A young man wished to find the Perfect Master. He travelled to Indian and visited a famous yogi. But when the young man tried to open a dialogue, the yogi would not speak. So he travelled on.

This was not his idea of a perfect master. A master is one who teaches. Now this man simply sits there, silent, like a stupid man. Maybe he is silent, but there is no message. He is not the messiah - how can one be a messiah without a message?

Then he went to Japan and entered a monastery, but the venerable master seemed to him overly harsh and ruthless. The master used to beat people, throw them out of the windows, jump upon them even while they were asleep. Now, this was not his cup of tea.

Arriving in Iran, he met a Sufi who gave him meaningless answers to his very serious questions. He would ask about the East and the Sufi would talk about the West. He would ask about the earth and the Sufi would talk about the sky. Now this was ridiculous, this man was mad.

Finally the young man climbed the high mountains of Tibet and, in an ancient Lamasery on a windswept cliff, he was permitted an audience with the head Lama, a famous master of the region. To the young man, the Lama was not sufficiently austere, for he was surrounded by silks, gold and other riches. Yet the Lama's words seemed wise, and the young man believed that this was the closest he would come to finding the Perfect Master. So he begged permission to become a disciple of the Lama. The Lama replied 'No.'

When the young man asked why, the Lama said 'Because I will only accept the Perfect Disciple.'