I Wish Everyone Could Be Happy
My extended family has not fared well lately; one mishap has followed another, each a matter of life and death. An elderly member of the family slipped and fell into water and died; a niece developed a severe adverse reaction after a vaccination and was rushed straight to the ICU, and has still not fully escaped danger. Another relative has suffered a different disaster, which has left everyone on edge.
Several nights running I have been unable to sleep at all, or have woken at midnight and could not fall back asleep, thinking about how to help these family members with their troubles. Although my own small household remains well, the safety of my close relatives weighs heavily on my heart. How I wish everyone could be safe and live a quiet, peaceful life—but that is a vain hope.
Even for myself, I cannot guarantee a lifetime free of illness and disaster. Over this period I have given my wife many warnings: I told her that if one day misfortune befalls me, whatever that misfortune may be, I hope she will not worry too much on my account, but live her own life well, and trust that I can handle and cope with it.
One thing I deeply believe is that no matter what I encounter, I will not suffer, and I hope my family will not suffer on my account. Even if I am bedridden and cannot rise, or have lost everything I now have through some accident, remember only to give me some books. Illness and disaster mean nothing to me. I once had no relatives at all and went days without a meal; I once watched my mother breathe her last amid immense suffering. Having come through that kind of misery, no suffering in this world can break me.
I told my wife that wherever I go and whatever I encounter, I can enter a state of boundless stillness through reading, and my heart will be filled with peace and joy. I hope she understands that misfortune means nothing to me; I can rise above all the pain the world imposes on me. So if one day I meet some misfortune, she need only remember to bring me these books I have bought. I am not like most people in this world; I can lose myself entirely in the spiritual world.
Because of these events, I more than ever hope that everyone I know and do not know may be happy—healthy, cheerful, peaceful, and joyful. Although my own family affairs are thorny, these days I still set aside enough time to help cancer patients and their families who turn to me, and to offer warm words to the grief-stricken families of cancer patients. Perhaps I can give them some practical help and spiritual strength to carry them through this hardest period.
Whenever I can ease a cancer patient's suffering, I feel genuine joy. There are many kinds of suffering in this world, but the suffering cancer inflicts may be the most severe. In their hardest days, what people need most is that there are still some in this world who can give them hope and warmth. I once longed for that myself, so now I especially want to be the one who gives. I know that sometimes I cannot do my best; even so, I want to give as much as I can.
Perhaps it is my age, perhaps it is that I have read too many Buddhist sutras and been moved by the compassion of the Buddha; nowadays my heart is softer than before. When I see people in suffering, I cannot help feeling strong compassion, and sometimes even weep for their plight. Those who die young of illness, in the bloom of youth, especially grieve me.