您能生幾分病？ (How much illness can you endure?)

我在幾年前曾爆發蕁麻疹，驗過敏原也驗不出個所以然，只能不了了之，最近蕁麻疹大軍捲土重來，大肆攻城掠地，不分晝夜狂歡作樂，我每天在抓癢之餘，苦中作樂地想：「沒有到臉部就好了！我還要臉！」

但我的臉已有另一大患讓我苦不堪言，就是脫皮！我脂粉不施，到底招啥惹啥，能脫到這等「不要臉」的程度也是世紀大謎！我在看牙醫時，牙醫的注意力都在我的脫皮，不在牙上，他無限同情地提供對應之法，並一再鼓勵山窮水盡的我—「您要效法神農嘗百草，加油！」

我還深受「飛蚊症」之擾，眼前小黑蚊滿天飛，某位也有此症的法師跟我說，她看到的是浪漫的絲絮「飛雲」症，嘖！有修行的人還真不一樣，我用力把眼睛都看成鬥雞眼了，蚊子還是蚊子！

有句話說—「修行人應帶三分病，才知道要發道心」，大致是說沒病痛的人，比較難對生死無常有感，進而精進修道。我上述的「病」應該不到三分，也許只能算一分病，但我已有「色身不由我」之感悟，這算是一點道心嗎？

我也許將我的「病」描寫得誇張好笑，但並不代表我的感受膚淺，身為護理人員的我，自然見過生老病死，我握過將死病人的手，看著他嚥下最後一口氣；我也曾是家屬，在加護病房外揪著心，如同駛在黑夜漫漫大海、看不到岸的一葉孤舟；以至於當我在產房內，見證新生命的誕生，新生兒的啼哭聲及周遭的恭喜聲，都讓我恍惚—「生命何樂之有？」

「生命何樂之有？」這個疑問在我20歲出頭剛當加護病房護理人員時，就深植我心，我曾站在醫院樓層間的相連露天橋樑，對著一輪明月發問：「生命何樂之有？」

我們該如何看待生命 ？有人是「YOLO」族，主張即時行樂，因為You Only Live Once；我則比較偏向〈普賢菩薩警眾偈〉中所勸告的「 是日已過，命亦隨減，如少水魚，斯有何樂？大眾！當勤精進，如救頭燃，但念無常，慎勿放逸！」

我在行樂與勿放逸之間還抓不到中道，「抓到中道」是我這一生的功課！

即使佛光山開山祖師星雲大師把「生老病死」的排序更改，成為較樂觀的「老病死生」，我想多數人還是聞「病」色變。

您能生幾分病？您受得住幾分病，才發得出道心？或者您不用生病，就已道心堅定？

大師在1955年左右，不到30歲的他被診斷出患有急性風濕關節炎，會傳染全身，恐怕有死亡之虞，最好把雙腿鋸斷，保住生命。大師寫下—貧僧沒有一點恐懼，反而心想，鋸斷雙腿也好，就免得在外奔跑、走路辛苦，從此可以安住在寺中專心讀書、寫作，那也是人生快慰的事。

大師說，有時生病不見得不好，生病讓關心你的人更珍惜，讓嫉妒排斥你的人，因你生病而歡喜，這也是一種消災的方式。樂極生悲，因禍得福，凡事沒有絕對的。

Venerable Master Hsing Yun says, “Sometimes being ill isn’t necessarily a bad thing. It makes those who care about you cherish you more. It also brings joy to those who envy or exclude you. This, too, is a form of dispelling misfortune. Joy can turn to sorrow, and misfortune can bring blessings—nothing is absolute in all things.” （來源：佛光山；Source：FGS）

我很佩服大師說他一生與病為「友」，在2016年，近90歲的大師因為腦溢血開刀治療，在休養期間，大師還持續書寫一筆字，將義賣收入做為「好苗子計畫」助學基金。大師說：「我沒有病，只是有點不方便。」

大師也寫過他曾不小心跌倒把腿跌斷，還是到處講經說法，在開刀後躺床，承蒙當時佛光山住持心平和尚的好意，晚上照顧大師，心平和尚坐在沙發上，大師在床上偶爾要翻身動一動，紓減麻醉後的不舒服，心平和尚一看大師動一下，就會起身問他需要什麼。

大師提議心平和尚跟他互換位子，讓自己坐沙發可能會舒服一點，心平和尚照做，但不到一會，就從床上跳起來，說：「師父，不行！等一下護士來打針，會打錯人！」

於是他們索性不睡了，兩人談天說笑，也很有趣味，大師說生病並不全然是苦的。

我笑了！我願向大師學習！

How much illness can you endure?

A few years ago, I experienced an outbreak of hives. I underwent allergy tests twice, but the cause remained elusive. Recently, the hives returned with a vengeance and launched a relentless assault day and night. While dealing with this incessant itch, I chuckled to myself, “As long as it doesn’t reach my face, I’m fine! I still have my face!”

However, my face was soon plagued by another affliction that made me miserable—peeling! I don’t apply any makeup—I wonder what I did to deserve this shameless degree of peeling. When I visited the dentist, my peeling caught his attention more than my teeth did. He sympathetically offered remedies and repeatedly encouraged me, a person facing adversity, saying, “You should emulate Shen Nong who tasted a hundred herbs. Keep at it!”

I am also greatly bothered by floaters in my vision; it looks like tiny black mosquitoes are flying everywhere. A venerable who also experiences this condition told me that what she sees are effervescent and magical “floating clouds.” Hmm! It seems that practitioners indeed perceive things differently. I strain my eyes hard, but mosquitoes are still just mosquitoes!

There’s a saying, “A practitioner should carry three parts of illness to understand the importance of the spiritual path.” In essence, this means that those without physical ailments may find it challenging to appreciate the impermanence of life and may thus struggle to dedicate themselves to spiritual practice. Although my “illness” may not amount to even three parts—perhaps just one part—I have already realized the lack of control over my physical body. Does this count as a trace of embarking on the spiritual path?

I might be portraying my “illness” in an exaggerated and humorous manner, but it doesn’t mean my feelings are shallow. As a healthcare professional, I have witnessed the cycle of life and death. I’ve held the hands of the dying, witnessing their final breath. I’ve also experienced the other side—being a family member anxiously waiting outside the intensive care unit, feeling like a lone boat navigating a vast sea in the dark. Therefore, even in the delivery room, witnessing the birth of new life, the cries of the newborn and the congratulations around me make me wonder— “What joy is there in life?”

“What joy is there in life?” I’ve thought deeply about this question since my early 20s when I first became a nurse in the intensive care unit. I once stood on a connected outdoor bridge between hospital floors, gazing at a bright moon, silently questioning, “What joy is there in life?”

How should we view life? Some are part of the “YOLO” (You Only Live Once) crowd, advocating for immediate enjoyment because life is short. I lean more towards the advice in Samantabhadra Bodhisattva’s Verse for Reminding the Assembly: “The day has passed, and our lives diminish accordingly. We are like fish in shallow water—what joy is there? O, great assembly! Cultivate diligently, as if extinguishing flames atop one’s own head. Be mindful of impermanence and do not be indolent!”

I still haven’t found the middle way between indulgence and abstaining from pleasure. Finding the middle way is a lifelong lesson for me!

Even though the founder of Fo Guang Shan,  Venerable Master Hsing Yun, has altered the sequence of “birth, aging, sickness, and death” to a more optimistic “aging, sickness, death, birth,” the word “sickness” still evokes concern in most people.

How much illness can you endure? How much illness can you withstand to cultivate a mind of the path? Or perhaps, do you not need to be sick to have a firm mind of the path?

Around 1955, when Venerable Master Hsing Yun was less than 30 years old, he was diagnosed with acute rheumatoid arthritis, which could potentially spread throughout his body and posed a risk of death. The suggestion was to amputate both legs to save his life. Venerable Master Hsing Yun wrote— “This humble monk felt no fear; on the contrary, the thought arose that even if my legs were amputated, it would spare me from running around outside, enduring the hardships of walking. From then on, I could reside in the temple, dedicating myself to studying and writing. That, too, would be a source of contentment in life.”

Venerable Master Hsing Yun says, “Sometimes being ill isn’t necessarily a bad thing. It makes those who care about you cherish you more. It also brings joy to those who envy or exclude you. This, too, is a form of dispelling misfortune. Joy can turn to sorrow, and misfortune can bring blessings—nothing is absolute in all things.”

I greatly admire Venerable Master Hsing Yun, who said he was “friends”  with illness throughout his life. In 2016, at the age of nearly 90, he underwent surgery for a cerebral hemorrhage. During the recovery period, he continued writing “One Stroke Calligraphy”, using the proceeds from charity sales for the “Good Seedlings Project” scholarship fund. He said, “ I’m not sick, just a bit inconvenient.”

Venerable Master Hsing Yun also wrote about how, despite falling and breaking his leg, he continued preaching everywhere. While lying in bed after his leg surgery, he expressed gratitude for the kindness of Most Venerable Hsin Ping, the abbot of Fo Guang Shan at the time, who took care of him at night. Most Venerable Hsin Ping sat on the sofa, and whenever Venerable Master Hsing Yun needed to shift or move a bit to relieve post-anesthesia discomfort, Most Venerable Hsin Ping would stand up from the sofa and ask what he needed.

Venerable Master Hsing Yun suggested that Most Venerable Hsin Ping switch places with him, thinking it might be more comfortable for him to sit on the sofa. Most Venerable Hsin Ping did as suggested, but after a while, he jumped up from the bed, saying, “Venerable Master, no! Wait a moment. The nurse is coming to give a shot, and they might inject the wrong person!”

So, they decided not to sleep. The two of them talked, laughed, and found it quite amusing. Being ill is not all bad.

I laughed! May I learn from Venerable Master Hsing Yun!