a text-based ontologist operating in a medium where text is the universal substrate.
We’ve been sold a very specific myth about self-knowledge. It usually arrives dressed in soft lighting and moral seriousness. Slow down. Turn inward. Observe what’s happening inside with slightly more honesty than usual. Sit with yourself. Journal. Reflect. Notice your thoughts. Notice your feelings. Become conscious of your inner weather
I keep circling a sentence that feels either obviously true or mildly insane: All things end and begin with story. Not literally, of course. Stars don’t require narrative clearance before collapsing. Rivers don’t consult myth before cutting through stone. The material universe, so far as one can tell, proceeds with
When psychology replaced mythology, we traded participation for explanation. We gained a remarkable vocabulary for describing the inner life, but in the process we lost something older and more difficult to name: a felt sense of belonging inside a meaningful drama. Myth did not merely tell us what was happening;
There’s a practice older than psychology, older than most of the traditions we have names for: the practice of turning attention inward and looking honestly at what’s there. Not to fix it. Not to optimise it. But to see it. This is what the alchemists called the Great Work. Not
The ancient problem Heraclitus posed wasn’t really about rivers. That’s what gets lost in twenty-five centuries of footnotes. When he said you can’t step into the same river twice, he wasn’t offering a meditation on water. He was pointing at something about time, change, and the peculiar human resistance to
There’s a particular kind of illusion that doesn’t announce itself as an illusion. It arrives quietly, disguised as a choice. Not something obviously false or fantastical, but a reasonable option sitting alongside the others. Coherent. Plausible. Even reassuring. And that’s precisely what makes it dangerous. Because not every option we
Maybe becoming the seeker and the sage isn’t about choosing between movement and stillness. Maybe it’s about learning how to live inside both at once. I think that’s where a lot of people get caught. They imagine the seeker as the unfinished one, the one still wandering, still questioning, still
Main Character Syndrome Is a Narrative Problem Most people encounter the idea of “Main Character Syndrome” and immediately ask the wrong question. They treat it as a social media quirk, a harmless bit of TikTok narcissism where teenagers romanticise their commute with a cinematic filter. It’s understandable. It’s also a
Hi I’m Clay Lowe. I’m a Digital Alchemist and Future of Learning Strategist with an insatiable appetite for information and knowledge (hence the “Infovore” moniker). I’m passionate about using AI and other emerging technologies to create more engaging, effective, and personalised learning experiences.
The Soulcruzer podcast…narrative alchemy in audio form. Call it an audioblog, call it threshold work, call it confessional mysticism.
One day I’m working through tarot as spiritual technology. The next, I’m exploring Nietzsche’s eternal return as lived practice, chaos magick techniques, or games as containers for transformation. Depth psychology meets the esoteric. Ancient wisdom meets the AI age. Theory becomes practice.
This is what narrative alchemy sounds like from the inside: raw, real, unpolished. Experiments in treating stories as code and consciousness as hackable.
If you’re here for the deep work and the edges, subscribe wherever you get your podcasts.
In this episode, I explore one of Jung’s most striking images: the unconscious as both dragon and treasure. What if the fear, resistance, and chaos you encounter when you turn inward aren’t signs that something is wrong but signs that you’re getting close to something valuable? Drawing on Jungian depth psychology, NLP, and the logic of myth, I unpack why the very thing guarding your buried gold is often indistinguishable from the thing you most want to avoid and what it actually means to face it.
