"You are so busy collecting glue," the old man laughed.
"What do you mean?" he asked, laughing along with the old man.

"It seems you want to build one beautiful piece from gathered bits. But somehow, you can't. With one hand, you collect bits but you let them fly away. With the other hand, you collect glue and let it stick to you. Look at you. Knotted in meaningless knowledge. Now listen son, you could collect bits all your life and if they never fall into place, you will never see the beauty you want to see. On the other hand, if you collect glue, you will end up even worse--hands and mind stuck to things that have no meaning by themselves. Clean yourself first, and start again."
"You ask for too much. I am what I have collected. I cannot cleanse myself of myself," he said in a moment of striking clarity.

"You are doomed," the old man whispered, "You are a half-enlightened man. With courage you have reached the ugliness of your soul but now you do not know how to redeem yourself of it."