Connection with Ancestors – Is Ancestor Worship Really Effective? – The Impact of Traditional Culture's "Setting Up Memorial Tablets" on Living People – Case Sharing

A past life's karma, a present life's destiny...

Acheng is a good kid, diligent, frugal, ambitious, filial, and down-to-earth, with no bad habits.

However, he has a very deep black hole, which profoundly affects his interpersonal relationships.

Especially since he has no male friends, he finds it difficult to communicate and interact with others, and he often experiences repressive conflicts with his male friends.

He always suffers in the workplace, finding it hard to gain the appreciation of superiors or the affection of elders.

He never understands why, despite his hard work, he never receives better rewards; it seems as if everyone is against him.

Gradually, besides lacking confidence, he also begins to isolate himself.

But deep down, he remains unwilling to accept defeat, always hoping that his efforts will yield better results, yearning for one day to succeed.

Unconsciously, Acheng develops a fondness for praying to gods and Buddhas, and gradually comes to believe in talismans, ritual implements, and various folk remedies and incantations for calming the mind, seeking wealth, and good fortune in marriage.

But over time, his condition didn't change much.

Besides having no male friends, he couldn't even find a girlfriend, and as he got older, his anxiety grew...

I've been counseling and monitoring Acheng for over a year now, and he does have many problems...

Initially, it was problems with ancestral spirits and ancestral graves, and many talismans and ritual objects from his hometown needed to be exorcised.

He also had many animal spirits attached to him, including pigs, dogs, and cats, as well as ancestral spirits possessing him.

At first, Acheng was very cooperative because he was eager to improve, but he lacked patience and went back to using folk talismans and ritual objects, pulling his previously improved condition back to square one.

Acheng is thirty-eight years old this year.

Twelve years ago, his father underwent surgery for a thyroid tumor. What was supposed to be a simple operation,

unexpectedly, he became a vegetable during the surgery.

After that, his father lay at home for ten months,

and then, one night, suddenly passed away.

When Acheng brought this up, his tone seemed calm,

but that calm wasn't genuine acceptance,

it was a result of being burdened for so long that even the grief had become a numbness.

He said that almost all of his father's brothers from that generation had passed away.

And among his cousins ​​of this generation,

besides one cousin who had been to prison and was mentally unstable,

he was the only one left who was relatively normal.

When he spoke these words, a deep fear was subtly revealed—

He was worried that he, like the men in his family, might suddenly collapse, break down, and fall apart one day.

That fear, though not something he spoke of every day, was like a shadow, constantly looming over his life.

No wonder he was in such a hurry.

He so desperately wanted things to get better, so desperately wanted to escape this murky, heavy, and hopeless family fate.

When discussing his relationship with his father, A-Cheng spoke casually on the surface, but a closer look revealed—

It wasn't casualness, but a weight too heavy to describe.

He said that his family was constantly moving when he was young.

Because his father was a gambler, he had accumulated a lot of gambling debts, and the family was often in turmoil.

He had even witnessed creditors coming to collect debts.

For a child, that's not something that can be easily dismissed with a simple "things are tough at home."

It was a long-term sense of insecurity.

It was a fear of not knowing if he would still be living there tomorrow, not knowing if creditors would come knocking again, not knowing if he would ever grow up peacefully.

He went to different schools, his living environment was constantly changing, and he couldn't truly build friendships.

Until high school, his father sold a piece of land to pay off the gambling debts, and the family finally moved back to their old home.

A-Cheng kept many things bottled up inside.

On the surface, he seemed to have accepted it, and even gotten used to it.

But in a chance encounter, he finally spoke the words hidden deep within his heart—

His hatred for his father ran deep.

It wasn't just simple resentment.

It was the resentment that had accumulated in a child over years of fear, wandering, disorder, and helplessness.

Even now, he couldn't forgive his father.

He couldn't forgive the person who robbed him of his childhood security, couldn't forgive himself for living in constant fear of moving,

couldn't forgive the upbringing that prevented him from studying peacefully and making friends normally.

Therefore, A-Cheng harbored a deep longing.

He longed for a stable, secure, and warm home.

Like everyone else,

he wanted a place of his own, an ordinary life, where he could grow up peacefully and live peacefully.

For many, this wish might be ordinary.

But for A-Cheng, it was almost a luxury.

He longed for a home.

He longed for someone to be with him.

Yet, he still couldn't find a girlfriend.

This only deepened his anxiety.

He confessed that he had put in a lot of effort for love.

He had visited numerous temples dedicated to the Matchmaker God, offered prayers to the God of Marriage, bought countless rose quartz crystals, placed talismans by his bedside, and even put matchmaking scrolls under his pillow.

He had even gone to great lengths, traveling thousands of miles to Japan to pray to the Matchmaker God.

But to this day, he remained empty-handed.

What he wanted was never a dramatic or extraordinary life.

What he wanted was actually very simple—

a stable life, a home where he could rest peacefully, a normal relationship, and a future free from anxiety.

But for Acheng, these most ordinary things had become the hardest to obtain.

And that's precisely why he kept reaching out for various methods,

hoping for some force that could quickly pull him out of the mire of fate.

He just never truly understood:

Some problems can't be solved by visiting more temples or getting more talismans.

Because what he needed to deal with was never just a simple "unlucky marriage,"

but rather the overall structure of his destiny formed by layers of fear, resentment, loss, family shadows, and confusion that had clung to him from childhood to adulthood.

Last year, Acheng wanted to come see me again.

But that time, I didn't immediately accept his appointment, only telling him:

"Come over after the Lantern Festival."

He actually listened.

He came right after the Lantern Festival.

He said that period had been relatively uneventful, not particularly bad, but overall still quite depressing.

The situation seemed to have eased somewhat temporarily, but hadn't truly improved; the improvement was always limited.

In fact, he hadn't actually followed the advice I'd given him before.

But I patiently reiterated the three things he absolutely had to do:

First, continue exercising.

Second, recite a passage from the Diamond Sutra every night before bed.

Third, go back to your hometown less often and stop worshipping ancestors.

I had actually told him these three things a long time ago,

and repeatedly emphasized that they were essential.

But when I saw Acheng again, he was still overweight and bloated, his complexion dull and grayish, and his voice weak and listless,

lacking in energy, as if weighed down by a heavy atmosphere.

I reminded him once more to diligently follow those three things.

After saying that, I asked him:

"Is there anything else you want to ask?"

Acheng didn't answer immediately.

He remained silent, showing no intention of leaving.

He sat there, hesitating for a long time, as if some words were stuck in his throat, unable to be uttered.

So I asked him to light incense for Ksitigarbha Bodhisattva to calm his mind.

Unexpectedly, after he finished lighting the incense, Acheng suddenly spoke.

He said:

"I want to ask, when my father was in a vegetative state, I offered incense to my ancestors, hoping they would bless him so he could live a healthy life.

I don't know why, but today I suddenly remembered this…

Because at that time, I swore that if my father could get better, I would never get married or have children.

Could it be because of this vow that I still can't find a girlfriend?"

I was stunned by what he said.

Because this wasn't a casual remark.

Offering incense to ancestors is never a simple matter.

It's a very serious and profound matter.

Many people think that offering incense, saying a few words, and making a vow are just expressions of sincerity.

But sometimes, a small action can firmly anchor one's entire destiny.

A vow made comes at a price.

The resulting backlash is often deeper and heavier than most people imagine.

Acheng made this vow to his ancestors when his father was critically ill and he was filled with extreme fear and helplessness.

Now, he longs to start a family, and his father has been gone for twelve years.

I can understand his filial piety back then.

He simply hoped his father could come back healthy.

But ultimately, his father couldn't withstand the pull of karma and passed away.

The problem lies here—

His father is gone, but that vow doesn't necessarily end with him.

Unraveling such a vow is not easy.

Because he didn't just casually utter it to heaven and earth, nor was it a typical emotional self-promise.

He prayed to his ancestors.

The truly serious aspect of this matter is this:

When he did this, to some extent, he was also taking back the karma, entanglements, and connections from his ancestors.

After I explained this to Acheng, he finally understood:

The power of a vow a person makes can be so immense.

At that moment, I finally understood that Acheng's misfortunes over the years weren't simply due to bad luck in marriage; rather, it was because, in the year he suffered the most pain and feared the loss of his father, he had personally tied his own marital fate to the lineage, simultaneously binding himself to the karma of his ancestors.

A section of text was missing:

After A-Cheng finished praying to Ksitigarbha Bodhisattva and returned to his seat, he suddenly felt incredibly cold while recounting his past vows.

(It was around 2 PM, the temperature in Taichung was about 25 degrees Celsius, and he was still wearing a short-sleeved T-shirt.)

Then, he turned around, grabbed his overcoat, put it on, and extended his right hand, asking me to touch his icy hand.

Indeed, his hand was icy cold,

and the chill was contagious.

I instantly felt very cold too, my energy seemed to be racing, and I felt dizzy and lightheaded.

So, I quickly explained things to him and asked him to go back to his hometown to take photos.

Because I was no longer able to talk to him.

After A-Cheng left, I immediately had diarrhea.

The chill only disappeared after I finished having diarrhea.

On his way home, A-Cheng texted me saying:

After leaving Taichung, he rested at the Tai'an rest stop.

His body was no longer cold, but he still had diarrhea.

Acheng is actually a very law-abiding person.

He doesn't allow his life to undergo significant changes.

While his job isn't exactly ideal,

a stable income is already very important to him.

He's not the type to easily take risks or change the course of his life.

More than seeking breakthroughs, he values ​​stability; more than ideals, he fears losing his support.

Whenever he has a holiday, he almost always goes back to his hometown to visit his mother.

He also has a younger sister, and it was through his hard work that she was able to complete her university education.

From these things, it's clear that Acheng is actually very responsible.

He's also quite gentle with women, and I believe that, fundamentally, he's a very family-oriented man.

However, the "family" he desires, he has never truly obtained.

In assisting Acheng, I actually saw it very clearly:

Although he came to me, deep down, he was still living his life according to his own way.

He hadn't done many things thoroughly enough; he hadn't truly severed many connections.

He wanted to change, yet clung tightly to his old way of life.

Later, when I was almost at my wit's end, I suggested a final solution—

I hoped he could change his surname and name to escape the entanglements of ancestral karma, and even take his mother's surname.

This was a huge challenge for Acheng.

But ultimately, he didn't take my advice.

Because in his mind,

he was the only son in his family,

the Xu family couldn't be without descendants.

In other words, even though he had been weighed down by this family line for a long time,

his thoughts weren't about saving himself first, but rather:

I can't sever ties with this family.

Frankly, at that time, I actually considered giving up on counseling Acheng.

Because many problems aren't invisible, but when someone is unwilling to truly take action,

no matter how much you help, it's very difficult to move them.

It wasn't until he revealed—

the vow he had made to his ancestors—

that the core issue finally had a chance to turn around.

Because at least, we finally found a real knot.

First,

the karmic pull created by offering incense and making vows to ancestors isn't entirely unmanageable;

it can be communicated and potentially untied.

Second,

Although his vow didn't actually save his father,

that filial piety itself cannot be erased.

Acheng didn't act maliciously, nor did he make a rash vow.

He was simply in a state of extreme fear and helplessness, wanting to exchange his entire life's happiness for his father's chance to live.

This intention cannot be ignored.

Therefore, the next step isn't simply to deny his vow,

but to re-examine—

how this vow was formed in the first place?

And how to gradually loosen it.

So, we discussed how to handle this matter again.

I gave him two instructions first:

First, when he went back to his hometown, he needed to take a picture of the ancestral tablets and show it to me.

Second, he needed to understand his father's current situation,

and even trace back to the past-life relationship between father and son.

Because this matter cannot be addressed from only one perspective.

On one hand, he needed to address the vows he made to his ancestors;

On the other hand, he also needed to examine the origins of the deeper entanglement between him and his father.

Only when both levels are resolved can his vows be truly lifted.

After our conversation, Acheng rushed back to his hometown almost without stopping.

Later that evening, he indeed sent me a picture of the ancestral tablets.

When I saw that picture, my jaw almost dropped.

The walls of the main ancestral hall in the courtyard house were covered with the names of all the ancestors.

They were densely packed, listing several generations, and not just one branch, but several branches.

Due to privacy concerns, this photo has been specially processed to respect the spirits of the deceased members of their family.

I was completely stunned, momentarily at a loss for where to begin.

It wasn't a simple ancestral tablet typical of small families; it was an entire system of family lineages,

thick and intricate, like a vast net, layering each generation of descendants within it.

Acheng himself said,

He couldn't find his father's name right away.

Later, I told him to start looking from which generation his father belonged to, as that would be faster.

He finally managed to find his father's name.

However, after finding it, my heart sank again.

Because his father's name had been changed later, so it was pasted on separately with red paper.

And that red paper, over time, had long since faded.

Looking at that faded red paper, a thought even crossed my mind—

If after a while, even the writing became blurred, things would probably be even more complicated.

Because some connections don't cease to exist just because you can't see them;

On the contrary, it's often in these blurry, incomplete, patched-up, and improperly placed places that problems hide the deepest.

Hmm.

Judging from the ancestral tablet photo Acheng sent, it was truly magnificent.

That wasn't just a simple ancestral tablet in an ordinary household; it was an entire ancestral hall, grand in scale, imbued with historical significance.

Just the weight of the wood carvings, the arrangement of the tablets, and the sense of generational continuity,

made it clear that—

Acheng's great-grandfather's generation must have been a prominent and influential family in the area, with a distinguished lineage.

Because I myself am a member of the Xu family, belonging to the Donghai Hall Hakka clan in Guangdong.

Our family's ancestral tablets are also quite grand and solemn.

But frankly, compared to the scale of Acheng's family's ancestral tablets, my maternal family's grandeur seemed three parts smaller.

I didn't press further about why such a once-illustrious family,

had fallen into such decline.

Especially with the male descendants reaching Acheng's generation,

the family was almost extinct.

But in truth, some things don't need to be explicitly stated. Just from the condition of their ancestral graves—the cracks in the tombstone, the subsidence of the soil, the dampness and fading of the inscription—

one could vaguely deduce certain phenomena and discern certain outcomes, things that had long been slowly written there.

Acheng himself estimated that this ancestral tablet was over a hundred years old.

Later, he explained to me why his father's name was pasted on a small piece of red paper on the tablet.

It turned out that during his grandfather's time,

the family had already inscribed the names of their unborn children on the ancestral tablets.

This included his eldest uncle, second uncle, and his father;

their names were inscribed according to the generational naming conventions established by their ancestors.

In other words, his father hadn't even been born yet, but his name was already listed on the tablet.

However, after his father was born, his grandfather changed his name,

so, a new piece of red paper was pasted on the tablet to replace the old one.

Acheng never understood this.

He couldn't comprehend why an unborn child's name would be listed in the ancestral tablets.

He even felt it was unlucky.

This led to a deep thought in his mind—

No wonder the Xu family members were dying one by one;

Luckily, his name hadn't been listed.

So he always believed he had escaped a calamity.

Hearing him say this, I didn't rush to refute him.

Because for Acheng,

it wasn't just superstition or association, but a way of understanding born from fear after watching the men of his family gradually wither away.

And my own family memories were stirred up at this moment.

My great-grandfather was a traditional Chinese medicine doctor who came to Taiwan from the mainland during the Qing Dynasty.

My father told me that when my great-grandfather arrived in Taiwan, he settled down by marking off a piece of land as his territory.

Back then, a single mark of land was dozens of hectares.

Therefore, the most representative feature of Hakka villages is the interconnected and corresponding relationship between upper and lower houses.

The formation of the entire village is itself a settlement structure centered on ancestors and extending outwards through bloodlines.

And Acheng's ancestors were clearly no exception.

His neighbors on both sides almost all descended from the same ancestor.

Behind the entire village, in fact, lies the propagation of the same root lineage.

Therefore, when I looked at that entire wall of ancestral tablets,

the first feeling that surfaced in my heart was not merely shock,

but—heaviness.

Because only at this point did I truly understand that

Acheng carried not just his own problems.

It wasn't just a single ancestral line, nor simply the entanglement of one father,

but an entire family system that had continued for centuries, layer upon layer, entangling, covering his life.

Seeing these ancestral tablets, I knew very well—

It's incredibly difficult to resolve ancestral karma.

Difficult beyond anything I had ever imagined.

That quiet night, I suddenly reconnected with the deep connection between A-Cheng and his father.

Some relationships, on the surface, seem long over—the person is gone, the events are past—

but the mark that person left in your heart doesn't truly disappear with time.

Especially the place of the father; if it's never truly filled,

that emptiness isn't just regret, but slowly becomes a deep void in one's life.

So, that night, I wrote down everything I sensed about the past and future.

I told him—

In your past life, your relationship with your father already carried deep regret.

Your father in your past life was a second-generation member of a wealthy family.

Because of his wealthy family background, he lacked nothing materially growing up, but also lacked a sense of responsibility.

In his youth, he was idle and had many suitors, his relationships coming and going without ever truly settling down.

He once had a relationship with a woman, a relationship that was mostly not a serious commitment to life,

more like a fleeting infatuation, or even just a fling.

Later, the woman became pregnant.

However, his father's family did not approve of the marriage.

The mismatch in social status was the most practical reason at the time.

And the man himself did not truly want to marry that woman.

So, instead of a happy ending, he gave her money to sever the relationship completely.

The woman later gave birth to a child alone.

That child was your past life.

You grew up in that environment, and when you were older, your mother told you the truth of what happened.

You learned you were the child left behind,

and you learned that the man—your father—never truly acknowledged you,

never allowed you to be recognized as part of the family, never allowed you to rightfully return to the place where you once had a rightful place.

In the end, the relationship simply ended.

But a child's longing for their father doesn't disappear simply because of rejection.

On the contrary, it often grows deeper and more persistent because it's unrequited.

The deepest knot in your heart from your past life wasn't just resentment,

but an unspeakable sense of injustice—

Why, despite being his child,

didn't you receive the place, recognition, and love you deserved?

This void wasn't truly resolved in your past life.

So, a deep thought remained in your heart:

In the next life, no matter what, you want to reclaim this missing fatherly love.

And because of this, the father-son relationship reappears in this life.

Therefore, your feelings for your father throughout this life have never been simple.

It wasn't just love, nor just resentment; it was a complex mix of love and hate, closeness and hurt.

You always felt an inexplicable concern for your father, a concern masking a deep insecurity.

You cared about his opinions, his presence, whether he truly held you in his heart.

Throughout your life, you longed for one thing—

the day your father-son relationship could truly be complete.

And that's why, when your father was seriously ill,

you harbored such a deep wish for his recovery.

That wish wasn't just about reluctance to let go; deeper, it was about fulfilling a dream—

a dream where the bond between father and son could finally be mended, where they could truly grow closer, where there would be no more loss.

But unexpectedly, your father passed away too soon.

And so, that unfulfilled part remained in your heart, becoming a black hole.

This black hole isn't just the grief of losing your father,

but something deeper:

You never received the recognition and love you most craved.

Therefore, your inner understanding of love, your sense of security in relationships, and your feeling of self-worth are

silently affected by this void.

After I wrote this to Acheng, he read it and only replied with a few words.

He said:

"I don't know why I was willing to do that back then."

"But it really touched my heart."

Then he asked, "So, what's next?"

I didn't rush to say anything more,

I just replied:

Your connection with your father can only go so far.

He couldn't fill your longing and expectations.

I want to know, how will you re-examine your relationship with your father?

Then I added: Don't rush to answer my question, take your time.

After a while, Acheng replied: Actually, my mind is blank.

I think I should just let it go and move on.

In this life, I don't know how to love others or love myself.

That's what I'm thinking about right now.

When I saw this reply, I knew very well that

Acheng's real problem wasn't just the loss of his father.

Because if someone simply lost their father,

they would usually express sadness, reluctance, and regret.

But Acheng said more than that.

He said—

"I don't know how to love others, and I don't know how to love myself."

This one sentence actually reveals the core of the problem.

In other words, what his father left in his life wasn't just absence,

but something that, deep down, prevented him from truly learning what it means to be loved, what it means to believe in love,

what it means to put love into himself.

That's why he feels he should let go of himself, yet his mind is completely blank.

Because it's not a wound that can be easily let go of.

It's a wound that formed too early and remained unseen for too long.

After prolonged disappointment and enduring too much pain, one doesn't eventually become indifferent,

but rather slowly numb,

even unable to articulate what they truly lack.

I finally understand—

Acheng's feelings of frustration, stagnation, and helplessness throughout his life

were not just due to life's misfortunes, nor simply low mood.

The deeper reason is that

he has always had a child within him, stuck in the position of not receiving fatherly love.

That child is always waiting,

waiting for affirmation, waiting for recognition, waiting for completeness.

Unfortunately, he never truly received it.

Thus, this unfulfilled longing became a black hole in his life.

This black hole affects how he sees himself and how he enters relationships.

When a person has never truly and steadily received fatherly love from childhood,

their inner feelings about love are easily confused.

He might yearn for closeness, yet fear disappointment again;

He might long to give, yet always feel unworthy of love;

He might not even know how to be good to himself.

So ultimately,

what A-Cheng truly needs to confront isn't just his father,

but the self that was hurt by his father, lost due to years of lack of love.

His father's departure merely brought this problem to the forefront more thoroughly.

And at this moment,

he is actually standing at a crucial turning point.

Because he's finally not just talking about events, but beginning to touch his true inner core.

Although he can't articulate it clearly yet, although he's still blank, still powerless,

at least he's honestly touched that place—

that place where "I don't know how to love others, and I don't know how to love myself."

For me, this is actually a beginning.

Because only when a person truly sees their own shortcomings can they have the opportunity to stop constantly chasing after what's outside themselves.

What a father can't give, perhaps can never be made up for in this lifetime.

But the self that was abandoned can be found again.

Perhaps the most important thing now is not to keep asking why the father acted this way, nor to remain trapped in regret.

But to slowly understand:

So much anxiety, so much effort, so much grievance in my life,

was all because—

I longed to be loved, longed to be seen, longed to be acknowledged.

And when a person begins to know what they truly lack,

perhaps then they might be able to,

slowly learn to take back, little by little, the love they once sought from others.

Acheng's father's bizarre transformation into a vegetative state during thyroid surgery has left his family unable to find peace.

Acheng recalled: His father went to three different hospitals, but none could find the cause of his vegetative state.

After several days of performing rituals for Acheng's father, we finally have some clues today!

It turns out that Acheng's father ate a lot of snake meat in his younger years.

This means that Acheng's father's death was caused by a "snake spirit" seeking revenge.

Similar cases are not uncommon.

It's a karmic entanglement caused by eating wild animal meat.

Even with the most advanced clinical medicine, there are still many diseases that cannot be cured.

They either die mysteriously or suffer from unexplained illnesses.

In the early agricultural era, killing and eating wild animals was common.

However, many people, in their search for more food sources, easily overlooked the invisible presence of so-called "karmic creditors" seeking revenge.

Especially in early times, people believed in the power of food therapy.

Turtle, deer antler, snake, pangolin...

These were often used to make medicinal wine.

They almost never killed and processed these animals for medicinal purposes;

They simply steeped them in strong liquor.

Therefore, during the steeping process, the animal itself may release toxins, or its spirit may enter the body along with the medicinal wine, causing the drinker to develop a medically unidentifiable lesion, resulting in an incurable hidden illness.

This is one of the most common causes of unexplained illnesses.

Acheng's vow before the ancestral tablets attracted considerable karmic entanglement from his ancestors.

This serves as a significant warning:

Do not make vows lightly, and never use your life as a condition for something.

When encountering difficulties or obstacles, please remain calm or seek help from others for insights.

Fortunately, after several days of communication, there are signs of lessening the ancestral karma.

Acheng's long-standing sleep disorder has finally shown signs of relief.

If any of your friends encounter similar obstacles in their lives, you can talk to Susie.

Perhaps she can provide effective assistance here.

Wishing everyone peace and well-being!