總有那麼一天，每個人都會在某個瞬間，突然被靈性輕敲，猛然對自己的存在產生疑問，很直白的問自己一句：「這一趟，是來幹嘛的？」

我沒問過自己這個問題，因為我一直活在這個問題的答案裡。我或許無法全然理解靈性的語言，但我知道，有一股力量始終在牽引著我，讓我不違背內心的動力而活。

我是家中的老三，卻肩負長子的角色。父親的社會地位無形中投射到我身上，讓我從小就背負著一個孩子不該承擔的壓力。我那時並不知道那叫壓力，直到多年以後才明白，自己長期活在錯誤價值所塑造的沉重中。

順序，或者說秩序，是我從小被教導的禮儀規範，也是我在熟年之後所堅持的生命法則。因為我清楚：人生中的所有困境，幾乎都源於價值的錯亂與秩序的失衡。

這就是「這一趟來幹嘛」這個問題的核心，我們真的可能白來一遭，也可能白活一生。因為我們只忙於「活著」，卻忘了「活什麼」。

我們愛別人，卻不會愛自己；我們擅長介入別人的人生，卻連自己的生命都難以安頓，這是世間普遍的順序錯置。

 

當你羨慕別人時，往往是因為看到對方擁有你沒有的東西，多半與財富相關。那個動念，就是價值順序的扭曲。

別人的福報與你此生的課題無關，比較心態的教育，不知耽誤了多少人生。我自己，就曾因原生家庭的錯誤價值觀而迷失半世紀。

我覺醒得很晚，必須承認，那些被教育深埋的根紮得太深，要推倒它們，需要極大的勇氣，而要把真相說出來、寫下來，更需要透徹的自省。

「不敢說」與「不能說」造成了多麼嚴重的耽誤，我們太在意他人怎麼看，也太害怕他人怎麼回應。

一輩子為別人而活，成了許多人生命的寫照。即使終於有頓悟的那一刻，可是有意義嗎？來得及嗎？

當大腦全然沉溺於「賺錢才是王道」的信念時，就再也無法撥出一絲空間去思考「我究竟在忙什麼」。我們把「有錢」放在「活命」之前，那就是順序的錯亂。

 

每當我看見需要照護的長者，或因中風坐在輪椅上的年輕人，那股「來不及」的震撼便會像洪水般湧現。

接著，我又得面對一位又一位，仍以舊思維迎接未來的靈魂，那曾是我也信奉過的價值體系，直到我親手把它沖進下水道。

但他們仍固守不放，其實，那些執著只是為了遮掩脆弱，不願讓自尊被碰觸。

「何必如此？」，這是我內心深處的一聲叩問。

你所需要的，不過是靜下心來，去聽那個最真實的自己說話，有時候還得倒帶人生，重新回顧一次。

那些你辛苦維繫的成功形象，可能在一場身體的陣痛後瞬間崩塌；你長年苦熬來的職位，也可能在一段疲憊期內失去。因為那些，其實只是安全感的幻象，它們並不是真實存在。

太晚了。真的來不及了。

所有為了填補內心空洞而做的努力，都可能在一夕之間瓦解。因為你從未和自己好好對話，因為你從未聆聽過身體的呢喃。

 

麥克阿瑟將軍曾說：「戰爭失敗的歷史，幾乎總可以用兩個字總結：太遲。太遲了解敵意，太遲警覺危機，太遲準備，太遲團結。」

為什麼會太遲？因為自以為是，因為驕傲自大，因為理所當然，因為拒絕改變，因為對潛在危機視而不見。

而我，是從身體的課題中學習，才真正看見：人類健康的最大危機，來自醫療思維的誤導，也來自人類對醫療盛世的集體崇拜。

當錯誤的治療邏輯，強加在需要被療癒的身體上，那不是幫助，而是延誤；那不是關愛，是傲慢的傷害。

 

如果人類的健康教育再這樣下去，永遠只會重複演出「來不及」的悲劇。

我沒能及時向我父母解釋什麼是身體的智慧，理論上，那段時間我們是重疊的，我原本應該來得及。但事實是，他們來不及懂，也來不及翻轉。

而你知道嗎？現在我們依然在上演同樣的劇情，還是「來不及」。

因為太多人選擇「來不及」，因為太少人願意給「來得及」一個關愛的眼神，甚或一個誠懇的擁抱。

 

（戰爭失敗的歷史，幾乎總可以用兩個字來總結：太遲。）

 

Too Late

There will come a day—indeed, a moment—when each person is gently knocked by the hand of spirit, suddenly struck by a question about their own existence, asking bluntly: “Why am I even here?”

I’ve never asked myself this question—because I’ve always lived inside its answer. I may not fully grasp the language of the soul, but I’ve always known there is a force pulling me, guiding me to live in a way that never betrays the inner drive of my being.

I’m the third child in my family, yet I bore the role of the eldest son. My father’s social stature was unconsciously projected onto me, placing upon my shoulders a weight that no child should ever have to carry. Back then, I didn’t know to call it “pressure.” It wasn’t until years later that I realized I had lived under the heavy shadow of misplaced values for decades.

Order—structure—was instilled in me as a code of conduct since childhood. And in my mature years, it has become a principle of life. Because I’ve come to understand: nearly all life’s dilemmas arise from a disorder of values and a disruption of order.

That is the essence of the question, “Why am I here?” We may, in fact, come to this world for nothing. We may live our whole lives and miss the point. We are so busy “being alive,” that we forget to ask, “What is it we’re living for?”

We love others, yet cannot love ourselves. We are experts at intervening in others’ lives while struggling to make peace with our own. This is the widespread misplacement of life’s priorities.

When we envy others, it’s usually because we see in them something we lack—usually material wealth. That very impulse is a sign of distorted value hierarchy.

Another’s blessings have nothing to do with your soul’s assignment in this lifetime. The mindset of comparison has derailed countless lives. I myself was lost for half a century because of the misguided values instilled by my family of origin.

My awakening came late—I admit that. Those deeply rooted teachings were so entrenched that tearing them down took immense courage. But to voice them, to write them out—that required something more: radical self-examination.

The fear of speaking up—the inability to speak at all—has cost us dearly. We care too much about how others perceive us. We’re terrified of how they might respond.

To live a life entirely for others is the reality for many. Even if one day they finally awaken—does it matter? Is it too late?

When the mind is completely immersed in the belief that “making money is everything,” there is no space left to question, “What am I even doing?” We’ve placed “wealth” ahead of “life”—and that’s a fatal reversal of order.

Whenever I see an elderly person in need of care, or a young adult in a wheelchair after a stroke, the shock of “too late” floods me like a tidal wave.

And then I must face, one by one, souls who still cling to outdated paradigms while walking toward an uncertain future. I once belonged to that belief system—until I flushed it down the drain with my own hands.

But many still grip it tightly, because their attachment is a shield for vulnerability. They refuse to let their pride be touched.

“Why live this way?” That’s the question echoing deep within me.

What you really need is not more effort—but quiet. A still moment to hear the voice of your truest self. Sometimes, you even need to rewind your life and watch it again.

That carefully maintained image of “success” may collapse in an instant after a sudden health crisis. That hard-earned job title may slip away during a season of burnout. Because those things—were never real. They were illusions of safety.

Too late. Truly too late.

All the effort spent filling that hollow inside may collapse overnight. Because you never truly conversed with yourself. Because you never once listened to the whispers of your body.

General MacArthur once said:
“The history of failure and war is almost always to be summed up in two words: too late. Too late in comprehending the deadly purpose of a potential enemy. Too late in realizing the mortal danger. Too late in preparedness. Too late in uniting all possible forces for resistance.”

Why do we arrive too late? Because of arrogance. Because of self-righteousness. Because of complacency. Because of our refusal to change. Because we ignore the subtle signals of crisis.

It was through the lessons of the body that I finally understood:
The greatest threat to human health is the misdirection of medical thinking—and the collective worship of a healthcare empire built on illusion.

When flawed medical logic is forced upon a body that needs to heal, it’s not care—it’s delay. It’s not compassion—it’s arrogant harm.

If humanity continues down this path of health education, the tragedy of “too late” will repeat endlessly.

I never got to explain to my parents what the body’s wisdom truly is. In theory, we had time. We shared space. I should have made it.
But the truth is—they didn’t make it. They ran out of time.

And do you know? We’re still reenacting the same storyline today. Still—too late.

Because too many people choose “too late.” And too few are willing to offer “just in time” even a glance of love—or a genuine embrace.