Only Through Darkness Can We See the Stars

Ten years ago, I visited Italy as part of what was coined "The Glitch Trip." One of my friends came across a tweet announcing that Priceline was issuing $180 around-the-world trip tickets (NYC > Milan > Prague > Amsterdam > Tokyo > LA). Three of us booked it before the company caught the glitch, and a fourth booked it after.

Our first stop was Milan. From there, we visited Verona, which will forever be one of my favorite cities. And yet, I have not returned, as I cherish the memories more than the chance to bottle lightning with lesser company.

Verona's stone streets, which seem to hold the secrets of the ages, captivated us all. Its balconies, draped in ivy, overlook market squares where medieval wells stand in the shadow of lofty towers. Steps away, the green-tinted Adige River wraps its waters around the city's aged stone extremities.

At sunset on our first night, a friend grabbed a bottle of Tuscan wine and we sat upon the highest hill overlooking the river, eying the many spires that stretched into the sky and poked the underbellies of the clouds. We gorged on cheese and stuffed ourselves with well-oiled bread.

The golden sunset and yellow streetlights blended to create a mystical glow. In Forest Gump's words, we "couldn't tell where heaven ended and Earth began."

The next day, my friends indulged the literary nerd of the group, and we all rode our bikes to the statue of Dante. In Verona, Dante found the freedom to seek the divine. It was there he wrote De Monarchia and much of Paradiso, surrounded by idyllic inspiration—just as we were that night.

The ancient texts of the Capitolare Library fueled his studies, while the city’s Roman relics reminded him of the power of that which is built to endure. Perhaps he felt the call to produce something that could survive all but hell on Earth.

Breathing in Verona’s air, he dreamed of brighter days ahead—a future filled with peace and purpose. It's no surprise that his mind saw the visions for Paradiso there.

Perhaps it was Verona that represented the light that pierced the depths of sorrow, following his exile from Florence.

This journey through hell brought him to the true light of Paradiso. But he drafted my favorite passage in all of literature, not from the golden glow of Verona's thoroughfares, but from the darkness of the places in between. Cold nights in Ravenna and long days on the road.

The most piercing glimmer of hope in The Divine Comedy shines from the bowels of the underworld. It's from the tunnel of Inferno, not the mountain in Paradiso, where Dante sees the stars shine once more.

It's the age-old lesson of the sour and the sweet. And of the light and the dark. Take one without the other and we'll live and behold a life in gray scale. Dante knew there was light. He also knew there was a tunnel to crawl through to see its glow and feel its warmth.

Face the dark and we'll live in that golden glow, but we must pass through that hidden tunnel first.

The moonlight can guide us, but only on the darkest nights can we see the most distant stars.

If you are looking for a way to help those struggling with depression, consider donating to AFSP or participating in Out of the Darkness Walks. It's a great organization. This is a cause close to my heart. AFSP walking events are a great way to raise awareness and send the message that suicide can be prevented, and nobody walks alone.

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