Huno Museletter #73

Sun 6 Apr, 2025 Oaxaca, Mexico

Dear Reader,

I'm writing this museletter to you from a sunny cafe terrace.

The ice in my water glass is melting quickly and I've already finished the flat white coffee you see above.

I've got the gentle beats of Kaasi playing in my headphones with the melody taking my thoughts to delicious places.

I've been feeling a renewed inspiration to create art.

My go-to medium for creative expression has usually been photography.

That said I've enjoyed creative writing, poetry, dancing, making music, drawing — but there's something about photography that always touched something deeper in me.

Guidance is an art too, and I'll touch more on this later in this museletter.

But first, I want to share something with you.

When I left my job at Bloomberg five years ago, I gave myself permission to finally pursue art — for real.

I threw myself completely into photography.

I did paid shoots in fashion, lifestyle, interiors, personal portraiture. The work paid.

But something always felt... off.

I didn’t want to shoot for other people’s brands. I wanted to create images that carried soul.

So I shifted toward fine art photography — selling prints, licensing work to music artists, creating from a place of feeling rather than brief.

And for a while, it felt more aligned.But then something else revealed itself.

Even in the fine art world, I saw the same patterns. It wasn’t just about the work — it was about the game.

Suddenly, the art had to prove itself — not just express itself.

And again, I found myself straddling that old tension:

Do I play the game to be seen, or do I stay true to what I actually want to say?

What I realized is this:

I want to leave the art for the heart.

That’s why I eventually built in my guidance business — a model that honors my creativity, allows me to serve, and still pays the rent.

And now that I can finally see how I can integrate art and business, I'm feeling renewed inspiration.

But there's a also a third element at play here.

Spirit.

Art itself is a spiritual practice — or at least it has the capacity to be.

You see, art attempts to make the intangible tangible. In some ways, science does that too but in a completely different way.

Both are exploring something invisible, something we can’t touch directly.

But here's a key distinction —

Art gives it shape through emotion and metaphor.

Science gives it structure through data and models.

You could say art makes the soul visible while science makes the invisible knowable.

One invites us deeper into the mystery. The other tries to solve it.

Of course neither is right or wrong but as always we need both. And the truth might lie beneath the duality of two.

If art and science are two ends of a duality — expression vs. explanation, feeling vs. understanding — they are really two faces of the same impulse: the longing to meet reality more fully.

Art and science are both gestures of intimacy with the unknown.

There is no separation between the perceiver and the perceived.

Art and science are just different movements of consciousness trying to remember itself — one through beauty, the other through structure.

Neither is superior. Neither is separate.

They’re two languages of the same source.

Art feels the divine. Science observes it.

I used to think I had to choose.

Between the poet and the strategist.

The artist and the analyst.

Now I see: the deeper I go, the more they collapse into each other.

My camera teaches me presence.

My systems teach me poetry.

There’s no art or science anymore.

Only awareness, playing.

So, I promised we would talk about guidance as art form.

Guidance, at its essence, is a relational art.

The parallel between photography and guidance runs deeper than I initially realized.

Both arts require a refined way of seeing.

In photography, I'm constantly scanning for what others might miss – the perfect interplay of light and shadow, a fleeting expression, the composition that reveals something true.

My camera becomes an extension of my perception, helping me frame reality in a way that invites others to see differently.

In guidance work, I'm doing essentially the same thing – perceiving subtle patterns, emotional undercurrents, and energetic shifts that my clients might not yet see in themselves.

My presence becomes the lens through which they can witness their own beauty and complexity with fresh eyes.

Both demand a balance of technical skill and intuitive feeling.

The best photographs happen when I understand the technical aspects so deeply they become second nature, freeing me to be fully present to the moment.

Similarly, in guidance, the frameworks and methods I've studied must become embodied to the point where they recede into the background, allowing intuition to lead the dance.

Both require a sacred patience.

In photography, I can't force the perfect moment – I can only create the conditions for it and remain attentive. With clients, I've learned that transformation has its own timing.

My job isn't to rush the process but to hold space with unwavering presence until insight naturally emerges.

Perhaps most importantly, both photography and guidance are acts of witnessing without imposing.

A photograph doesn't change its subject – it reveals it.

The most powerful guidance doesn't try to fix people – it illuminates what's already there, waiting to be seen and embraced.

I've noticed that my best sessions with clients mirror my best moments with a camera: I disappear, and something greater moves through me.

The ego steps aside, and there's just the seeing, the witnessing, the honoring of what wants to be expressed.

Guidance is the subtle act of holding space for someone’s unfolding.

Like painting or music, it’s not about imposing a fixed result — it’s about evoking what already lives inside them, just waiting to be seen.

A guide doesn't sculpt people into something new.

A guide midwifes their becoming.

This is why true guidance is felt.

It happens in tone, in presence, in timing — not just in words.

This is why many of the best guides feel like artists.

They have an instinct for when to speak, when to hold silence.

They can sense the rhythm of another’s psyche.

They know when to push and when to soften.

The guide’s medium is the human soul.

But guidance is also a craft.

It involves frameworks, nervous system understanding, behavior patterns, cognitive models, even strategy.

You need to know how to hold space. How to structure transformation. How to lead others through terrain you’ve mapped yourself.

It’s a field of study just as much as it’s a feeling.

Think of Jung: his depth psychology gave structure to the psyche — archetypes, shadow, individuation — so that people could better understand their own mythology.

In this sense, building a guidance business is not just artful but architectural.

You design containers that invite transformation.

You build offers that mirror the soul’s true needs.

You create pathways that gently guide people from unconscious pain to conscious choice.

This architecture of transformation is precisely what I teach in the 3-Hour Guidance Business - how to build structures that hold space for magic.

This is where the science of it lives: in the structure that holds the magic.

Without art, your guidance lacks soul.

Without structure, your guidance lacks impact.

You need both.

Ultimately, if we take the non-dual perspective, guidance as both art and science and at the same time it is beyond both.

It sees you as the work.

Your being is the offering.

You don’t have to “do” something to guide — you are the field.

Your nervous system becomes the transmission.

Your presence becomes the medicine.

Your coherence makes coherence possible in others.

From this place, business isn’t separate from your spiritual path.

It’s a mirror. It shows you what still needs integrating.

It gives you karmic curriculum in the form of marketing blocks, money fears, identity collapse, self-worth patterns.

Building a guidance business, then, becomes a sacred practice.

You meet your own edge, again and again, so you can hold others at theirs.

You learn to rest in being — even while taking action.

You learn to lead — without fixing.

You learn to offer — without chasing.

That's what happens in photography too.

When I'm behind the camera, there's a moment of perfect tension between technical precision and creative intuition.

My fingers adjust settings with mathematical precision while my heart waits for that ineffable "right moment" that can't be calculated.

This is the non-duality of guidance work too.

In one breath, I'm tracking a client's nervous system signals, employing frameworks I've studied for years, structuring our conversation with intention.

In the next, I'm completely surrendered to what wants to emerge, trusting the intelligence between us, following threads I couldn't have planned.

I once believed this paradox was something to solve.

That one day I'd arrive at some perfect integration where the tension would dissolve.

But now I see – the tension itself is the medicine.

The space between structure and flow. Between knowing and not-knowing. Between the guide and the guided.

I remember a client session where I had meticulously prepared an entire framework to address their business challenges.

Ten minutes in, I felt a subtle contraction in their energy when discussing strategy.

Against all my planning, I asked, "What's happening in your body right now?"

That question – completely unplanned – led to a breakthrough about their relationship with their father that had been blocking their business growth for years.

I couldn't have engineered that moment.

But I also wouldn't have recognized it without the years of training that taught me to feel the subtle shifts in someone's field.

This is why building a guidance business feels so confronting sometimes.

It demands we hold paradox – to be both the artist and the engineer, to trust completely while planning diligently, to surrender while showing up with discipline.

It reminds me of the years I spent photographing beautiful moments while wondering if I could truly make a living from my gifts.

There's often a myth that pursuing our deepest callings means accepting financial struggle – that the more meaningful our work, the less we should expect to be compensated.

I've walked that path and felt that tension. The starving artist. The spiritual guide who shouldn't "charge for healing."

The inner voice that whispers "if it's truly your calling, why would you need money for it?"

But I've discovered something profound in building my guidance business: the very act of creating sustainable structures – whether it's pricing, systems, or offers – has deepened my capacity to serve.

Financial clarity creates energetic clarity.

There's a sacred reciprocity when we allow ourselves to receive while we give.

When we create containers that honor both our value and our clients' transformation.

This wasn't immediately obvious to me.

I had to learn through trial and error, through moments of undercharging and moments of burnout.

Through watching my bank account dwindle while my capacity to serve diminished alongside it.

The breakthrough came when I stopped seeing business and spirituality as opponents and started seeing them as dance partners – different energies in the same divine movement.

This integration is why I created the 3-Hour Guidance Business – to share the exact systems, frameworks, and approaches that have allowed me to build a multiple 6-figure guidance practice while working just 3 hours per day.

A container for those who know they’re guides, but also want their life to feel like art again.

The doors reopen May 12th.

If you’ve been quietly guiding, feeling the call, but unsure how to build a business without losing your soul — this might be your invitation.

It's where I teach others how to honor both the artist and scientist within, creating a business that serves deeply while preserving their wellbeing.

But whether or not that particular path calls to you, I hope this letter has inspired you.

Maybe your art isn’t just something you make. Maybe it’s the way you hold space. The way you listen. The way you see.

And maybe the business you’re meant to build isn’t separate from that.

It’s the container that lets it live in the world.

If this spoke to something in you — I’d genuinely love to hear it.

What resonated most?

Where are you in your journey?

Thank you for reading.

Love,

Nik Huno

P.S. Photography taught me how to see. Guidance taught me how to help others see themselves. Both require the same devotion to witness what is — without rushing to change it.