Analog Soul

They promised us intimacy. They delivered dopamine. They promised us networks. They gave us nets. Somewhere along the glowing timeline, we confused being reachable with being reached. We mistake reaction for resonance. And we call it “connection” because it pings. But I’ll tell you what it really is: It’s a pub full of ghosts. Everyone shouting into mirrors, hoping someone’ll hear through the filter fog. We’ve outsourced attention to the Algorithm, and sure, it’s efficient. But it doesn’t care about your soul. It won’t hold space for your grief. It won’t pour you tea or say, “You alright, love?” It’ll just keep feeding you ads until your heart becomes a heatmap. We reply with emojis now instead of silences. Scroll instead of sitting. Flick through “content” while our inner world gathers dust in the attic. And here’s the gas thing: The WiFi will forgive you. Try it. Turn the bastard off. Listen to the hush. There’s gold in it. There’s you in it. Ní neart go cur le chéile. There is no st...

 

The Present Moment Is a Feckin’ Miracle: A Field Guide to Coming Home to Now By Analog Soul Carl Jung once said, “Until you make the unconscious conscious, it will direct your life and you will call it fate.” Nietzsche roared, “Become who you are!” Buddha, ever the minimalist, just sat and smiled. And Carl Sagan looked up and whispered, “We are a way for the cosmos to know itself.” What do they all have in common? They knew that the real show — the transformation, the liberation, the crackling magic of being alive — happens only in the present moment. Not in your to-do list. Not in your inbox. Not in the performance review you're already rehearsing in the shower. But right here. Now. In this breath. This fucking breath. We’ve Become Ghosts in Our Own Lives Most of us live like we’re buffering. Caught between the trauma of yesterday and the spreadsheet of tomorrow. Swiping. Scrolling. Performing. Checking our worth through Wi-Fi signals and likes-per-minute. O...

Or, Why Your Passive-Aggressive Emails Are Just Your Inner Irishman Having a Chat If Carl Jung were alive today, I’m convinced he’d spend more time analysing your inbox than your dreams. Because in every unread message, every clipped “Thanks,” and every “Per my last email,” lies the shadow—the part of ourselves we’d rather not admit exists. You see, the shadow isn’t just a fancy word for bad behaviour. It’s the collection of all those feelings, frustrations, and truths that we shove down because the polite workplace demands it. But, as any Irish mammy will tell you, what’s hidden tends to bubble up in unexpected ways — usually with a sharp twist of humour and a hefty dose of sass. Take the classic passive-aggressive email — that “Interesting thoughts” that’s really a “Are you fecking serious?” or the “Love this! Just a few tiny tweaks,” that translates to “I’m pretending to care but I’m about to rearrange everything.” Or the silence, followed by a WhatsApp group rant that’s so authenti...