Where Do We Manifest From?

Is it the subconscious mind, the conscious mind, or the soul?

This is a conundrum I’ve been thinking about lately. The act of setting goals and deciding what to manifest is a conscious process. But how much of what we desire and want to manifest is actually aligned with who we truly are?

As we’ve explored in other articles, evolving means unfolding into the truest version of ourselves. While we can create different personalities and egos from our minds, the closer we are to defining goals for our true selves—the expression of our soul—the better we become at manifestation.

Take my latest example.

Where Do Our Desires Come From?

I have a life vision—a one-page outline of the life I am creating. I also have a visual presentation made up of images and short sentences that serve the same purpose for the subconscious mind.

Here’s the question: How do we distinguish between goals and desires that are truly aligned with us and those that aren’t? How do we know if we’ve left something behind?

Well—we can’t! And that’s the beauty of the process. The more we connect with who we truly are, the better we become at setting goals and manifesting.

Our mind has a certain perspective, shaped by our past and our limiting beliefs. Sometimes, we think we want something without realizing that the desire comes from societal conditioning or unresolved wounds.

Unconscious Manifesting: Meet Bruno!

These days, I manifested something that wasn’t part of my conscious endevours.

Yet, this thing is so deeply aligned with who I am at my core that I recognize something within me must have called for it—even though it didn’t come from my conscious mind. I never planned it, never even thought of it!

Some moments in life are not mere coincidences. It’s as if a grander scheme is knocking at your door. In many ways, life as a whole could be described this way. But these particular moments—you can feel them on your skin.

And that’s exactly what happened when Bruno came into my life.

And no, Bruno is not a person—it’s a 1985 Volkswagen T3 van!

A Yearning for Freedom

Since last year, I had this strange thought that it might be a good time to sell my car and get a bigger one with space for a mattress in the back. Something that would allow me to go anywhere on the weekends without worrying about booking accommodation.

A year passed, spring approaching, and again, I felt the same yearning. This image kept appearing in my mind—traveling freely, being self-sufficient, going to the sea, being in nature.

In the meantime, I was actually planning my upcoming trip. I started researching Costa Rica but quickly realized it wasn’t the right time to go there. So, I began looking into Sri Lanka and Northern India instead, but at the same time, the idea of having a little van to travel around Europe for the summer kept calling me. So, in parallel, I started looking for used vans online.

Searching for a Van: Logic vs. Intuition

My initial idea was to get a Caddy, ideally already set up for camping with a mattress. I couldn’t find anything, so I kept searching. Eventually, I moved on to vans like the Volkswagen Transporter.

Nothing stood out—until I saw one Transporter that looked good! It was fully set up for travel—way better than I had expected. The measurements fit perfectly in my garage. Surprisingly, the price was almost the same as my used car, making it feel like a simple swap. I was excited.

I contacted the seller, she told me she’d be available to show me the van the following week when she returned from her travels. Great, I thought.

In the meantime, I kept looking—just out of curiosity. The Transporter had 200,000 km on it, which was quite a lot of mileage.

Then, all of a sudden, something caught my eye. A yellow Volkswagen from 1985 appeared on my screen. It had just been listed the day before. I clicked on it—it was absolutely gorgeous! But it was out of my price range. Also, I wasn’t sure about its size, so I contacted the seller.

He told me that the van—named Bruno—is 2.70 meters tall, which made it impossible to park in my garage.

Still, I felt it could be worth checking out. The van was far, but reachable—about a two-hour drive away. Interestingly, it shared my late father’s name, Bruno. I took it as a sign. I arranged a visit, the seller was available in just a couple of days. Perfect.

A Fateful Encounter

The day before going to see Bruno, my mind started racing. It felt too complicated—too expensive. I’d have to park it outside somewhere and pay for it. I considered canceling the appointment.

Before bed, I told myself, it could be valuable research. I had never seen a travel van in person, let alone a vintage one. So, I decided to go.

In the meantime, the lady with the Transporter told me she had to take the van to the garage for some checks, so she delayed our visit.

That morning, as I drove towards Colico, on Lake Lecco in northern Italy, I felt excited. My body was energized! Somehow, I knew there was more to Bruno than I had realized the day before. Somehow, my body already knew that Bruno would be my Bruno.

The moment the sellers, Luca and Mara, arrived at the parking spot with the van, it immediately felt right—its size, color, style, and spirit. Luca and Mara are people I instantly connected with. They had taken Bruno on a six-month journey all the way to the Canary Islands. Everything about this van sparked in me the undeniable desire to travel. I could already picture myself on the road with it.

Doubt, Fear, and Letting Go

After that, it It took a week of struggles—with my mind, with logistics—before I finally committed.

At one point, I was ready to let go of Bruno. The practical difficulties—external parking, maintaining a vintage van—felt overwhelming. I told Luca and Mara to keep showing it to other buyers. I knew Bruno would sell fast, and I didn’t want to keep them waiting while I was unsure.

And then, something unexpected happened. Luca offered to keep Bruno in their garage after the sale, for as long as I needed, while I searched for a parking spot. I was surprised. He added they were happy for me to take it and were comfortable not showing it to anyone else for the time being, allowing me some more time to think.

Despite my fears, it felt like Bruno was meant for me. Obstacles were naturally removed and I was being pushed forward. The only thing resisting was my own mind—fear, doubt. Because never in a million years would I have thought I’d buy a vintage van.

I was completely out of my comfort zone.

Eventually I gave it some time and I allowed my excitement to take over, decided to trust whatever was unfolding, and surrendered to the flow.

Synchronicities

Then and there—two funny coincidences occurred.

I looked for a mechanic who works with vintage engines, and for the first time, I realized—there’s one two minutes walk from my place. I had never noticed the garage before.

I called him up. It turns out, not only does he love vintage vehicles, but he owns a Volkswagen T3 from the eightees! He asked me, puzzled, “How did you find me?” I laughed. “On the internet! You have great reviews... and your name is Bruno, just like the van".

Finally, I had searched for a parking space everywhere, across the province. Nothing. But the day before I was set to take Bruno, a spot magically opened up. Not just anywhere—in the garage closest to me.

Surrendering to the Flow

In the end, Bruno’s arrival in my life happened outside of any conscious planning, as if my nature had called upon it. I never envisioned a vintage van in my manifestation work.

But the truth is, I know Bruno relates to my essence. The way my body responded when Bruno appeared in my reality—the excitement, the knowing—it was undeniable. One of those moments where events, seemingly random, align in such a beautifully orchestrated way that it simply cannot be coincidence.

At this point, you might wonder—what’s the point of doing conscious work, setting goals, and creating vision boards if things can manifest on their own? Is it even worth it?

My answer? Absolutely. It’s not in the possible fallacy of the process that it loses meaning. It’s in its imperfection that we find its strength.

As Missy Butcher would say, "Life is a dance between intending and allowing."

Final Remarks

When I think of Bruno, the van—not my father—I smile. And then I think of my father, and I laugh, feeling grateful.

In a way, life knows me better than I know myself. So, I have no choice but getting my mind out the way and allow whatever needs to unfold to take place.

I don’t know exactly how to make it work, but when I’m done worrying, I will do what I can do best—embrace the gift of Bruno and opening up to life.