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He stands, quietly, on the Nightside Cliff, which separates that Which Is from that Which is Beyond. He watches the valley, far below, as lights wink on and lights wink off. His long thin hands are clasped behind his back, and his heavy brow is furrowed with concentration. He is watching and does not want to miss a thing.

Years ago, he could have been anything. He could have been a teacher, a lover, a minister, a husband. He wanted so badly to be any of these things. He knew, from an early age, that it was not meant to be. His destiny, laid out before him in signs and happenstance, showed him that he was to be what he was. He was to be a Gate.

It was to be his job to be one of those that helped in the transition, of the movement from this place to the next, to assist the dying.

It wasn't a very hard job, as jobs go. It required no heavy lifting, no strenuous physical activity. It required not a lot of travel, as he could reach the Nightside Cliff sitting in his house, lying in bed, or walking around his neighborhood. The pay wasn't much. In fact, it was nothing. It required him to find a job that paid to supplement his life so that he could do his real job. The job of transition, the job of transportation, the job of Gate.

Over the years, he has visited the Nightside Cliff many times. Family, friends, strangers, all passed by him in his role of Gate and each and every one got the same treatment. He would see that the door to that Which is Beyond was opened, and the transition was clean and smooth. No rough edges, no long lingering, nothing that would cause undue pain to soul. Each one was a nicely executed example of rapid transport, with the last breath from their old shell to the movement through the door.

When he started, he was not as compassionate. He would quickly open the door, see the soul up and out, and close the door so that no living person could follow out of grief. It was the rules, as far as he could see. He could not understand why a living person would want to follow one who has passed beyond. With age comes understanding.

Now he holds the door open a bit longer. Not quite long enough for the living to pass through, but long enough for the one who has passed to send their love, and long enough for the living to see the passing. Leakage does occur. Bright lights, tunnels, visions, dreams. Sometimes the living picks up on these images right before the door closes. It was his hope that seeing the one who passed has moved to a place of light rather than dark brings comfort to those who felt the loss.

He also added on extra element. He sings. As the soul passes from that Which Is to that Which is Beyond, he will encourage the passing with Song of Hope, Song of Sadness, Song of Love, Song of Good Journey. Gently, softly, he sings, in a tuneless way that no one with living ears can hear.

Each song is tailored for the passing. It sends memories and brings love. It eases pain and increases acceptance. Over the years, he has sung hundreds, tens of hundreds of songs, and each one different, just as each passing is different.