XXX. The Floating Flower School is a Parked Car(dead horse)

The floating flower school is a parked car. This, I transcribe as the only teaching fit for the masses. Can it lead innumerable beings into even such a subtle penetration, rephrasing and rewording the sentence, the floating flower school is a parked car, until it leads to beyond the greatest doubt. Then fully enlightened, this alone is enough to say to the mind as its leaving, oh this bodhisattva nature need not to be employed, all sentient beings are here, waiting for your entry. But before this takes place, two questions must be asked, are there one or many different types of flowers in the floating flower school? and can you describe the parked car you see before you? All accepting answers, all accepting egos, blown aside, Amidas Pureland, for a hell of afflictions. Your favourite answer, devastating to the Tathagata of past, future and present. I have seen just how much my ego clings to surface rights. Are these questions purely metaphysical? How do they go about, unavoidable, unavoiding. I slip into a skin so that the essence be certain of my disgrace towards it. Six senses, multiplied. Do their afflictions become innumerable or do they stop at 108? I’ve been counting the same prayer bead for kalpa after kalpa, rebirth after rebirth, so how will the suburbs understand that I am ready for no-birth. I’ve been too busy living as a Phoneix in a boys body. Burning up, is this a delayed puberty or my long awaited spiritual death? My doubts are stranger then fiction, disappointing, distancing, disintegrating, is there any order? Spectrums become my answer to both riddles, tired of beating a dead horse, I get off and walk with less merit through samsara. The floating flower school is a parked car; sometimes it takes another means of transportation just to move, and is there any order? My pack-mule is faster then your Lamborghini! Does one understand this clear meaning, the parked car, that old dead horse, the illusory floating flower.

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