From Peter’s journal, 12 February 1992 [the year is given here; Peter makes it difficult for the reader—he occasionally writes entries out-of-sequence, in different journals, and without the year being noted!]
The prospect of my imminent departure is somewhat alarming… (I haven’t written in this book for ages.) Alone at home with Vera, I yet again consider the void which I am attempting to straddle with another voyage, a smile. John, I dreamed of you last night. Once again, I said I love you, with no reply but your own enigmatic smile. Is that you up there in heaven, chiding me in my dreams for being the poor mortal I am? How I carry you with me, year after year, my spiritual baggage. There must be a heaven, so you may be there. And if I try hard, I might get there too. I’m afraid it will come less naturally for me, however—my only hope is that you’ve overlooked my faults and saved the last dance for me.
Meanwhile, down here among the mortals I’m having one hell of a time. So I could resist the extravagances of this European jaunt, satisfy a craving for a modest adventure—a tour of the capitals. But here I feel the test to keep focus, to experience fully for once, take it on honestly and fearlessly.
To live through the soul, for the soul, within the gardens of truth, beauty, passion.
To discover my strength, somewhere inside me, to come home to the source of calm and happiness.
— and more babble —