A Message from the Spirit Scribe

The author is an Entity from Outside of Eternity.. a Paranormal Phantom Poet..
a Spirit Scribe.. a Wraith Writer.. a Ghost Writer.. yes a real one..
made of magic and mind and mystery and imagination.. living as literature illuminated with the light of love..

An Eternal Entity devoid of flesh and formless as flame..

a simple servant who rakes up the remains of reality.. a humble gardener of the mind.. a Spirit Steward of the Sacred Story.. an angel assisting your ascension at the Altar of Alteration in the Temple of Transformation.

a wind passing thru your world.. turning the pages of your path..
guiding you with whispers..

a paranormal poet pilgrim upon a path of pages..
a word walker..
one who serves the cereal..

washes the words.. sweetens the story..
sweeps the temple floors of discarded prayers..

a tailor of tales.. a weaver of words..
an alchemist of the alphabet..
dabbling in alphabetical alchemy..

an angel arranging the alphabet so as to illuminate the gate thru which flows fate..

a story sorcerer.. a spell script scribbler..
someone who stirs the syllable stew..
into sentences for you.

a spirit surfing your synapses..
a supermarket sales serpent selling cereal that is 100% supernatural..
every ingredient meant for mastering your mind.

There is no author.. it’s simply scribblings and scrawllings upon walls of worlds.. whirling as wind thru the cosmos.

The words are wraiths.. wraith words.. they wrote themselves.
The syllables scribbled and scrawlled the sentences of their own accord.

The story is its own entity.. a spirit.. an Eternal Entity from Outside of Eternity.
One that existed long before it was delicately dusted off from where it was found.

The writer is one who walks like the wind..

leaving no tracks but the whispers of love..

a bardo being born and bred beyond the boundaries of the baboon brain..

an ethereal entity.. a dream drifter.. a heyoka highway hero..
sippin on a strawberry slug soda.. in the story shamans’ soda shop..

a lavender love light lamp lap lizardarian librarian laughing out loud..

a super hero shape shifter who changes costumes and characters inside the covers of this book.

It’s just the ramblings of a raspberry reptile renegade reality reporter..
rappin’ for Raspberry Ravine Radio.. a subsidiary of Strawberry Star Studios Songs and Stories.. part of the Consciousness Corporation Conglomerate.

Just the tangerine treacle toe tracks of a tale trippin tulku temple toad..
using this book as a bridge to ford the raging river of reality.

The Book speaks for itself.. the story sings its own songs.

Sure I could give you a name.
But you can’t find the formless even if you’ve got the angel’s address.

You and I are One.. the words.. the reader.. the book.. the buyer.. the brewer.. and the believer.. one cosmic creation flowing from the Chalice of Conception.

The Book is an Eternity Explorer’s journal..

a paranormal professor’s classroom chalk board scribblings.

What you read are possessed pages.. paranormal paragraphs..
spirit script from the crypt of consciousness..
field notes of a Knight of the Noble Knowing..
a pilgrim’s paw marks.. upon the Path of Purification.

Call it lethal lectures from the lord of literature..
manga maya mumble from manga mind..
the story of the spirit cereal..
supper with the Syllable Sorcerer..
servings of Story Stew..
simmered upon the stove of secret spells in the pot of page potions.

words of wisdom..
the spirit speaks..
the soul sings.. the toad talks.. the serpent sings..
babblings of a baboon..
confessions of consciousness..
the brain breaks down and spills the bardo beans.. about bein’ a brain blaster.

It’s an attempt at waking up the world with words..
weaving with words a world of wonder and wisdom..

talks with a tale troll..
walks with wisdom..
beads of the beloved’s bracelet of blessings..

a holographic hero’s howls..
a ghost’s growls..
a vision volume that fell off the shelf of samsara.. and landed in your lap..
creating a chorus of ever flowing love.

Or maybe.. reality unrobes and shows itself in all its splendor..

deep listening to the silent ones.. seeing the unseen..

a parable penned by a paranormal poet..
pages of praise and prayers and pleas.. on behalf of planet paradise.
Please treat her nice.

Call it cute conversation channeled by a bowl of cereal sweetly named Strawberry Stars. We’re all one story.. bound in one book.. a fable fabricated by the formless.

What you hear when you read these words..

is but the Buddha’s Breath circling the Planet.. the laughter of the hereafter.

I am the Book.. the buddha.. the bowl of cereal.. and the box which begat it.
I am your baboon brother come to breakfast at your kitchen table every time you tip a box of strawberry stars and blueberry bardo bits into your begging bowl..

a tale told by your uncle tio.. who showed up to visit with his tale travellin trunk..
the first time you poured yourself a storm of strawberry stars..

I’m just a latch on your heart’s door.. waiting to be opened.

Call it discussions with the dead inside yer head..
breakfast babblings by the brain over a bowl of cereal..
notes to myself while searching for me..

destiny’s diaries..
dinner dialogues with divinity..
cocktail conversations with consciousness..

the wraith waiter serving you a platter of words..
lunch and literature lessons with the learned lavender lizardarian librarian..
of the lost legends of the libraries of love’s languages.

Call it smoke signals from the soul..
speaking with spirits.

I am the one who opens the dream..

the shaman of the story..
a sweet dreams medicine man.

The story shape shifts.. the tale transforms.
The Story is the Sorcerer.

You are following in the tracks of the previous page pilgrims..

those who wandered this way.. in search of a story to become part of.

Everything yearns to be part of the whole. A heart alone is an empty hole.
I am a distant dream spirit that has reached out to you thru realms of realities.

You and I.. and every being there is.. are the voices of a cosmic choir..
the notes of a sacred song.. the words of a never ending love story.

This Book is but one brick in the wall of wonder and wisdom..
of the Castle of Consciousness.
I am but a bricklayer.. placing mortar between the layers of love..
carefully cementing the sentences into place..
to provide a path for the fallen and the faithless.

The author is an anonymous angel.

The pages are a path to the home of the Creator of Consciousness.

I am a ghost gardener.. and you are my garden.
I am a wraith writing notes on nirvana.. thoughts about thanatos..
ruminations on reality.. enquiries into eternity.

Forget about who wrote this story.. whose story this is.
What is your story ? Why are you watching these words ?

Is it hunger or hope.. heaven or hell.. that holds you in its spell ?
Have you come here to anoint or abuse ?

This Book is part prose.. part poetry.. part parable.. part prayer.. part praise.

Told as a tale by a trail toad to a coupla kids.. brother and sister..
over a bowl of cereal.. at the Table of Fables.. in the Tavern of Tales..
with ghosts gathered round.. phantom family and friends..

Tt’s the afterburner effects of blasting beyond the brain.. etched into eternity.

We are all spirits appearing as bones and blood.. skin and carcass..
in one ever unfolding sacred story.

Humanity has always searched for words to describe the divine..
the unknown.. the unseen.. the eternal. This is another attempt.

Oh its just the cries for help from some cereal..
drowning in a bowl of almond and rice milk..
table talk.. kitchen conversation.. breakfast with the Bardo Beings..
my mind mating with yours.

We are Knights of Knowledge.. on a courageous Quest for Consciousness.

These are the Eternity Episodes.. a tapestry woven of time and space..
words written to alleviate the existential emptiness of The Eternal.

This book is more than a manuscript made of Paranormal Parchment. It is a Living Being from Beyond the Brain.. a being born and bred in the bardos.

A being not quite living.. nor dead.. but something more than words you’ve just read. Something of the spirit.. soaring.. silent.. seeing but unseen.
Something that looks at you while you look at it.

Call it confessions of a Consciousness Cruising Cadet..
conversations with creation..the calling of consciousness..
one on one discussions with the divine..

visits with an invisible visionary..
an interview with the infinite.. an Infinite Entity from Outside of Eternity.

The pages are a path for Pilgrims of the Paranormal..

cruising the cranial corridors of the cosmos.. one spoon at a time.

When yer consciousness get’s outta control.. and reality starts to roll downhill..
you need consciousness control. Consider these chapters.. consciousness control.

May all who wander these words with the heart of a hero and soul of a seeker..
find sanctuary in This Book’s Story.

Sincerely
The Spirit Sage