The transition from summer to fall has been quite complicated. I feel like there’s some stability within the instability, which, in a way, brings out interesting things that I think need to be distilled, filtered, and transformed. This approach, I believe, must have existed a few centuries ago. Personally, since my return from Croatia, I’ve felt a kind of pressure inside me, especially in my head. It was important, and it became very difficult to get through the day without feeling some kind of dissolution within myself. Often, as I tend to do, I turn to certain things in my library, split into two or even three parts that I revisit at certain times.
Yet, it was very hard for me to continue any form of spirituality, with a recurring example or a style exercise that might remind me of previous practices. So, I turned to Carl Jung’s commentary on the Golden Flower. It was clear that the original text was missing, something I mentioned in the previous blog post, but now I’m expanding on that idea since there are forces at play and events that have led me to fully invest myself in this practice today. I don’t claim to have mastered it, as it takes many weeks, if not months, without imposing any real rules to begin internal assimilation and conception through this meditation. It does, however, echo elements of Mahayana Buddhism and Confucianism.
The exercise that naturally came to me was reading the English version by Richard Wilhelm alongside Thomas Cleary’s French version, all while referencing Carl Jung’s commentary. This triple reading began at different levels, and slowly, as I kept these texts in mind, I found myself reading them repeatedly, with the necessary pauses to absorb the concepts. Its application, of course, encounters necessary challenges. I’m starting to draw some parallels between these different readings, all based on the same principle. What’s surprising is that this new sphere has taken up all my time, accompanying me every hour, every second. This omnipresence, I believe, is something I already had some background in, but it might have been poorly controlled, poorly directed, and especially poorly understood. The only problem I’ve faced is this aspect of impatience as the practice progresses.
The diagrams in the Yi Jing are important parameters, integrating different energies from both inside and outside. The impact of considering the elements contained in the diagram is a phase I will begin exploring next week. The goal is to work through all of this until December 31, 2024. This is the first time I’m practicing a new era of spirituality, with a practice that generates a result that can only evolve or shift while existing in a realm beyond appearances—even causing the heart to disappear in a profound symbiosis. This is something one should neither be proud of nor try to own in any way—just simply accept it, and that’s all. It remains personal, but its impact is undeniable.
Following this Taoist phase, it leads to changes that will eventually touch upon the concept of death, but not in the Judeo-Christian or sorrowful sense. Rather, it’s more about disappearing beyond the realm of the living—a concept that’s hard to put into words. The Tibetan Bardo Thodol will be the next phase, but that’s something for a year or two from now.
The best way to illustrate all of this was through audio and minimalist esoteric visuals with modular synths. I’ve realized that it’s difficult to balance this with anything else. You either give yourself entirely to it, or you stifle the bloom. It’s indescribable, and I’m still deeply committed to its development.
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