把病交給醫生，把命交給菩薩

現在醫學進步，癌症不再是絕症，有時候心理壓力反而是病情負擔⋯

聖嚴法師:「把病交給醫生，把命交給菩薩，如此一來，自己就是沒有事的健康人。」

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有一個蘇非的故事。一個國王夢見他的死亡來了。他在夢裡看見一個影子站著，於是他問：「你是誰？」影子說：「我是你的死亡，明天，當太陽落山時，我會來你這裡。」國王想要問是否有逃脫的途徑，但他不能，因為他十分害怕，夢中斷了，影子沒有了。他大汗淋漓，索索發抖。

　　半夜裡他召集了他所有的智囊人物並說：「找出這個夢的意義。」如你所知，你不會發現比智囊人物更愚蠢的人了。他們跑到他們的房間裡拿出了他們的經文，它們是很大很大的卷冊。隨後他們便開始磋商、辯論、探討，互相論戰和爭辯。

　　聽著他們的談話，國王變得越來越糊塗。他們在任何一點上都無法達成一致；他們是屬於不同的教派，聰明人總是如此。他們不屬於自己，他們屬於一些死亡的傳統。一個是印度教的，另一個是伊斯蘭教的，還有一個是基督教的。他們帶著他們的經文試了又試。當他們討論時，他們變得瘋狂，爭了又爭。國王非常擔憂，因為太陽升起了，當太陽升起時，離太陽落山也不遠了，因為升起事實上就是下落，它已經開始了。旅程開始了，24小時之內太陽將下山。

　　他試圖打斷他們，但他們說：「不要干擾，這是個嚴肅的問題。」那時一個侍奉了國王一輩子的老人走近他，在他耳邊輕聲說：「你最好逃走吧，因為這些人永遠不會得出什麼結論。聰明人從未得出任何結論。他們將討論和爭辯，他們的死亡將來臨，但結論永遠不會來。我的建議是當死亡警告你時，你最好至少逃離這個宮殿！隨便去哪裡！快走！」這個勸告打動了國王，它完全正確。當人不能做任何事時，他就想爭鬥，逃脫。

　　國王有一匹快馬，他上馬逃了。他對智囊人物說：「如果我活著回來，你們作出了決定，告訴我——但現在，我走了。」他非常快活，他走得越來越快，因為這是生死存亡的問題。

　　他一次次地回頭看影子是否來了，但沒有影子。他很高興，死亡沒有了，他逃脫了。當太陽下山的時候，他離首都已經成百上千英里遠了。在一棵榕樹下他停住了，從馬上下來，謝謝它說：「是你，是你救了我。」忽然，正當他與馬交談並感謝它時，他感覺到他在夢中感覺過的那只同樣的手。他回頭一看，同一個影子在那裡，死神說：「我也要感謝你的馬，他跑得真是快。我在這棵榕樹下等了一整天，我擔心你是否到得了這裡。距離是那麼遙遠，但這匹馬真了不起。你來得正是時候，這裡正需要你。」

"Entrust the illness to the doctor, entrust your life to the Bodhisattva. In this way, you are already a healthy person with nothing to worry about."

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There is a story from the Sufi tradition:

A king once dreamed that his death had come. In the dream, he saw a shadow standing before him. He asked, “Who are you?” The shadow replied, “I am your death. Tomorrow, when the sun sets, I will come for you.”

The king wanted to ask if there was any way to escape, but he couldn’t—he was too terrified. The dream broke off, the shadow vanished. He woke up drenched in sweat, trembling in fear.

In the middle of the night, he summoned all his wise men and said, “Find the meaning of this dream.” As you may know, there’s no one more foolish than a group of so-called wise men. They retreated to their rooms and returned with massive scriptures. Then began the consulting, the debates, the analyses—the endless arguing.

The more the king listened, the more confused he became. They couldn’t agree on anything; they belonged to different sects, and like all clever men, none truly stood on their own. One was Hindu, one Muslim, one Christian. Each clung to his dead tradition, citing verses and doctrines.

As they discussed, they grew more frantic. The king, growing increasingly anxious, watched the sun rise. And of course, once the sun rises, it also begins its descent. The journey had begun. Within 24 hours, it would set.

He tried to interrupt them, but they insisted, “Do not disturb us. This is a matter of great seriousness.”

Just then, an old servant who had been with the king his whole life came close and whispered, “You’d better run. These people will never reach a conclusion. The clever never do. They’ll argue and debate until death arrives—but a conclusion? Never. My advice: when death warns you, at least run from the palace! Anywhere! Just go!”

The king was moved by this advice—it was completely right. When one feels powerless, the urge to escape or resist takes over.

He had a fast horse. He mounted and fled. He shouted back to his advisors, “If I survive, and you come to a conclusion—let me know. But for now, I’m gone.”

He rode fast, and faster still—it was a matter of life and death. He kept looking back to see if the shadow followed. It didn’t. He was relieved—perhaps he had escaped death.

By sunset, he had ridden hundreds of miles from the capital. He stopped under a large banyan tree, dismounted, and said to his horse, “It was you—it was you who saved me.”

Just then, as he spoke to the horse, he felt the same hand he had felt in the dream. He turned—and there was the shadow.

Death said, “I must thank your horse too. He ran so well. I’ve been waiting under this banyan tree all day. I was worried you might not make it in time. The distance was so great—but here you are, right on time. This is exactly where I needed you.”