PureInsight | October 28, 2026
[PureInsight.org] Two years ago, my husband nearly died. It’s impossible to capture everything that happened over those weeks and months, but I’ve tried to summarize what was, for me, a surreal experience, one filled with many tests of my xinxing.
A Sudden Life-and-Death Ordeal
My husband is a non-practitioner who runs a small general contracting business. In July 2024, he began feeling unwell, with fatigue, muscle aches, and what seemed like a strained back after working long days in the extreme summer heat. His symptoms came and went for nearly three weeks before he was ultimately admitted to the hospital and diagnosed with infective endocarditis—an infection in his bloodstream had spread to and infected his heart.
When the illness first began, another practitioner suggested that I encourage him to sincerely repeat, “Falun Dafa is good; Truthfulness, Compassion, Forbearance is good.” Although he supports my cultivation and strongly opposes communism and the persecution, he has always been someone who does not accept things without proof, and he repeatedly refused.
On the final drive to the hospital before his admission, I asked him one last time to say the phrase, saying it may help. He firmly refused and told me not to ask again. Frustrated, and with fear creeping in, I did not maintain my xinxing and said, “Fine. Be stubborn. If you don’t want to listen, then let whatever happens to you happen. Just remember, it’s your own fault.” The moment those words left my mouth, I knew they were wrong. I even felt something shift, though I did not have time to think about it.
At the hospital, his condition deteriorated rapidly. He became very short of breath, yet despite repeatedly requesting a cardiology consultation, I was told one would not come on the weekend unless someone was having a heart attack—which I knew was untrue. What followed was a series of incorrect medical decisions that was like a comedy of errors, making it increasingly difficult to keep a calm heart. As his breathing worsened and his blood pressure fell, I nearly signed him out of the hospital so I could take him elsewhere for treatment.
Finally, after I spoke with the nurse manager, an internal medicine physician was called in. At my suggestion, he ordered a CT scan, which revealed that both of my husband's lungs were filled with fluid. Shortly afterward, my husband went into atrial fibrillation. When the doctor planned to give him an antiarrhythmic medication that I knew could further lower his blood pressure, I insisted that the cardiologist be consulted, even though it was nearly 4:00 a.m., and he prescribed an appropriate medication. When an attempt to remove the fluid from his lung failed, the covering intensivist was finally called.
The moment he walked into the room, I knew we were in good hands. He immediately questioned multiple aspects of my husband's care that had been managed incorrectly, then transferred him to the cardiac ICU. Cardiology and nephrology became involved, and, as I had suspected, my husband's organs were beginning to fail.
I later learned that this ICU physician had only been there that night because he was covering for another doctor who had been unable to return from vacation. I knew it was no coincidence. Had he not been there, I do not believe my husband would have survived that night.
When the cardiac surgeon came later that morning, he stated that my husband would need surgery. The infection had damaged two heart valves, which would need to be replaced. He planned to continue antibiotics and determine the timing over the next few days, but expected it would need to be sooner rather than later.
Over the course of the day, my husband's breathing continued to worsen. By the following day, it was clear that he would need to be intubated.
Knowing how serious his condition had become, I brought our teenage son to the hospital so he could speak with his dad before he was intubated. Through it all, my son remained calm and simply said he believed everything would be okay. Since I was at the hospital nearly day and night, he took over the responsibilities at home. In many ways, he seemed to mature almost overnight.
By Tuesday, the doctors concluded that my husband would not survive much longer without surgery. Although there was concern that the infection had not been adequately controlled and could affect the new valves, they felt they had no other choice.
The night before surgery, I knew my husband was not doing well. His nurse, who knew I was a physician and usually kept me well informed, was unusually quiet. The only thing he said that night was, “I gave my other patient to another nurse so I can just focus on your husband.”
I understood exactly what that meant. I did not ask any questions and simply let him do what he needed to do.
I knew my husband was dying—I knew it from my years of experience as a physician. Yet I tried not to let those thoughts move my heart.
While the situation cannot be compared with the severity of the persecution in China, Master’s words came to mind from the Fa Teaching Given at the 2014 San Francisco Fa Conference, “Didn’t I say at the beginning of the persecution that just by staying unmoved you would be able to handle all situations? Some people thought it meant that they should sit still at home and not come out. The situation overall is changing. The terrifying situation of the persecution can really hit upon human attachments, while a favorable situation can spur human attachments. If one’s heart and mind are easily affected by external changes, then, for a cultivator, the impact is serious!”
That night, I spoke with a local practitioner who reminded me to maintain righteous thoughts. I also spoke with a practitioner in another state who had studied with me since I first obtained the Fa. Around midnight, we studied the Fa together over the phone. Afterward, I returned to my husband’s bedside and quietly recited Lunyu.
My heart was surprisingly calm, though fear crept in a few times. As I stood by his bed, a mirror suddenly appeared in my mind. Within it, I saw a path that split off into two different directions. A fearful thought arose, and the mirror shook with a buzzing, electrical sound. A jagged crack appeared down the middle of the mirror, and I found myself on one of the paths. I corrected my thoughts and eliminated fear. In that moment, the mirror shook and cracked again, and I found myself going down the other path.
Though I could not see where either path led, I knew one represented a righteous path and the other a path influenced by human notions and attachments, each leading to its own corresponding outcome. Which path I took depended entirely on my thoughts.
Uncovering a Big Attachment
As the night wore on, it dawned on me that I may have played a role in how things had unfolded with my husband. I asked Master to help me see my shortcomings, and as I opened Zhuan Falun, it opened directly to “The Mentality of Showing Off” in Lecture Six.
Master said, “Because of cultivating among everyday people, a lot of our students cannot release many of their attachments. Many attachments have already become second nature, and these people themselves cannot detect them. This mentality of showing off can manifest in any situation; it can also surface when doing a good deed. In order to gain fame, personal profit, and a little benefit, some people often brag about themselves and show off, ‘I’m very capable and a winner.’ We also have such cases where those who practice a little better than others, have better celestial eye visions, or whose exercise movements look better also like to show off.”
As I read these words and the paragraphs that followed, scene after scene of the many times I had shown off with my husband suddenly flashed through my mind, like a movie playing at high speed. I was truly shocked! While I had been vaguely aware of this on a few occasions, I had never realized how often I did it, nor had I taken it seriously. As these scenes continued to unfold before me, I wondered, “How could I have behaved this way for so long?”
I also saw that I was sometimes argumentative and competitive with my husband, and even over small things, I sometimes tried to prove myself right. At times, I even used my understanding of the Fa to support my points and validate myself—a terrible manifestation of these attachments. It was just as Master described—I wanted to show that I was well-informed and that I understood and knew more than my husband did. Because he was easy going, he would usually let things go, and I would feel satisfied that I had “won.”
While I tried to hold myself to the standard of a practitioner with others, I knew that I sometimes relaxed those standards with my husband and son. Because I felt I had handled some situations okay with others, I became somewhat complacent in my family environment, essentially creating a blind spot that made these layers of attachments harder to recognize. Despite Master’s teaching, I also believed that because they were my family, they should simply listen to what I said and accept my way of thinking. I placed my own opinions and preferences ahead of theirs.
I also realized how much I depended on my husband. He took care of many things without being asked—grocery shopping, paying bills, and managing various household responsibilities. Some of those were things he said he preferred to do himself, but it was also partly because I was busy with other things, and partly because of the attachment to mental and physical comfort. Because he never complained, I had allowed my attachment to avoiding too much responsibility to grow, leaving more and more on his shoulders instead of taking on more myself.
Master said at the Fa Teaching Given at the 2015 New York Fa Conference, “Yet he doesn’t take those things seriously as a cultivator, and hasn’t managed to work wholeheartedly on eliminating them or managed to handle them well after recognizing them. There have also been cases where someone didn’t take some minor things seriously in his cultivation, and they turned into major problems.” "Let me put it this way. The requirements for a Dafa disciple are high—higher than those of any other cultivation setting. In form it’s not that strict, but the standards and requirements for your cultivation are high. It’s a problem if you fail to recognize your own mistakes, just as it’s a problem if you fail to see the strong attachments you might have. And when you do become aware of them, you definitely should, as a Dafa disciple, address them, of course. And that is cultivation.”
I sincerely apologized to Master in my heart for my poor behavior.
In that moment, I felt that I truly let go of selfishness. My only concern was purely for my husband—not for how whatever happened to him might affect me. My heart felt wide open and very light.
Then, something amazing happened.
I suddenly felt myself rising up into the universe. I rose higher and higher, going far, far out among a multitude of stars. I went so far that I was astonished at the vastness of what I saw. It felt as though I caught a small glimpse of the enormity of the universe, and gained a small sense of the vastness of the Fa. Even at that immense distance, I knew there was still so much more beyond what I could see. I was filled with a sense of awe.
In the next moment, I felt as if I were a wood chip falling into molten steel, similar to something Master once described in a Fa conference (though not in those exact words). I floated downward, dissolving into the molten steel the instant I touched it—it was as if I had melted into the Fa. I felt completely calm, expansive, and free. I knew this was because I had truly developed compassion for my husband and let go of anything related to self. It was an experience I’ll always carry with me.
Keeping a Calm Heart and Mind
As morning approached, I headed home to rest for a couple of hours before my husband’s surgery. As I returned to the hospital, I distinctly remember heavy rain falling. Despite carrying an umbrella, I was soaked by the time I got inside.
Around 8:00 a.m., I met my in-laws in the waiting room. Shortly afterward, the surgeon came out and explained that the operation would take many hours. He reviewed the plan to replace my husband’s damaged heart valves with mechanical valves. However, a short time later, he returned looking grim.
The transesophageal echocardiogram they performed revealed far more damage than expected. The infection had destroyed one heart valve, eaten through the wall separating the upper chambers of his heart, and damaged a second valve, causing it to detach from the heart wall. Because of this, the surgeon said he would need to use tissue valves instead of mechanical valves in case my husband required ECMO after surgery, since mechanical valves would not be compatible. As a physician, I knew that the chances of coming off ECMO, if needed, were not good. The surgeon then told us that my husband’s chances of surviving the operation were now fifty percent—perhaps even less.
I understood exactly what his words meant in the human realm, but I remained calm and did not let them move my heart. I heard his words, but I did not take them in or accept them as truth, nor did I allow them to influence my thoughts.
Master said in the Fa Teaching Given at the 2005 Canada Fa Conference, “At that time, when the evil CCP’s suppression and persecution were about to begin, I said something to you: I said that just by remaining unmoved you could handle all situations. (Enthusiastic applause) Of course, some students grasped what I said, while others took it to mean, don’t do anything, don’t take any action. (Teacher laughs) (Everyone laughs) Being ‘unmoved’ refers to a person’s steadfast righteous thoughts and righteous faith being unmoved.”
As the surgeon continued describing the severity of the situation, a scene suddenly appeared in my mind, as if I were watching a movie. My husband and I were walking up the sidewalk toward our house. He was frail and slightly hunched over, leaning on my arm as we climbed the front steps—but he was coming home. In that moment, I knew he was going to be okay. I had seen it.
Hearing the surgeon’s words, my mother-in-law became distraught and walked down the hall, with my father-in-law following behind her. My husband was her only surviving child of the three sons she’d had, and I knew this was extremely difficult for her.
A couple of hours later, the surgeon returned with more grim news. He said he had never seen anything like the damage to my husband’s heart. He’d called in a veteran surgeon to assist, and together they were doing everything they could to repair the damage. The infection had almost completely destroyed the wall separating the upper chambers of the heart, yet, amazingly, the tiny bundle of fibers that controls the heartbeat had been preserved.
A while later, the surgeon returned, this time with encouraging news. The operation was going better than expected. It would not take as long as he had anticipated, and my husband would not need ECMO after all.
I sincerely thanked Master in my heart.
Tests Amidst Illusion
Following surgery, my husband was taken to the ICU, where he remained intubated and in critical condition. The doctors were still not confident he would survive, and over the next few days, it was touch and go. He required multiple blood transfusions for severe anemia, his kidneys continued to function poorly and dialysis was being considered, and his blood cultures remained positive for bacteria.
I kept reminding myself that everything was an illusion—it was all just a test. Yet it was an especially difficult one because, as a physician, I understood very well what each complication and test result meant from a human perspective. Had I not had this knowledge, I believe it would have been easier to maintain righteous thoughts.
Day after day, I repeated test results and complications to concerned family members and friends, describing a situation that, from an ordinary person’s perspective, appeared rather hopeless. Because I was at the hospital nearly day and night, I was also extremely sleep deprived, making things even harder. It felt like a test of whether I would allow these repeated words, outward appearances, and physical exhaustion to pull my thoughts toward ordinary thinking, or whether I would maintain righteous thoughts.
Master said in the Fa Teaching Given in New York City in 1997, “So in cultivation you’re bound to be tested amidst the uncertainty of what’s true and what’s false to see how you deal with the matter at hand—to see whether you’ll regard yourself as a cultivator or as an average, everyday person. Isn’t this to see whether you can cultivate? “
And in Zhuan Falun Lecture Two, Master said, “Let me give you an example. In Buddhism, it is said that every phenomenon in human society is illusory and unreal. How are they illusions? Real and concrete physical objects are placed right here, so who would claim that they are false? A physical object’s form of existence appears like this, but the way it actually manifests is not. Our eyes, nonetheless, have the capability to stabilize physical objects in our physical dimension to the state that we can see now. The objects are not actually in this state, and they are not in this state even in our dimension.”
The day after surgery, my mother-in-law and I were sitting in my husband’s room when she said, “I don’t know what I’ll do if he doesn’t make it. Who will come help us when we need something?” I encouraged her not to think this way and to focus on his recovery, but she continued expressing her fears about how his passing would impact her.
I found myself becoming irritated that she could not put her own concerns aside and simply focus on her son. Later, however, I realized that perhaps what I heard was a hint for me. Rather than judging her, I should look inward and make sure my own thoughts were completely selfless and free of fear. I should also have compassion.
Master said in the Fa Teaching Given at the 2004 Chicago Fa Conference, “When none of you are attached anymore to wanting to hear pleasing things, when none of you are affected when you’re insulted, see if he’ll still be like that. Exactly because you have those attachments, there exist factors that hit on your attachments; and exactly because those attachments of yours are stirred up, you get irritated; when all of you have those attachments, the situation where everyone is irritated by the person who hit on their attachments comes about. If you can all keep a calm and steady state of mind while being assaulted by strong words, and you’re not at all affected, then see if those factors still exist.”
I understood that because I was irritated by what I heard and had not kept a calm mind, it meant that I still had attachments there. Her words were meant to point these things out to me. I also knew that I should have compassion.
Two days after surgery, the ICU doctor wanted to remove my husband’s breathing tube. However, I was concerned that it might be too soon. Just then, the nephrologist walked in and voiced the exact same concern, stating that we should wait. The ICU doctor then agreed.
Later that day, his nurse remarked that she had never before seen so many patients on ventilators at the same time. It suddenly occurred to me that perhaps this unusual situation was related to my own thinking, since practitioners' thoughts and words influence the environment around them.
Master said in the Fa Teaching Given at the 2009 Washington, D.C. International Fa Conference, “I just talked about how cultivation requires that one cultivate inwardly. To speak about this further, Dafa disciples cover an enormous range of places and regions around the world. In other words, while you are here in this world you may have the appearance of simply a cultivating human being, but your field can affect your surroundings—to put it in superficial and plain terms. In reality, the entire world has been divided up with a piece apportioned to each Dafa disciple. This is reflected in how things are on Earth, and the people in this world correspond to the cosmos. If a person came here to gain the Fa, then he is the representative of a system’s sentient beings, and behind him lies an enormous system. And that system is formed as particles are, and it certainly doesn’t stop there; these systems contain even more minute, and immense, systems at a yet more microcosmic level. And how many particles might it take to form a god? All of those particles would also be gigantic, enormous systems. At a higher level it’s the same scenario, repeating itself again, and again, and again. Here on the earth, however, it is just a single person in this world. Yet there is more for a Dafa disciple. Each covers a very large area, which includes many people. If a Dafa disciple’s heart is unsteady, it will cause changes in his or her surroundings. When you have fear, for instance, you will find that the sentient beings around you are not quite right. When you change such that your presence is refreshing and uplifting to people, and your mind becomes broad and full of optimism, you will find the things around you to be correspondingly different. When clarifying the truth, when validating the Fa, and when encountering challenges as you do things, adjust yourself and look at things with righteous thoughts. It might just prove to be effective.”
That night, I worked to correct my thoughts, remain optimistic, and eliminate any fear. By lunch the next day, the nurse told me that every patient except my husband had already been taken off the ventilator. A couple of hours later, the doctor returned and extubated my husband as well.
I thought, “My goodness, do I really have to be that strict with my thoughts?” The answer that came to me was yes—I do have to be that strict. It was another big lesson on the importance of a cultivator’s thoughts.
As my husband began coming out of sedation, he reported a severe visual disturbance—he could only see light in the upper part of his vision; everything else appeared black. His vision was also doubled. I did not pay much attention to it or let it move my heart. I also played Pudu in the background as he was recovering. A day or two later, his vision returned.
My Husband’s Trying Experience
While I was enduring my own tests and tribulations, my husband was going through his own. As his voice returned following extubation, he shared his experience with me.
He said that during his surgery, he knew the doctors were cutting into his heart. He couldn’t feel it in his physical body, nor could he see it happening. Instead, it was as if he had gone somewhere else—a place where his soul could feel every single thing the surgeons were doing to him.
As the doctors were cutting at his heart, he tried with all his might to push them away. His body was squirming in every direction, trying to escape, but no matter how hard he tried, there was no escape. The pain was excruciating. He felt as though they were tearing and ripping his heart apart until almost nothing was left. The sensation continued for what seemed like an eternity—and the overwhelming agony and severity of the situation gradually left him feeling hopeless.
With this sense of hopelessness, a large black gorilla suddenly appeared just inches from his face, surrounded by a completely black environment. It did not try to attack him or bite him; it simply stared directly into his eyes, its nostrils flaring menacingly as it blew hot air into his face. He knew it was biding its time, as if saying, “You’re mine. Death is inevitable. I’m just here waiting.” He said it was terrifying.
He tried to turn his head away from the gorilla, not wanting to face the threat looming before him, but he could not move. He then tried to avert his eyes, and when that failed, he tried to close them. But nothing worked. He had no choice but to face the gorilla.
At times, instead of a gorilla, a large black bear appeared, also just inches from his face. He knew they were both waiting for him—waiting for him to die.
Between the surgeons tearing and cutting away at his heart and the terrifying creatures awaiting his death, it became too much. My husband said he completely gave up. Believing there was no way he could survive what was happening and that death was inevitable, he thought, “Why prolong the agony? Just kill me.”
At that point, he said he tried to communicate with us. He thought that if he could move his fingers as though he were writing, the doctors would notice and place a pencil in his hand. Then he could write the words “kill me”—meaning, just let me die—and the surgeons could relay this message to me.
Then, just as he had given up, another creature appeared.
This time, it was a white lion. The lion sat majestically on a hilltop in the distance, surrounded by a soft, foggy light, calmly watching him. He felt as though the lion was communicating, “Everything will be alright. No matter what happens, no matter the outcome, you’ll be okay.” At that moment, my husband felt a deep sense of peace and surrender.
However, the peace did not last. Over the next couple of days, the gorilla—and occasionally the bear—reappeared multiple times. Whenever things felt desperate and hopeless, the white lion appeared again atop the hill in the distance, surrounded by a glowing light, as if reminding him that he was being watched over. Each time, the same sense of peace returned—yet, he was also certain that he would not be able to pull through.
After my husband was extubated, the creatures no longer appeared. He said that no matter how he tries to explain it, the experience he went through and the pain he endured are beyond words. He can still see everything clearly, and recalling it still makes him emotional.
My mother-in-law heard the story along with me, and believed that what he experienced was caused by the anesthesia. But my husband and I both knew it was not. He had undergone sedation several times in the past and had never experienced anything like this—and he also said it was all very vivid and real.
While recently recounting his experience to a nurse, my husband said, “I’m not a quitter. No matter what’s happened in life, I’ve never given up. But when this happened, I gave up for the first time in my life. I knew there was no way I could make it through.”
And yet, he did.
My husband is not someone who would normally believe in experiences like this, nor would he have taken them seriously in the past. After this experience, he says he believes that God was protecting him, and that the white lion represented that protection. At the time, however, he was not sure whether that protection meant his life would be spared or whether it meant he would be protected afterward, because he truly believed there was no way his body could survive what it had gone through.
He said he later asked God why he survived—not because he did not want to be here, but because, given the severity of his condition, he felt he should have died. He wanted to understand why he was kept here, and although he never received an answer, he believes there must be a reason, but perhaps he is not meant to know specifically.
I told him that I believe at least part of the reason was for me and for our son—and perhaps there are other things he is meant to do and other people he is meant to encounter.
And he agrees.
Ups and Downs
A couple of days after being extubated and sharing this experience with me, another incident occurred.
The physical therapist had helped my husband sit in a recliner beside his bed for a few minutes. Just seconds after she helped him back into bed, the ceiling above the chair collapsed, sending hard tiles and a torrent of water crashing down. The staff was shocked. The damage was so extensive that the room had to be closed for repairs, and my husband moved to another room.
I believe that once again, something was trying to take my husband’s life, and once again, Master protected him.
The attachment to comfort and ease made me wish that everything had gone smoothly after that. But my husband’s recovery was far from smooth. The days stretched into weeks, and he even spent his 60th birthday in the hospital. Fluid repeatedly accumulated in his lungs, requiring ongoing oxygen and multiple thoracenteses. His kidneys also required close monitoring, and his heart rhythm remained abnormal until near the end of his hospitalization. Throughout this time, there were more tests of my thoughts and my xinxing.
Six weeks later, the scene I had witnessed while he was in surgery unfolded in this dimension, just as I had seen it. My frail, weakened husband walked slowly beside me down our sidewalk, slightly hunched over, his arm entwined with mine. Together, we climbed the steps into our home.
Following his discharge, my husband spent many months in rehabilitation rebuilding his strength and muscle mass. Even walking was difficult at first, and he required a great deal of care. Eventually, he returned to some physical labor, though not at his previous level. His doctors called him a miracle more than once, amazed that he had survived, let alone regained enough strength to work again.
After the hospitalization, my heart had remained pretty steady and calm. Then last fall, after unexpectedly having to leave my job, a thought suddenly arose: what would happen to me and my son if something happened to my husband? It was similar to the concern my mother-in-law had that prior summer, yet I had not thought that way even in those critical moments. This thought reappeared a number of times over the next couple months. Because it was only a fleeting thought, I did not pay much attention to it, nor did I eliminate it.
Soon after, my husband developed a prolonged respiratory illness. His symptoms came and went, and he was ultimately hospitalized for six days in March due to fluid accumulation in his lungs, requiring another thoracentesis. He also developed atrial fibrillation again, and later, atrial flutter. He underwent cardioversion in June, which fortunately restored his normal rhythm. Since then, his breathing and energy have gradually improved.
His doctor said he may eventually need another heart surgery due to some leaking around the replaced valves. His original surgeon, who has since moved away, said he would not want to operate on him again because he had to essentially piece his heart back together, and was uncertain how he would tolerate another surgery. For now, his current doctor is monitoring him closely.
My husband remains grateful for being here. Even before this experience, about a year after I became a practitioner, he surprised my son and me one day by sharing that he says a prayer every morning when he wakes up. He said he does not ask God for anything; he simply gives thanks for being alive, and for giving him hands and feet that allow him to work and provide for his family. He continues this prayer to this day.
As for myself, I now strive to pay closer attention to my thoughts, even those that are subtle, hidden beneath the surface, or only fleeting, and to try to recognize and eliminate attachments as they arise.
I’ve discovered that the mentality of showing off is a particularly strong attachment for me, with many layers. It can be subtly mixed into the things I do and the thoughts I have, hiding beneath the surface—thus making it harder to recognize. I must continually look within to ensure that my thoughts and motives are pure and righteous, with nothing else mixed in. Looking back, I believe this attachment developed in part from repeatedly hearing nice words and praise for various reasons from a young age, and showing off eventually developed, forming into a habit, as Master described.
I realized some time ago the importance of not having the showoff mentality while re-reading the Fa Teaching at the 2013 Greater New York Fa Conference. I was surprised when this time I noticed Master specifically mentioned the mentality of showing off when discussing the persecution. Master said, “As the persecution has taken place, I’ve been watching closely. Some practitioners really don’t learn their lessons. Soon after the person is released from a labor camp, his attachment to showing off and his human thinking spring right back up. Even when an ordinary person goes through something he will draw a lesson from it, and give it some thought. So, all the more so should a cultivator try to figure out why the old forces exploited his gaps. You have got to figure out what your problem is.”
Yet, I did not take this attachment seriously enough. I also believe the mentality of showing off is related to many other attachments I must work on, including competitiveness and argumentativeness, zealotry, looking down on others, wanting to hear nice things, reputation, jealousy, and others. I also need to eliminate the attachment to comfort and ease, relying too much on others, resentment, and others.
I also believe that the words I said carelessly out of fear and frustration—“Let whatever happens to you happen”—were not without consequence, and played a role in how things developed.
Master said in Lecture Six of Zhuan Falun, under the section “Your Thoughts Must Be Righteous”: “If you open your mouth and say something to him, that tribulation may become true.”
A practitioner’s thoughts and words carry powerful energy—and there are no small things in cultivation. I must maintain righteous thoughts and have compassion, rather than allowing fear, frustration, or human notions to view and do things.
Through this experience, I came to understand that part of my predestined relationship with my husband may be that he agreed to support me in the things I need to do as a Dafa disciple, such as helping free up my time for projects, as well as in other ways. However, I cannot be overly reliant on him, take his support for granted, or have an underlying attachment of avoiding responsibility. Such attachments create gaps that can be exploited. Perhaps the old forces saw the attachments and planned to take my husband to see my cultivation state if he were no longer here.
I also must not view our relationship with qing or selfishness. I must have compassion and remember that he is a sentient being for whom I am responsible.
We know that everyday people are also cultivating. My husband also has his own path, and this experience was part it, perhaps something he had to suffer and endure. I also believe Master helped him repay a tremendous karmic debt.
I’ll conclude with Master’s teaching at the Teachings at the Conference in Switzerland, which he gave in 1998: “So when any one of you encounters any troubles, you have to always examine yourself first: ‘Is it that I did something that wasn’t quite right?’ I often talk about a principle: Everything in the universe is in harmony; if you do something wrong yourself, it will create a kink, a discordance with others, and everything around you will seem to be out of sorts. And interpersonal relations will become tense. At that point, look inside yourself for the reasons and correct your mistake. You will find that everything becomes harmonious and right again. I don’t think we should argue with others about things. If trouble really befalls you and it looks like somebody is wronging you, I think it could well be that you, a cultivator, owed it from a previous lifetime. Endure it (ren) and let it go. Even an ordinary person knows that two people will leave upset after they have a clash; friction arises and the two get entangled. When the friction persists for a long time it will get increasingly harder to resolve, and in the end they will become enemies. But we are able to tolerate it, disregard it, and give a little ground. In China there’s a saying, ‘With one step back, you will discover a boundless sea and sky.’ If you keep on prodding and pushing ahead, you will find that there’s really no way out. But take a step back, let the attachment go and disregard it, and you’ll indeed discover that new broader perspective—it’s a whole new world.”
Thank you fellow practitioners.
Thank you Master.
Chinese version: https://www.zhengjian.org/node/303928
