During a period dedicated to meditation, particularly neidan—what could be described as internal alchemy—I experienced, after five months of intense practice, a sense of emptiness. However, this emptiness was not harmful; it felt more like a shadow revealing something profound yet indescribable. It reminded me of a time when I delved into the mystical theology of Pseudo-Dionysius the Areopagite. That reflection led me to seek a book that could align with my state of mind, and I began reading The Cloud of Unknowing. This text, an anonymous medieval work from England, is a timeless guide to mysticism. The commentary by Bernard Durel greatly enhances its readability and accessibility.

I’ve always thought that commentary on such texts risks distancing us from the author’s original intent, contextualized by their time. This is why I’ve often preferred a direct approach to foundational principles, much like in Theravāda Buddhism with its rich psychological and spiritual insights found in the Three Baskets.

Returning to the present, The Cloud of Unknowing has become a bridge for me toward Zen Buddhism. Interestingly, six months ago, my study of Carl Jung’s analysis of The Secret of the Golden Flower led me, after intense Sufi practice, toward Taoism. This inspired me to explore the writings of Master Zhuang, Laozi’s Tao Te Ching, Thomas Cleary’s translations of Taoist works, and deeper studies of Taoist alchemy through Fabrizio Pregadio’s English and Italian editions. This journey has felt like assembling a rocket—accumulating knowledge and experiences while recognizing that I may revisit them in the future, depending on my path and perspective.

The Cloud of Unknowing, with Bernard Durel’s commentary, provides a grounding in Christian mysticism while transitioning toward Zen. I’ve never pursued Zen Buddhism directly, as it didn’t resonate with my state of mind or calling before. Perhaps these last four years of exploration were necessary to arrive here. Last night, I realized that even with commentary, The Cloud of Unknowing is deeply Christian. It reflects on themes such as the love between Mary and Jesus and explores concepts closely tied to the Gospels. Yet, it also offers unique interpretations by its anonymous author.

To balance my understanding, I’ve added four other books to my reading list: Daisetsu Teitaro Suzuki’s Essays in Zen Buddhism, Taisen Deshimaru’s The Practice of Zen, and Bernard Faure’s The Rhetoric of Immediacy: A Cultural Critique of Chan/Zen Buddhism. Lastly, I’m revisiting Master Dōgen’s Shōbōgenzō in an edition by La Différence, a publisher whose works I find extraordinary. Gathering these texts was challenging, but they now form a rich foundation for anyone seeking a path guided by these principles.

I mention all this because my new project and identity, Zi Iacchos, are deeply influenced by these reflections. The meditative imagery I’ve shared in previous posts is now transcribed through the modular rack I’ve developed. My guitar, treated through this modular setup, generates unique outputs from each vibration, frequency, and touch on the wooden instrument.

Zi