Departing the Dam, Dante-style

Dante tells us that at the centre of the Inferno, Satan lies bound to his waist in ice, endlessly devouring Cassius, Brutus, and Judas Iscariot while waiting to be freed from his prison, and to rise once more upon the land of the living.

That may well have been true once, but Mr. Aligheri has been dead for some time, and the temperature continues to rise around the globe, and the ice dwindles with each day.

There are many more deserving souls than the assassins of Caesar that deserve to be the primal focus of Lucifer's ministrations. Judas carried out his orders, fulfilled his destiny, praised God.

La Divina Comedia can be read on three levels: The literal, where Dante stumbles upon a gate to Hell and goes on to be guided through the three Catholic afterlives; The political, where Dante puts those he disagrees with through eternal torment, while heaping God's favour on those he deems likeminded; and most importantly, the allegorical - where Dante's journey represents the one we all make - through each Canto, moving from Inferno, to Purgatorio, Paradiso, and finally our self/soul/will joins God and becomes the All.
The eternal fallacy that this is a just world we live in continues to plague the downtrodden, the despised. I'm getting ahead of myself.

Dante gripped me immediately.

I too felt midway through my life, confused, or lost in a dark wood. I felt plagued by more than three symbolic beasts. I needed to walk outside of the city, to escape the corruption and malice temporarily.

We both met messengers claiming to be from God, asking to guide us back home. However this is where my path and Dante's differed. While he accepted Virgi's offer, I asked him for directions and walked on by myself.

Where am I going with this? I am sat in my new apartment in Amsterdam, and couldn't face a day in the office. I have been lured away from my chosen path with false desires. Negative influences pervade me, flowing through me as I walk through the city, and as they do they stain - dying my lighter hues a murky black.

My body follows my infected mind, and screams at me for release.

I shouldn't have settled here. The ultimate trap of the open prison, the one I fell into, is to give the prisoners exactly what they want, provided they are good prisoners.

In Purgatory any type of vice is available, and yet it seems each person here has lost their tastes for most vices, following a hazy script, carrying out sin by mechanical action rather than deliberate thought. Following the wrong orders.

Purgatory is a different system to Hell, with different goals. Here, suffering is the knowledge that we have left behind Hell, but we are not yet fully awakened in God's Presence. Everything is taken for granted. I need a walk.

The weather outside is almost trademark Dutch: 19 degrees celsius, dry, huge black thunder clouds above. Since starting my new job here in Amsterdam I noticed very quickly how obsessed with the weather people are. Checking the forecast before making any decisions, complaining that the weather doesn't fit their schedules. Perhaps this ill will shapes the climate? Once again I'm running off on a tangent.

I have arrived at the conclusion that Amsterdam has lost it's sparkle for me - I lose sight of it's beauty when I don the blinkers of the mind, and stare at the cobbled stones, the bikepaths...the floor. Some part of me misses the Inferno of my life. With almost characteristic haste, I have decided to quit my job, move out of my apartment, and with a month's salary head to Morocco, then through Tunisia to Libya, and finally, the spiritual destination of my pilgrimage, Egypt.

I have spent so long bitching and moaning about the world's media, I have decided it's time I create some of my own. So, I plan on getting a cheap camera, packing a sleeping bag, and after a weekend in England having a last catch up with friends for a time, I will travel by bus to Barcelona, and then hitch-hike to the very south of Spain, and catch the ferry to Morocco.

While there I can acclimatise to Africa, adjust to the almost assault on my senses. Already I can feel the dream thread tugging, telling me to hurry, to move. But I can wait slightly. Once a decision has been made, a certain freedom is revealed and a burden is lifted.

Amsterdam is still unique, and it holds a special place in my heart. It has it's own energies, both light and dark, that flow into you, pick you up, spin your mind around, and place it back down behind you. Yeah.

No matter how saintly or sinful you are, this city leaves it's stains on the psyche, in a way that is both cleansing and cursing.

My point is that this city is multi-faceted, and each of it's reflections dazzle - for a time. It is a vicious city - it swallows you - irregardless of colour, creed, or religion, but the process of digestion is not pleasant.

Desperately trying to blend in with Dutch culture, I started to notice my attitude to possessions and money began to change - when you "Go Dutch" you don't just split the bill evenly - everything is worked out meticulously to make sure "what's mine is mine and what's yours is yours".

Which, for the most part, is fine. Good, even. But this is not true sharing. True sharing isn't charity, but a way to mutually benefit. Whether this benefit is physical, financial or spiritual, the act of giving helps the giver more than the recipient. So when you remove this aspect from the equation - when everyone gives only exactly their share, the soul is never fufilled. Each major religion holds to this tenet - that to give brings one closer to God - whatever description of God you use.

Maybe that's one reason the depression rate for the Netherlands is fourth in the world (according to Forbes), falling behind the US, Ukraine, and France.

The golden rule of "When in Rome, do as the Romans do" can cause suffering. We have all heard the comparison that when you go to someone else's house you play by their rules. Visiting someone's home is a lot different to living in it. I found my typically English politeness and deference to be treated by scorn, or as a sign of weakness by certain inhabitants. I found I had to identify each person I met, assess their want with me, and then nine times out of ten politely refuse whatever they were offering me.

Suddenly I was in a city thronged with people, talking to everyone, and completely alone. At least Amsterdam taught me that - how to react to such a wide range of situations, in a completely new style. But when you gaze into the abyss, it also gazes into you - what I saw in others, they saw in me. Mutual hatred? At times. Isolation can breed despair, and fear. That fear becomes magnified onto others - and when we cause other people to be afraid, they either fight or flee. Neither is good for a healthy relationship. Purging myself of this initial distrust to the world remains difficult, but a worthwhile struggle.

Perhaps Saint Ambrose should have spent more time in Rome and glanced at some of the cucifixions there before making twee remarks.

My thoughts are full of the bad times here, and I feel I'm being overly critical. The city life is getting to me. I find it hard to breathe sometimes (nothing to do with my smoking habit thank you so very much for asking), feeling the vibrations of the city pulse in my head. A constant chatter of information that I can't drown out.

I need to escape - not from Amsterdam per se, but The West. Morocco represents the cheapest and easiest way out of the continent. From there I can start to truly learn, and wander, to The East.