DEATH AT THE TABLE

Death is sitting right in front of me, at the other side of the table. 
He answers my gaze while taking a huge puff from his tobacco pipe.
After long moments of silence he takes a deep breath and says:

“Why is it you humans have such a fixation on me?
To be honest, it bores me, deeply.
And it saddens me.
Kindly put, I pity you.
Isn’t Life simply enough?

Death is eternal, but not eternal as you imagine it to be.
Life is at stake here, for you to seize as we speak.
Treat it respectfully.

For I await you, at the other side of this table, this plane you call Time.
Be like the crops in the field, patiently waiting to be harvested, to return as seeds.

Do not fear me.”

By KiKi TOAO

DESERT WOMAN

It is Time
For some good Ol’ Gypsy Spirit
Despair, bright and strong
Has moved us for ages
Driving us forward
As it has done for Aeons
Following the wind
In all directions
Where our Hearts long to Be

Desert Woman, be strong
Follow the sand
To the Promised Land
Where our Soul can sing
Its own Song
And we can join
In Peace.

Yalla.

By Kiki Toao

THE BEAST OF CREATiON

When the Beast of Creation wags its mastodonthic tail, what am I but a seed hair in the wind? And while it walks past, we’d do best by honoring it while we have the opportunity, because these moments are rare and we should cherish them while they last. We are sharing them here and now, in the midst of our living room in broad, screaming daylight.

For a couple of hours, everything screams C.E.R.E.M.O.N.Y.
How little it has to do with waving feathers and droning prayers.

I’m sitting here, gasping for air while my face is being pulled off.
I’m clawing at the air, watching the tips of my fingers being turned into pure frequency and becoming one with the leafs on the tree.

The Beast of Creation is walking past.
I look up at its terrifying beauty, blinded by its lightning presence, wishing it was dark but the light keeps crashing in. Every step the Beast’s paws take slams every moment into one massive archaic vision, every single one of them being the kind temples have been built for. Graphic, honey rated patterns, splashing into colourful Beings of all Times. Beings, – older, much much older -, than any living creature on this planet, are showing themselves to me in all their intrinsicness.

Archaic. Archaic. ARCHAIC.
The word keeps repeating itself into one gigantic, magnificent, excruciatingly vivid notion of What It Is.

One last slam of the Beast’s tail shakes me back to consciousness.
I’m sitting here, in this safe haven we created for ourselves, down on my knees.
It is not a posture of submission. I’m simply wondering how I could ever have thought I knew anything, anything at all, while the tears are running from my face. I am in pure awe, while I’m observing my knowledge being crumbled, torn apart as if it were a piece of knitting, and being rearranged.

I’m watching it happen, and the only thing I’m able to think of and say out loud is how I know it will change everything, if only I allow it to happen; just open my eyes and take it all in as a wordless teaching.
It changes the posture of my body, into a totally different attitude.
My hand loosely in front of my chest, I’m looking down in search of an expression for an emotion no word has been invented for, or it may have been forgotten and is longing to be reborn: The Sacred.
What I had so far been feeling writhing underneath, is now violently passing through me, obliterating all that I thought I knew.

Carnage.
Nourishment.
Initiation.

If only I were capable of capturing this very experience into one brief moment of sharing it with you, enabling you to see it, to feel it, experience it, here, all at once, right here and now, and condense it into this one, tiny seed hair in my hand, my task would be complete.

If only I could.

We would then set it forth on its path, together, by blowing it away and watch it being caught by the wind. While watching it move up high into the sky, we would know, from here, the cycle would start all over again.
From here, we would be forever longing for the opportunity to rise again; to relive this very moment, of experiencing it, together.

By Kiki Toao

THE WAY

Hands tied

Tranquility speaks

Serenity knows

The Way

By Kiki Toao

THE SEAMSTRESS

She wipes the sweat from her forehead, 
and shows me the blood on her finger.
The Seamstress speaks to me of courage,
and the necessity of taking risks:
“No beautiful gown has ever been made without the perception of the lady wearing it, and the secrets she holds inside.
The sacrifices are not in the suffering we are willing to endure, but in the love we dare to share.

If we don’t walk the path we were born on, 
how will we be able to choose?”

By Kiki Toao

TWiN SPiRiT

When I close my eyes
I hear more and more

Peeling layers of sound
A tiny breeze
Through my eyelashes

Not too long
My twin spirit said

Claiming my future husby
To be

— By Kiki Toao

READ ME

Maybe you don’t know me
But you read me like a fairytale
And perhaps, if you say the words out loud
You can tell me who I am

By Kiki Toao

BEZIT DE LIEFDE

Bezit de liefde
Geef haar de sleutel tot je hart
Er is geen ontkomen aan

Bezit de liefde
Laat haar je leiden, ze toont je alles
Weet dat je verloren bent

Bezit de liefde
Wees haar tot dienst
Laat haar zich prijsgeven

Bezit de liefde
Maak haar tot je bondgenoot
En niets zal bij hetzelfde blijven

Bezit de liefde
Toon haar je ware gezicht
Maak geen plaats voor schone schijn

Bezit de liefde
Schenk haar je trouw, eer haar schoonheid
En je zult nooit verliezen

Bezit de liefde
Maak haar geen slaaf van willekeur
Of je zult haar nooit leren kennen

Bezit de liefde
Maak haar je eigen
Laat haar je meesteres zijn

Bezit de liefde
Bedrijf haar lustvol en zonder limiet
Grenzeloosheid is een macht

Bezit die liefde!
Doe geen concessies
Of je zult nooit bezeten worden

Wie de liefde vindt, bezit haar tot in den dood

— Kiki Toao