「當上帝為你關上一扇門，必定也會為你開啟一扇窗。」這句話你我都不陌生，它是關於「機會」的詮釋。

那麼，機會究竟是上帝給的？還是我們自己開啟的？「天助自助者」提醒我們，神的格局自有其奧義，前提是：你得自己願意前行。

所謂「努力」，本身也是一種定義，每個人對「盡力」的理解不盡相同。有時候，錯了方向的全力以赴，不過是耗盡心力之後的前功盡棄。

認識一位細心照顧年邁父親的女兒，每日叮囑他準時吃藥，一顆不漏。她將自己精打細算的會計個性，全盤投注在父親的身體管理中。

這當然是一種盡責的表現，無人看見的是，這些藥非但未能改善父親的健康，反而讓他愈來愈虛弱。

幾乎沒有人會在那樣的情境中深思：無止境的服藥，究竟合乎什麼邏輯？也很少有人會在老人的告別式中追問：眼前這一幕，與那長年吃下的藥，究竟有沒有關聯？

 

我始終相信：上帝為我們敞開的門，不會是醫院的大門。如今，多少人卻祈求祂為自己打開名醫家中的那一道門？

我會想，每一位靠藥物延續心跳的人，內心在想什麼？他們感謝醫師？感謝上帝讓他們的心臟還能跳動？這種永無止境的治療故事，怎麼會成為現代人的日常？

許多吃藥的人不再好奇，他們從未真正好奇過。

「絕症」是一個熟悉的名詞，但我們是否想過：真有絕症，還是這只是人類發明出來的說法？如果你相信真有絕症，那是否也意味著你相信，上帝對這些人生病者關上了門？

我不這麼認為。

我相信上帝始終開著那扇門，只是我們拒絕開啟，或被某些人勒令不准開啟，這才是所謂「絕症」的真相：先關上門，才斷了生機。

忍不住進一步思考：為什麼人類願意相信別人的判斷，卻輕易斷絕自己的出路？

人性本善，每個人天生都有助人的潛能與慈悲的本性。只是，有些人的善良被自私遮蔽，慈悲被貪婪吞噬。

 

沒錯，難以醫治的遺傳疾病確實存在，但比例極低。真正令人心痛的是：「無法治癒的病」被無限放大，只因人類看準了其中的商機。

一旦被貼上「絕症」的標籤，就如同戴上手銬腳鐐，被押入一座看不見希望的監牢。他們確實生病了，但病，從不該被定為「絕」。

就算曾經犯錯，也不該因此被剝奪修正的機會。

很多人生病後只會怨天尤人：「老天啊，我到底做錯了什麼？」，醫生不會給出答案，因為答案從不在他們的視野之內。

這些病患往往誤解了生命的秩序與格局，把無關緊要的事當作首要之務，卻忽視了真正該關注的根本。

 

慢性病的處方，是人類自私與傲慢所構築的帝國。

生命，被藥物宰制，彷彿自由被監牢囚禁。

你每天服藥，內心充滿恐懼與不安，卻從不追問：這齣戲的編劇是誰？導演是誰？配角有多少？這一切，為何存在？

因為從未好奇，我們便失去了向內探索的勇氣；因為不曾清醒，我們錯過了上蒼所賦予的「深」與「遠」的格局。

養生的真諦在於：愛自己，做自己，幫助他人。

「自己」、「身體」、「法則」構成無窮無盡的內在宇宙；「他人」則是讓愛與情感得以流動的外在舞台。

 

被藥物控制，是多麼荒謬的劇情；被人類傲慢把持的劇本，又是多麼荒腔走板。

如果你內心深處仍然充滿不安，請提醒自己：你是地球上最進化的生物，「沒有格局」從來不是你的命運。

 

「一個充滿活力的心智，總是充滿好奇與創造力。」

 

Depth and Distance Are Both a Matter of Perspective

“When God closes a door, He always opens a window.”
This is a phrase we’re all familiar with—an interpretation of what we call “opportunity.”
But is opportunity truly something granted by God, or is it something we must open ourselves?
The old saying, “God helps those who help themselves,” reminds us that divine intention has its own grand design, but the prerequisite is simple: we must be willing to take the first step.

“Effort” is itself a concept—its meaning differs from person to person. Sometimes, when we go all-in on the wrong path, our best efforts become wasted exertion.
I once met a daughter who meticulously cared for her elderly father. Every day, she reminded him to take his medication on time, not missing a single pill. She poured her meticulous accountant mindset into managing her father’s health like balancing ledgers.
It was, no doubt, an expression of devotion. But what no one saw was that the medication didn’t improve her father’s condition. In fact, he grew weaker by the day.
In such situations, few ever pause to ask: what is the logic behind this endless cycle of medication? And at the funeral of someone elderly, rarely do people question whether that scene has anything to do with all those years of pills.

I have always believed this: the door God opens for us is not the entrance to a hospital.
And yet, how many today pray for the door to a renowned doctor’s clinic to swing open for them?
I often wonder—what do those who depend on medication to keep their hearts beating truly think deep down? Are they grateful to their doctors? To God? Grateful that their hearts are still ticking?
How did these never-ending treatment stories become the norm of modern life?

So many people taking medicine have lost their sense of curiosity—some never had it to begin with.
We’re familiar with the word “incurable,” but have we ever stopped to ask: do incurable diseases truly exist? Or are they a human invention, a label we created?
If you believe in incurable diseases, then does that mean you believe God has shut the door on these people?
I don’t think so.
I believe that door has always been open. We’re the ones who refused to turn the knob—or were told by others that we weren’t allowed to.
That is the truth behind the word “incurable”: the door was closed first, and then hope was extinguished.

Which leads me to wonder: why are humans so willing to accept others’ judgments, while so quick to sever their own way out?
Human nature is inherently good. Each of us is born with the potential to help others, to show compassion. But sometimes that goodness is clouded by selfishness; compassion swallowed by greed.

Yes, there are indeed rare genetic diseases that are difficult to treat. But the real tragedy is how the idea of “incurability” has been endlessly magnified—because someone saw profit in it.
Once you are labeled with an “incurable” disease, it’s as if you’ve been shackled, sentenced to a prison where hope cannot enter.
Yes, these people are ill—but “incurable” should never have been their fate.
Even those who have made mistakes deserve the chance to change course.

And yet, when illness strikes, many turn to blame and despair: “God, what did I do wrong?”
But doctors don’t have the answers—because the answers have never been within their scope.

These patients have misunderstood the order and perspective of life.
They prioritize what’s insignificant, while ignoring what’s truly essential.

The chronic illness industry is an empire built on human selfishness and pride.
Life, once governed by medication, is like freedom locked in a prison cell.
You take your pills daily, filled with fear and uncertainty—but never ask:
Who wrote this script?
Who’s directing this play?
Who are the supporting characters?
Why does any of it exist at all?

Because we were never curious, we lost the courage to look inward.
Because we never awakened, we missed out on the deeper and broader design gifted by the divine.

The essence of health lies in this:
Love yourself. Be yourself. Help others.

“Self,” “Body,” and “Law” form the infinite universe within.
“Others” serve as the stage where love and connection are set in motion.

To be ruled by medication—what an absurd plotline.
To follow a script dictated by human arrogance—what a chaotic performance.

And if deep inside, you still feel anxious, remind yourself:
You are the most evolved being on this planet.
And a lack of perspective has never been your destiny.