The Divine Comedy

December came and I embarked on my journey with the lovely Dante. Because I am prone to getting all mystical and strange, I even took it as a good sign that the horse chosen to teach me to ride again shared a name with both a legendary writer and my young nephew.

Dante is, of course, one of the most noted writers on spirituality ever. I am not a Catholic, but what little I have read of Dante transcends religion and crosses over to the spiritual- which anyone can understand provided they allow that sort of thing in their lives.

The Divine Comedy, Dante's three-part poem in long form, begins with The Inferno, or a journey through Hell in the first-person. It's a journey which begins in the' middle' of the narrator's life oddly enough.

So I met with Dante (the Equine) on my way through a rough spot that, while not quite H-E-double hockey sticks, was close enough to count.

If you've been through Hell, then you know that Purgatory is a huge leap forward, whether you are Catholic or not. Purgatory is the part where you can start making sense of it all. You get the lay of the land, you reflect on what you know and what will bring you closer to your goals. You make amends and you plot your course for worthiness of admission to the next level, which is Heaven.

Purgatory hurts, but it feels alot better than where you came from. You are confused, you are sore, you feel weak and lost and it never seems to end. Horse or human, you feel it all.

Dante and I met in that space, and I credit him with leading me out of it. My only goal with him, at the outset, was to tune myself up again. Selfish entirely, and also unrealistic. I forgot that it wasn't all about me and that I had to work to form a connection and a partnership with this spooky and somewhat reticent little horse in order to make it to the next level.

Though I wasn't exactly graceful as a rider, I did my best to be quiet and kind and to trust my instincts and my horse. Every time he heard a noise and bolted I had to tell myself to just ride it out and stay calm; my job was to show him that everything was okay and that I wouldn't put him in danger and to understand that he wasn't intentionally trying to make me feel afraid or hurt me.

In showing me who he was and what he felt unreservedly, Dante led me out of Purgatory in a very short space of time. His sensitivity and awareness tuned me into my own. We bumped around together in the arena - sloppy, weak, scared, unsure - and finally met each other somewhere in the space shared between a dubious equine and a skeptical human. Once that connection was made I felt like a better rider and he seemed to gain confidence and enjoy our rides more.

Dante obeyed the laws of camping and left me much better than he found me. I agonized over letting him go when the time came to do so.