“Midway along the journey of our life
I woke to find myself in a dark wood,
for I had wandered off from the straight path…
How I entered there I cannot say,
I had become so sleepy at the moment
when I first strayed, leaving the path of truth…”
—Dante, The Divine Comedy: Inferno, Canto I: 1-3, 10-12
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“I’ll be your Beatrice.” The words speak to me.
“What?!” I look up sudden and shook from place at the table.
My son says again, “I’ll be your Beatrice.”
“Do you know who Beatrice is?” I ask to him. He is nine.
“No.”
“Come here. I’ll show you.” With signal of hand, I invite his follow as we walk toward study and wall of books.
Over spread of shelves, I instruct, “Look for The Portable Dante.”
His eyes search high and wide across the span of spines. I lead and narrow his searching as he goes speaking “warmer” or “colder” as I read his drift and move of eyes.
It is a black spine with white letters, a Penguin Classic well-worn for only the few years that I have had it.
He finds and draws it down.
Within the anthology are two books, The Divine Comedy and Vita Nuova. Both are of her.
“This is where Beatrice comes from,” I tell him. He looks with curiosity and, too, indifference.
He doesn’t know the weight or worth of his speech.
“Beatrice—giver of blessings—is the one that saved his soul. She prayed for him when he was losing himself, and she prayed for help to come to him, to save him before it was too late. A guide came and led him through Hell and then up a mountain where he learned to refine misdirected loves, and when he got to the top, Beatrice was there; and it was she that led and showed him Heaven—where reason could not go.”
He doesn’t understand.
I don’t expect him to.
He is nine.
Still, from out of nowhere: message spoke as I felt my soul adrift again.
He doesn’t know how many times, by his love, he’s saved me.
He doesn’t know all the times his innocence has inspired, moved, and led me back—saved me from myself and sins—misdirected love—that by his innocence, shows me the true and God-Love way.
We all have Beatrices in our lives: spirit guides who shine and lead us back, up, and onward in our Pilgrimage to Heaven.
He doesn’t know the weight he spoke, nor how true his words had been—but I do.
Recognizing sign, intercession in a moment, I thank God for every blessing—those I can and cannot see—and for the messenger, my Beatrice, through which His words arrived.
