mandate voci di gioia all’Eterno,
o abitanti… Splendid song came to mine
ears as we forsook the quasi-Inferno.

I looked about, saw that from my Florentine
host’s mouth came the glorious, heavenly strain
…di tutta la terra… then began to shine

his face as the celestial tones did attain
the highest heights. In all the land round about
us the notes’ echoes could be heard. A light rain

began to fall as he finished, and the drought
we had been wandering through was at an end.
Continuing on the path, the sun came out

and warmed us through. And again we did ascend,
or so it seemed to me the road upward sloped.
The country around us grew green, and my friend

remarked on its beauty, and how it evoked
feelings of bliss, joy, to see such loveliness.
Indeed, the flowers, the trees, the grass, all soaked

by the radiant sun, seemed to wrest the stress
from body and mind. Do you see the mountain
up ahead? Truthfully, I had to confess

I had not noticed it until it had been
pointed out to me. That is our objective.
We will climb it to the top where the fountain

of purest water sits, and irrespective
of allegiance, pact, or coalition, gives
life to all you see. It is not selective

or discriminating but giving. It lives
and thus do we. Next to the fount sits the Tree
of Life. Its sweet fruit provides and feeds, forgives,

completes our hangry, unfinished spirits, free
of charge to boot. Come, let us go up, perhaps
we will meet along the way others like me.

“Like you?” Fellow shades. The VSD oft saps
my bliss somewhat, the burden of loneliness,
I suppose. Too many hours have elapsed

since I have experienced the holiness
of pleasant conversation with friends and loved
ones. I need the refreshment that friendliness

grants. As we drew near, he practically shoved
me up the mount, his excitement was so great.
He then said to me, Oh look, it’s my beloved

wife, Gemma. I stopped in confusion, a spate
of facts I had learned about Dante, his life
times, culture, family, flooded my brain. “Wait

a second? I thought Beatrice was your wife.”
Beatrice? He said in the Italian
way. No, quiet now, that name has caused some strife

between her and me. Don’t be a rapscallion
and mention her to Gemma. I shut my lips
as we approached. Ciao, my love, my vermilion

beauty. I’ve missed you. He held her by the hips,
she smiled, they kissed. Amore, where have you been?
He pointed to me. Taking a few short trips

with this lad, playing the tour guide. With a grin
he said these words and slapped my back. She said hi
to me. Well, hurry back. She then kissed his chin

and grabbed his butt. I need you. She rubbed his thigh,
I blushed and at the mountain focused my eyes.
After another minute, we walked on. “I

know it’s not my business, but–” You must revise
all you thought you knew about me, my friend. This
world is a special one. He looked at the sky.

I know you’re curious, I would be remiss
if I didn’t tell you this story, truly
it’s one of the founts of my unending bliss.

In life, Gemma and I, were married duly
according to the wishes of our two clans,
but we never really had love, were coolly

disposed towards each other, and hadn’t plans
to change. This was how marriage was, you see. I
nodded. I never even touched with my hands

that other woman. But it would be a lie
to say that I felt nothing at all for her.
Your people would call it, he said with a sigh,

an emotional affair. Without demur
I must also admit it was one-sided,
she didn’t know. Gemma learned that I preferred

another and was hurt. I was misguided.
I didn’t know how love can grow even when
a marriage is arranged and not decided

based on love at the inception. He was then
silent for some minutes as we slowly climbed
over the mountain’s foothills. In a small glen,

I watched green swallows dart from yellow trees. Sublimed
by God’s Spirit as my thoughts have been while here
in this world, I became better. ’Twas ill-timed

our first relationship, but Gemma, my dear
wife, and I have been reconciled. Our love now
is boundless. But she still doesn’t like to hear

that other’s name. Healing takes time, and endows
us with power and hope. I nodded and did look
up and saw two men sitting under the bough

of a large, blue-leafed tree, cross-legged, with a book
open on the ground in front of them. They read
and talked. They looked up when we approached their nook.

Hello, Dante, the younger looking one said.
My guide answered, Hi Alma, hello Mani,
how are you today? We are well, sit please, pled

the second. The first, though he sat, seemed brawny
and tall. He watched me with a penetrating gaze.
Hi, wanderer. I bowed. The other, scrawny

and short, reached out a hand, May you be always
at peace, brother. They then turned to my teacher.
May we sit with you awhile? We flee from haze

and seek the clarity that is a feature
of Oneness. They nodded, and the younger one
said, In order to reach the Tree, the creature

must bow down and plant a seed in the heart, none
can do this save you. And the shorter one said,
You’ll reach the World of Light when the night is done

and all is quiet as a babe freshly fed.
Understanding nothing, I nodded and smiled.
“Okay.” Dante snorted and the others shed

tears as they laughed. Just be humble as a child,
said the first, and a little less serious.
And the second, Walk the path. Our once exiled

friend knows the way well. The view is glorious
from the summit and the fruit is sweet unlike
all else. I thanked them for the mysterious

words they shared. My tutor said he would, belike,
see them on the way back. “I don’t comprehend,”
I confessed, as we continued with our hike,

“a single thing they said.” You don’t need to spend
a lot of time worrying about it. Just
remember, joyful is the path. In the end,

all will become clear. I decided to trust
my guide. We carried on in silence until
we neared the top. All of a sudden, a gust

of warm air pushed us up the last, little hill.
As we made our way onto the mountain peak
I saw the tree and by it a spring of chill

water which flowed through a narrow, shallow creek
around the tree and on down the mountain slope.
The greensward was neat, well-kept, and did bespeak

the care of a loving gardener. The tropes
of paradise filled the magnificent space.
Staring in wonder, I heard a voice, I hope

your journey was a joyous one. In this place
you’re welcome. Yōkoso, friends. She was a thin
woman, with glowing white hair and a young face.

Thank you, Miki, said my guide. Dante? It’s been
a long time since I’ve seen you, old friend. She sat
beneath the tree, beckoned us to join. She grinned

and said, How can I help you? We’ve come to chat,
replied my guide. My friend wants to taste the fruit
of the tree. She looked at me. Well, of course, that

is a worthy goal. If you are resolute
in that decision, reach out now, take a piece.
I rose, went to grab one, and tripped on a root

of the tree. I blushed. Brother, you must release
your worries and pride. I stood and tried again.
The tree seemed to move away, and I did cease

to try. I looked for my guide, and it was then
that I realized that I had moved; the tree
was in the same spot. Miki said, Don’t rush. When

you’re ready, you’ll partake. I got on my knees
and prayed. Then, I arose and went to the stream.
I took off my shoes and washed my hands and feet

in the cool water. I turned and it did seem
the tree had moved toward me. Without surcease
my amazement grew. I felt it did beseem

me to grab three pieces of fruit, one apiece
for each of us. We ate together. The lore,
I learned, was correct: the fruit tasted of peace

somehow. I ate ’til naught was left but the core.
Take the pips, plant them. Every seed sown will sprout.
Now you must return home. At those words a door

appeared by the tree. My guide began to shout,
Remember to hope, and be happy. He gave
me a hug. You are loved, you should never doubt

that. The path is hard, I know this. But be brave,
you will be alright. Seek joy, I know you are
ready for it, he said. I, with a last wave,

walked through and sank up into a sea of stars.

* * * * *

About the poem

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* * * * *

Daniel Cooper is a husband and father of three children. He lives in Houston, Texas where he teaches political science and the Italian language at a local community college. In his free time, he loves reading, writing, and pondering.