Clairvoyance as a Practice

When someone is just beginning to explore clairvoyance or divination, the experience rarely arrives as a fully formed, cinematic scene that simply “reveals everything.” More often it shows up as a sensation, a sudden association, a brief inner impulse. At first, it almost always surfaces in the unconscious—where the mind processes impressions in its own way, without asking permission. Then the real work begins: bringing that information up into awareness and translating it into a language that can be used meaningfully, without self-deception.

That’s exactly where divination systems come in. They are not substitutes for the clairvoyant, doing the work on their own; they are tools—ways of directing and shaping something that would otherwise remain scattered and inaccessible in the unconscious. When used properly, the results can be surprisingly good.

The most popular example is tarot, probably because it combines a rich symbolic vocabulary with a clear structure. But the same role can be played by runes, oracle cards, the I Ching, or anything else that resonates with a particular person. Sometimes, once practice has become more stable, dreamwork naturally joins in as well, because dreams are a direct channel to the unconscious and can reveal themes the waking mind avoids or fails to recognize. Still, one thing needs to remain clear and grounded: no system replaces the reader. No system “reads itself.” In the wrong hands, all of these tools are completely useless. They turn into nothing more than illustrated pieces of paper, stones, sticks—objects without meaning, because the meaning comes from the human capacity to perceive and to think.

That’s why everyone has the right to choose the method that feels most comfortable, most natural, and most sustainable as a working rhythm. How far a person will go depends on many things—innate ability, character, mental capacity, discipline, the way they process doubt, and whether they can admit mistakes. But there is something even more important: attitude. If the practice is treated as a self-serving game of “I guessed it right,” it quickly degenerates. If it is approached as observation, learning, and responsible handling of information, it begins to build something real inside the person: clarity, sensitivity, stability.

Before someone tries to “see” world events, other people’s lives, or untangle possible future outcomes, they first need to learn to see their own life as it is. To listen to what everyday reality is telling them, to recognize when the body is signaling, when a situation smells like risk, when an inner compass is trying to apply the brakes. That is the true beginner’s school, and it has nothing to do with superstition. This is not about tossing salt over your shoulder because someone mentioned bad luck, or panicking over a broken mirror. Superstition is not intuition. Superstition is fear disguised as knowledge.

The task here is subtler. It’s about recognizing your place in the world and catching the signs life offers each of us—real cues in a situation, in people’s behavior, in accidental repetitions, in whatever keeps “standing out” in your awareness. Often this lightest form of clairvoyance appears while you’re looking at something completely ordinary. Sometimes it pops up in a conversation where nothing special seems to be happening, and suddenly you know something matters. Or that something is off. Or that there’s something else behind the words.

One important feature is that the information may arrive scattered. It can be pleasant, unpleasant, strange, or seemingly irrelevant. That’s why discipline in this work is not about producing “beautiful messages,” but about tracking what is actually meaningful.

Another key point is that truth is not obligated to be convenient. It doesn’t have to be dramatic, and it doesn’t have to be heroic. It simply is what it is. If a person learns to separate fantasy, desire, and fear from a genuine inner signal, then clairvoyance becomes a manageable instrument. And once that management is learned, the path toward clarity—and toward serious clairvoyant work—becomes much more natural.

Before getting there, however, there is still preparation to be done. In many modern “magical” teachings, this part is often skipped because it isn’t flashy and doesn’t sell sensations. Older schools took a different view, and that view has logic. Character is part of the instrument. Morality is, too. If someone has no control over impulses, if they seek power over others, if they use information to hurt or manipulate, then the practice becomes destructive—first for them, and then for those around them. There is no need for grand mystical language here. It’s enough to understand a simple principle: consequences arrive. Sometimes through people. Sometimes through events. Sometimes through one’s own psyche, which can’t withstand living in a lie.

I call this responsibility—especially when the work involves other people. If someone enters clairvoyance without prior moral preparation, the risk is that they begin to intoxicate themselves with a sense of “power,” speak unverified things as absolute truths, and spread fear or dependency. Eventually, that strikes back. This is what I call backlash: everything a person does without measure and without honesty returns sooner or later as a reckoning, often amplified because it lands on top of what has already been accumulated. Some will call it a law of the Universe; others will call it the psychology of consequences. Either way, the meaning is the same: you can’t be “stronger” than cause and effect.

From here, it’s also important to clarify what the beginning should not be. There will always be people who explain clairvoyance through “entities,” “astral advisers,” “deities who dictate,” or theatrical versions of the “third eye.” If someone wants to watch movies—fine. But if someone wants to practice, it’s better not to mix fantasy with real work. The more a person tries to turn the practice into a mystical performance, the easier it becomes to slide into self-deception. And if they start asserting these ideas as fact and living inside them, we are no longer talking about esotericism, but about the risk of losing contact with reality. Sometimes it’s simply naivety. Sometimes it is something that deserves serious attention and professional support from a mental health specialist. That’s exactly why being grounded is not a “lack of magic,” but a form of care.

The same goes for another dangerous misconception: the idea that alcohol, drugs, and “various chemicals” open clairvoyance. They open nothing—except the door to hallucinations, self-delusion, and destruction. There may be intense experiences, there may be “visions,” but that is not clairvoyance; it is a destabilized psyche and a disrupted biology. There is nothing romantic about it. In real life, such experiments leave behind tragedy, addiction, and sometimes an ending. If someone wants to stay alive, stable, and genuinely develop skill, they do not take that path.

When all of this is clear—when a person has built the right attitude, groundedness, and a basic discipline of observation—then the time comes for the first real steps. For many people, the most suitable beginning is a tarot deck, not because it is “stronger” or “easier” than other systems, but because it is rich, universal, and supports long-term practice. From there, the process begins to look more like training than like magic: little by little, a language is built between symbol and inner sense, between question and answer, between impression and verification. It’s a path that makes a person more attentive to themselves and to the world. And if they walk it honestly, they don’t become more superstitious. They become more aware.

If you decide to take this path, the next logical step is to begin with the foundational work with tarot. Time and consistency will do the rest.

Author: Nick G. Quenfield