Dear me,

I’m writing this for those days when it feels like everything is working… except you.
Even though I know I’m going through an intuitive vision process, there are moments when my confidence wobbles and those rather annoying doubts start to show up.

You know the one, right? The mind with its favourite lines:

— Others can do it.
— You can’t.
— You’re not capable.
— Maybe this just isn’t for you.

(The mind doesn’t just “get in the way”. It can put together an entire movie — dramatic soundtrack included.)

That voice tends to appear when expectations aren’t met.
Or when you get that strange feeling that something is slightly off, even though everything looks perfectly normal from the outside.

And I want to remind you of something, calmly: Not everything that isn’t visible is going wrong.

The invisible part of an intuitive vision process

Do you remember when those meditations started to appear in your life?

Something very strange was happening. Your body moved. Something was activating. But you didn’t feel anything clearly. Nothing. And that’s unsettling.

When you work with perception and intuitive vision, what matters most is often not the spectacular experiences, but what quietly begins to take shape from the inside.

Until one day, the chest thing began. That swirling sensation. That warmth that made it feel as if your heart might jump out. As if something inside was spinning.
Even that internal sound that made you think: “Am I the only one hearing this?” (…yes, it was you.) And still, you doubted.

It happened with every energy centre. One by one. And it wasn’t immediate. It didn’t happen during some magical three-day retreat.

It took 16 months.

Sixteen months of simple consistency — of continuing to knock on the door without knowing exactly when it would open.There were no guarantees. No spectacular signs. Just the inner sense that if you kept knocking, that day would come.

And it did.

Not because you forced anything. Not because you pushed yourself beyond what you could give. But because the body needed its own time to understand, integrate, and open.

And when it finally happened, you remembered those sincere words from Joe Dispenza — not as some magical promise someone had made, but as something that finally made sense in your own experience.

Allow yourself to receive letters from someone who loves you and wants the best for you. Even if that person is you. With love, your self in process.

Doubt is also part of the process

Developing intuitive vision isn’t like flipping a switch. It’s an inner maturation process that needs time, consistency, and trust.

And doubt, uncomfortable as it may be, is also part of the path.
So if today you doubt, breathe. If today something feels like it’s not how it “should” be, don’t turn it into a verdict.

Sometimes it’s not off. It’s just maturing. With love (and a little more patience), me.

If you are going through your own process and need support, you can learn more about intuitive vision sessions here.

La entrada Learning to trust the intuitive vision process se publicó primero en Eyesoul.

They are open materials that can be used in many different ways, and that work just as well for someone who is just beginning as for someone with more experience. What changes is not the object, but the proposal, the play, and the way of approaching it. This way of approaching play is closely related to what I share in the post Play Is Only for Children. The same material can accompany very different processes without needing to be replaced by something “better”.

Materials with a story

Very often, the most interesting things aren’t found in a shop, but in the memory chest — that place where many mothers keep toys from when their children were little.

In my case, the materials don’t come from just one place or one stage of my life.

Some belonged to my own children, some are new ones I couldn’t resist, and others arrive with a story Among my materials there is everything: colourful plastic cutlery, cups of all sizes, rubber bands, pom-poms…
Little things that one day are lying around the house and suddenly, another day, your children tell you very seriously that they don’t want them anymore or that they no longer need them.

The other day, for example, María told me very firmly: “I don’t use this.” She showed me a game with pink and blue ping-pong balls that were supposed to land inside a tiny box with a ridiculously small opening — practically impossible to hit. I looked at the game, looked at it again… and started laughing. Truly. Even now, writing this, I’m still laughing.

I thought: How many glasses of wine would I need to drink to manage this?

Today I experienced something similar in the kindergarten, watching how the little ones became inspired creating structures with cardboard, small boxes, ribbons, caps, glue, and masking tape.
They were immersed in a world where creative boundaries were limitless.

And that’s where the magic lies. What no longer makes sense to them sometimes becomes the perfect material for me. Not because the object is special, but because it doesn’t impose, it doesn’t demand, it doesn’t promise anything. They are simple materials, almost absurd, light — inviting play without taking things too seriously, and allowing us to listen to what happens when there is simply no human way of doing it “wrong”.

Sharing and giving new life

There are also simple and special materials that belonged to my nephew and were part of his everyday life. When I knew they were no longer going to be used, a light turned on inside me. It filled me with joy to think that my project could give them a new life — that other children could enjoy them, and that they could continue accompanying, in a different way.

Sharing is just that: allowing what has been important to one person to continue doing good for others, without attachment or nostalgia — simply allowing it to remain in motion.

Less is more (really)

In sessions, I see again and again that you don’t need much to begin. In fact, the simpler the material, the more space there is to listen. That’s why, for a first encounter with intuitive vision, I usually propose something very simple: coloured cardstock.

Nothing more. Not as a closed exercise, and not as something to do “right”, but as a first contact.

Something that doesn’t intimidate, that doesn’t impose, and that doesn’t activate the feeling of: I have to get it right.

A first proposal

The idea is to go slowly, without pressure, introducing the colours little by little. It’s not about seeing them, analysing them, or looking for meanings. It’s about feeling them, listening to the body, and observing what information arrives — or doesn’t arrive.

Sometimes a sensation appears. Sometimes an emotion. And sometimes absolutely nothing. And all of that is fine.
There are no correct answers and no goals to achieve — only presence, listening, and curiosity. And very often, to begin with, that is already more than enough.

La entrada Simple materials, infinite possibilities se publicó primero en Eyesoul.