I have come, the pilgrim said, to see the Holy One; though some rain would be just as good, 'cuz I question all and nothing gets done, and besides, I was in the neighborhood." Abashed, the master stood head bowed, and contemplated his navel, and knowing the journey begins right now, showed him the road to travel. Incensed, the pilgrim gnashed his teeth, And cried, "Throw out your laurel! A master must succor his flock at his feet, not give them the boot with no moral!" Still, the master stood eyes running, in his weary silent contemplation, "Have a good trip and thanks for coming, and thanks again for the recommendation." "I curse you! cries the pilgrim now, You're not holy, you're only a presumptuous fraud! Some miserable mindless form of Holy Chao!" Then he wanders away to find some other God.