人生來到晚年，真相往往無處可逃。我時常提醒自己：「不要再欺騙自己」，也提醒身旁的人：「勇敢掀開自己的假面具。」

我們都帶著最純樸的本質降臨人世，卻在成長過程中，一點一滴失去真實。因為教育我們的人不誠實，因為圍繞我們的世界早已不再真實。

記得考試沒考好回家那一刻，母親冷冷的說：「真是讓我丟臉」，當時的我無法辨識這句話的真實性，即便「丟臉」的意義不難懂，即便母親的情緒看似真實。

我的成績和母親的臉有什麼關係？這個困惑長久成為我價值觀的一部分。幾十年後回顧，才發現這些錯誤的連結竟與病痛相關。

我們從小接受「不要丟臉」的教育，被灌輸要顧全顏面，不僅不能丟自己的臉，也不能讓家人丟臉。

「臉」就是面子，「身段」則是面子的延伸，它們都是包裝，甚至是偽裝。

 

即便熟知疾病的根源，我也會在不愉快的場合選擇沉默，避免揭穿他人虛假，同時維持自己的偽裝。

無法說真話，讓我感到不自在、甚至痛苦，這種因果關係在我身上清晰無比。

從自己身上的體悟，反觀每一位對我講述自己生命故事的人，我記下生病無奈的一面，另一種角度，那是很殘酷的一面。

我們這一代戰後嬰兒潮，走到人生尾聲，親眼見證了世界的翻轉。如果你仍記得重男輕女的年代，你必須承認，這些時代陰影留下的傷口並未癒合。

那些從小不被看見的女性，如今大量出現在我面前。她們一方面勇敢爭取生存權，另一方面卻死守著象徵盔甲的偽裝。

心理諮商師周慕姿的《親密恐懼》，正好為此事實提供完整的印證：一切都可追溯到幼年與嚴父的互動。

而那個「嚴父」的身影至今仍在，即使男人們口頭否認，他們不是嚴父，也是「嚴夫」。

 

回到我自己承認不方便說真話的場面，因為必須顧及對方的顏面，因為也必須守住雙方的情面，而這就是如假包換的「面子」，也就是我母親口中那句丟臉的「臉」。

人有兩張臉：一張真，一張假。這兩張臉的比例，決定了快樂指數，也深深影響健康狀態。

我面對的大多是「重男輕女」的受害者，她們曾是努力取悅父親的小女孩，有些人一輩子只求父親多看她一眼，有些人只盼父親肯定她的存在。

這份恐懼與渴望，後來轉移到丈夫身上。那原本是她深愛、誓言共度一生的人，卻不知何時，愛變成了怕。

當我直接問她們：「你為什麼怕他？」，她們總回答：「那不是怕，是尊重。」

我試著記錄這些男人的形象，他們不一定是暴力者，卻總是旁人不敢輕易觸怒的「大男人」。

在輕鬆的對話中，她們偶爾會用眼神示意，其實男人早已失去舊日的地位；

有人說：「愛已經變成尊重」，有人說：「我只是捨不得他老了後無人照顧。」

 

我敬佩這些女性，但你得聽我說完她們背後的動機：有些人照顧自己，是為了活得比丈夫健康；有些人則是不忍孩子將來還得承擔照顧父母親的重擔。

若以「愛自己」的標準衡量，她們幾乎都不及格，心心念念全是丈夫與孩子。這正是修行路上最大的謬誤：分不清什麼是自己的事，什麼是別人的事，把自己的生命活成他人的生命。

笑談男女之間的不對等，心中總為這些相似的劇本發出不平之鳴，男人與女人的價值觀，為何如此遙遠？

當身體即將潰堤時，身段值多少錢？面子一斤多少錢？我在「身體之道」的筆記中寫下結論：假的不值錢，裝出來的也不值錢，最值錢的，是那一句難以啟齒的真話。

我問坐在面前的夫妻：「吵架時誰先認錯？冷戰時誰先開口？」其實我心裡明白，即使他們回答了，那也不是真話。

這些女性的「假」，是為了保護身邊的「假」；她們的真也是為了未來能守護身旁的不真。結論只有一個：假是一種病源，不真的因會生成病痛的果。

 

幾年前，我以《當真》為書名，既是自勉，也記錄追逐真相的歷程。我看到虛假不斷吞噬善良的生命，更加確信要把真相說出來。

在這個充滿身段的世界裡，我始終扮演心疼女性的角色，因為她們往往是不對等關係中被凌遲和犧牲的一方。

我見證太多女性被社會價值耽誤，失去了生命的主導權，也失去了真實做自己的權利。

夫妻之間沒有真話其實很悲哀，對著「假人」說真話的結果，真話只是空氣中的泡影，幾乎沒有被世界肯定的機會。

我所看到的，是她失去了生命的主導權，是她沒有真實做自己的權利，我所理解的真相中，她們的世界也放棄了健康的自主權。

 

（所有的恐懼，最終都是對「失去自我」的恐懼。）

 

The Unequal Spell of Health

When life enters its later years, truth often leaves nowhere to hide.
I frequently remind myself: “Do not deceive yourself any longer.”
And I remind those around me: “Dare to tear off your masks.”

We arrive in this world carrying the most unadorned essence,
but lose our authenticity bit by bit as we grow—
because those who taught us were not truthful,
because the world that raised us had already abandoned truth.

I still remember coming home after a failed exam.
My mother said coldly: “You’ve embarrassed me.”
At the time, I could not discern the truth in that statement—
even though the meaning of “embarrassment” was clear,
even though her emotion seemed real.

What did my grades have to do with her face?
That confusion silently became part of my value system.
Only decades later did I realize
that these false linkages had something to do with sickness.

From childhood, we were trained to “not lose face,”
taught to protect appearances—
not only our own, but also our family’s.
“Face” was everything.
“Posture” was merely an extension of face.
Both were packaging, even disguises.

Even now, though I understand the roots of illness,
I sometimes remain silent in unpleasant situations,
choosing not to expose another’s falsehood—
preserving my own disguise in the process.

Being unable to speak truth makes me uneasy,
sometimes even physically uncomfortable.
The cause-and-effect chain is crystal clear in my own body.

Through this self-discovery,
I began to re-examine every story shared with me.
I recorded not only the helplessness of sickness,
but also its other face—one much harsher, even cruel.

We, the postwar baby-boomer generation,
are now witnessing the world’s great inversion.
If you still remember the era of son-preference,
you must admit: the wounds left by that shadow have never healed.

The women who were once unseen now stand before me in numbers.
They fight bravely for their right to live—
yet cling fiercely to the armor of pretense.

Therapist Chou Mu-tzu’s Fear of Intimacy
perfectly corroborates this truth:
everything traces back to early interactions with a “strict father.”
And the figure of that “strict father” still looms—
even if men deny it.
They may not be strict fathers,
but they have become strict husbands.

I must admit that even I often hesitate to speak truth
for fear of injuring another’s pride,
for fear of disturbing the delicate “face” we both maintain.
This, too, is the same “face” my mother once invoked.

Humans wear two faces:
one true, one false.
The ratio between them determines one’s happiness index—
and deeply affects one’s health.

Most of the women I meet are casualties of that old son-preference.
They were once little girls seeking only to please their fathers:
some spent their lives waiting for a single approving glance,
some merely wished to be acknowledged as existing.

That fear and longing later transferred to their husbands—
men they once loved and vowed to walk life with—
until love quietly turned into fear.

When I ask them directly, “Why are you afraid of him?”
they always reply: “I’m not afraid. I respect him.”

I try to record the portraits of these men.
They are not necessarily violent,
but they are men no one dares provoke.

In relaxed conversation,
these women sometimes hint with their eyes
that the man has long since lost his former authority.
Some say, “Love has become respect.”
Others confess, “I just can’t bear to think of him having no one to care for him when he’s old.”

I admire these women,
but you must hear their unspoken motives:
some care for themselves only to outlive their husbands;
some only so their children won’t have to shoulder
the heavy burden of caring for aging parents.

Measured against the standard of “loving oneself,”
most fail miserably—
their thoughts revolve entirely around husband and children.

This is the greatest error on the path of spiritual cultivation:
not knowing where “your business” ends
and “others’ business” begins—
living your own life as someone else’s.

Whenever I joke about the imbalance between men and women,
a voice in me cries out for justice:
why are men’s and women’s value systems so far apart?

When the body is on the verge of collapse,
how much is “posture” worth?
What is the price of “face”?

In my Way of the Body notes, I wrote this conclusion:
what is fake is worthless,
what is performed is worthless—
the most valuable thing
is that difficult-to-speak truth.

I sometimes ask the couples sitting before me:
“Who apologizes first after a fight?
Who breaks the silence after a cold war?”
But deep down, I know—
even if they answer, it won’t be the truth.

These women’s falsehoods are crafted
to protect the falsehoods around them.
Even their truths are uttered
only to shield what is not true.

The conclusion is simple:
falsehood is a pathogen.
Untruth as cause inevitably produces
the illness that follows.

Years ago, I titled a book Realizing—
both as self-admonition
and as a record of my pursuit of truth.

Seeing how falsehood relentlessly devours good lives
only strengthens my resolve to speak truth aloud.

In this world full of pretense and posturing,
I find myself siding with women—
the ones often dismembered and sacrificed
in these unequal relationships.

I have witnessed far too many women
lose sovereignty over their lives,
lose the right to be their authentic selves.

A marriage without truth is a sad thing.
Speaking truth to a “false person”
means the truth dissipates into thin air,
rarely acknowledged by the world.

What I see is this:
she has lost her authority over her own life,
she has been stripped of the right to live authentically.
And in the truth I have come to know,
her world has surrendered even the sovereignty of health itself.