A hobo had just been kicked off the train by one of the bosses. As he made his way down a dusty side road, he noticed a saffron robed man sitting next to a campfire apparently deep in thought. A wonderful smelling stew was bubbling in a pot next to him. It had been a full day since the hobo's last meal, so he went over to the man and tapped him on the shoulder.
"I see by your robes that you are some kind of holy man," said the hobo.
The Zen Master turned to the hobo and said, "You speak the truth."
The hobo spoke, "I would sure like to try the stew you have on the campfire there; perhaps if I could tell you something to increase your wisdom, you will agree to share your meal."
The Zen Master turned to the hobo and said, "Please, you are welcome to share my meal because you have already increased my wisdom!"
What had the Zen Master learned from the hobo to increase his wisdom?
The Zen Master learned that he should find a more privace place to meditate if he doesn't want to be interrupted by every vagabond that happens by.
It can't be seen, can't be felt,
can't be heard and can't be smelt.
It lies behind stars and under hills,
and empty holes it fills.
It comes first and follows after,
ends life and kills laughter.
What is it?