About Me

Hello, I’m Gabriel Soca!

If I had to introduce myself in a few words, I’d say that in my sessions I work with Akashic Records, Reiki, and Tarot, and that I also write about spirituality. In the meantime, I travel and work from different places around the world.

But just five years ago, my life was completely different. I lived in Buenos Aires, worked in an office, and spent my days among meetings, deadlines, and the fast pace of an enormous city. From the outside, my life looked fairly normal. But inside, I felt more and more strongly that this wasn’t my place.

If someone had told that Gabriel what his life would look like a few years later, he would have thought they were talking about someone else.

Below, I’ll tell you in detail how I went from one life to the other.

It all began much earlier

There’s something that was present in me from very early on: communication. Even as a young man I sensed that this was my place, though I didn’t yet know what shape it would take.

At eighteen I left Bahía Blanca, my hometown, and moved to Buenos Aires to study communication. For more than a decade I built that path: I worked in radio, on news websites, in the press. I lived surrounded by information and current events, telling the world what was happening.

From the outside, everything was in its place. I had an education, a job, a routine, a career ahead of me.

But inside, there was something that didn’t quite fit. Maybe you know that feeling: doing everything you’re supposed to do and, even so, sensing that something essential is missing. It wasn’t unhappiness, exactly. It was a kind of uncomfortable certainty that I was living a life that wasn’t really mine.

That feeling grew little by little, without my paying it much attention.

The encounter with spirituality

In the middle of all that, spirituality began to appear. And it didn’t come all at once or as some great revelation. It was a gentle encounter, almost silent.

It came through my partner at the time, who was more connected to that world and began to share with me her experiences and her way of seeing life. At first I listened with curiosity. It interested me, it drew me in, but I didn’t feel it as my own. It was like peering through a door and closing it again, without daring to step inside. I didn’t know that, soon after, life would push me to cross it.

The crisis: when everything fell apart at the same time

As happens to many people on this path, there was a breaking point. A turning point. Many call it the Dark Night of the Soul. And the name doesn’t exaggerate.

It was a stage in which almost every aspect of my life went into crisis at the same time: work, relationships, where I lived, my health. Everything I had built came apart, piece by piece, until nothing was left standing.

It was an uncomfortable, intense, exhausting, lonely time. Everything felt too heavy. But today I can see something that back then was impossible for me to grasp: that crisis didn’t come to destroy my life, but to dismantle a way of living that no longer belonged to me and to leave me room to build one that truly was mine.

Akashic Records: the door I didn’t know I was looking for

In the midst of all that, I began to look for help in places I never would have thought to look before. I went to therapy, but I also turned to different tools for self-knowledge and approaches I had been unaware of until then. I started reading, listening, researching everything I could get my hands on about these subjects. And at some point along that path, the Akashic Records appeared.

One day I decided to have my first reading. I didn’t quite know what to expect; I was looking for concrete answers, something to help me understand what I was going through.

But I found something far greater.

It wasn’t so much the information I received as what I felt while receiving it: the crystal-clear sense of being in front of something that knew me deeply and spoke to me with a clarity I had never experienced. For the first time in a long while, in the middle of all that chaos, I began to find meaning in what was happening to me.

And that reading left me with something else, something I hadn’t expected at all: I was told that I, too, could learn to open my own Records.

It seemed impossible to me. I had no special gift, no background, I had never explored anything like it. But that idea stayed with me, resonating in silence.

The process continued. I kept learning, kept healing, kept living. I had other readings, other experiences… until, at a certain point, what had stayed resonating found its place.

One day I felt the impulse, I enrolled in an Akashic Records course and began to practice consistently. Every day I would open my Records, ask questions, and write down whatever came up.

At first, scattered, disordered phrases would appear. I didn’t know whether it was channeling, intuition, my own mind… or a mixture of everything. But there was one thing I was sure of: that time alone, every day, was good for me. It calmed me, it ordered me, and it gave me back a little clarity just when I needed it most.

The connection: when everything became clearer

For months I sustained that practice without interruption. And, at some point, something began to change. The connection became clearer, more fluid. What had at first been scattered ideas or short phrases began to turn into more developed, more coherent messages, with a depth that hadn’t been there before.

At the same time, my inner process had also moved forward. That stage of crisis had given way to a calmer, more stable one. Things settled into place and I began to feel different: with more clarity, with more balance.

And in that context, something new appeared: the desire to share all of this with other people. Until then, the process had been intimate, very inward. But little by little I felt the urge to open up that space and see what would happen if I shared it.

That’s how I began doing some readings for family, friends, and people I was meeting in courses and workshops. There was no structure, no intention of offering a service. It was, quite simply, sharing something that was already part of my life.

And then something that hadn’t been so clear to me at first began to become evident.

The feedback I received kept getting better. Many people told me that the reading had helped them understand a situation better, make a decision, or find a perspective they hadn’t considered. Little by little I began to realize that what had started as an attempt to heal myself was beginning, too, to do good for others.

Putting my life back together, piece by piece

As I changed on the inside, that change began to show in my everyday life as well. It didn’t arrive all at once, but through many small steps that, added together, ended up changing everything.

I started with what was closest: I straightened out my eating, I quit smoking, I began doing physical activity. I also took on new habits that until then hadn’t been part of my life. I began traveling alone, spending more time in nature, walking in the mountains. I learned to find spaces of silence in the middle of days that used to be constantly full of noise.

And as my process deepened, I dared to take on bigger things. I left the job that no longer made sense to me. I left Buenos Aires, a city where I no longer wanted to live. One by one, I let go of the pieces of a life that no longer represented me, and I began to choose others that did.

In the midst of that movement, what had begun as something intimate started taking on another dimension. Without having really set out to, I began to give Akashic Records readings. I gained confidence, refined the practice, deepened my way of working. And, some time later, other tools were added: first Reiki, then Tarot. Each arrived in its own time and integrated naturally, broadening the ways I could accompany other people in their processes.

And communication—which in truth had never left—finally found its place. I started a blog and began writing about the topics that mattered to me: spirituality, personal processes, searching, experiences. Over the months I found a clearer way to write, to organize ideas, and to bring closer some concepts that aren’t always easy to convey. Along that path, the possibility of publishing on Gaia appeared, a platform devoted to spirituality, consciousness, and personal development.

And so, without a fully defined plan, several things that had always been important to me ended up coming together: writing, communication, and spirituality. Today my work moves on those two planes. On one side, the sessions: the encounter with each person and the support through their processes. On the other, the writing: sharing ideas and reflections on spirituality with anyone who cares to read them.

I also have many ideas and projects in mind. But part of the process is learning to choose, to prioritize, and to respect the timing of each thing. And today, in addition to those two planes, there’s a third aspect to which I devote a good part of my time and energy.

The journey: the desire to live in motion

Alongside all of this, there was something else that had been present for a long time: the desire to travel, to discover, to explore the world. Not as a one-off trip or a vacation, but as a way of life.

For several years that idea stayed in the background, never quite taking shape. I had taken some trips on my own, but always with a return date, within a familiar structure. After thinking about it for a long time, in August 2024 I took the leap and set out to travel with no return date.

First I traveled through the north of my country, then Bolivia and Chile. Later I crossed the ocean and spent several months between Spain and Portugal. Today, two years after that decision, I’m writing these lines from Southeast Asia, crossing borders and adapting to languages, currencies, and customs that change at every step.

During this time I learned to let go of control and to trust the path, even when I don’t fully understand where it’s taking me. I learned to travel light, to keep only what’s essential, and not to cling so tightly to things—neither objects nor plans. I learned that people, almost everywhere, are far more generous than one fears, and that a helping hand almost always appears where you least expect it. And I’m still learning, even now, to be present: to inhabit the place where I am instead of living with my mind set on the next one.

Looking back with perspective

When I look back and see the whole path I’ve traveled, what I feel is a deep sense of pride. Not for having done everything right—I didn’t—but for having dared to change.

Five years ago my life was completely different. For a long time I hadn’t felt good: not with my work, not with my habits, not with myself. All of that ended up leading to that crisis, which for a long time I experienced as the worst thing that had ever happened to me. I could have kept going on autopilot, covering up that feeling with anything external. But I dared to do something quite a bit harder: instead of running away, I tried to understand what all of it was showing me. I began to ask myself what I had to learn from that situation and what changes it was asking of me. And, little by little, I started making decisions.

It was a messy process, with doubts, with mistakes, and with many uncomfortable moments. I kept making decisions, letting go of what no longer made sense, trying, getting it wrong, and trying again. None of this was one big decision made overnight: it was the result of many small movements sustained over time.

Five years later, my life is different. Much more mine, more authentic, more in keeping with who I am. Today I live traveling and I work at something that holds a deep meaning for me.

And sometimes I think of that Gabriel from five years ago, the one who was so far from imagining everything that would come. I’d like to be able to tell him it was worth it. That on the other side of that difficult moment there’s a life much closer to the one he wanted to live. Maybe that’s why I share my story: because if someone reads it from a place similar to the one I went through, I hope they can take away at least this: that the breaking point doesn’t have to be the end. It can also be the beginning of something new.

At this point I don’t feel I’ve reached the end of anything in particular. Rather, I feel that everything I’ve lived up to now was, in fact, a preparation. As if I were in the antechamber of new changes, of things I can’t yet make out but that I sense. If the Gabriel of five years ago couldn’t have imagined the life I have today, neither can I imagine who I’ll be five years from now. And that uncertainty I find exciting.