In Memory of Kris Kristofferson

The soul was not in line; it stayed a ways off (parked on a golden bench) plucking at a guitar it had brought along. "May I help you?" Peter asked, and it shook its head. "Nope," the soul said matter-of-factly, "I'm good here." The gates opened and the gates closed; the gates opened and closed again and again and again. "We should get you checked in," Peter said softly (when there was no line), and the soul sighed and nodded. "Peaceful here," it said, getting up. "Quiet. You can hear yourself think; much obliged for some time to just settle in." Peter nodded. The gruff, tough, rough souls were often the most loving - the best at detaching from the world, keeping a deep self-knowing and gratitude at their core ... for making their way, for finding love, for not letting the world tear them to shreds. When the gates opened, the soul simply nodded its head and that was it; it was looking for a bench inside (somewhere secluded and quiet).