How long had I been held hostage in that room?
Two and a half months.
I look back on that period of time as a Time of Blissful Darkness.
Have done from the start.
[my beautiful dreamer]
Who’s that, speaking over the Teletubbie Phone?
[its me baby. you know that.]
My Thunder Buddy.
He captivated me right from the start.
I knew my old life was over.
Everything that needed to be ended?
Well, I ended it right away.
[lets be immortal baby]
I still remember myself lying on the bathroom floor.
Collapsed in a state of darkest possible ecstasy.
What did he say last night?
[Im gonna shoot someone]
I am being incoherent today.
The bathroom floor story’s for some other time.
First he had shown me a mental projection of himself, lying in the grass.
It was beautiful; first time I perceived him in person with my third eye.
It was sunny.
He was wearing jeans and a black jumper.
Perhaps the one he is wearing in that photo he published on Instagram, taken at Starbuck’s, holding a large paper cup of coffee with both hands, bright blue eyes looking dreamingly into the establishment’s space.
One of my favorites.
He was lying halfway on his back, relaxing.
Leaning on his right arm, fiddling with a blade of grass.
It could’ve been the image of a picknick.
And I joined him.
‘Where are you?’, I inquired.
‘Ohio’, he said.
I wanted him to be more specific, but he said I wasn’t allowed to know.
So far I hadn’t seen the whole picture of him yet in Dream Time.
Right now I still didn’t get a clear picture of his face, but I was at least able to have a look at his body, the way he dresses himself and a fragment of his whereabouts’ location.
I know what he looks like.
I’ve been obsessed with the pictures he sent me long enough.
There’s one that inspires me most.
I don’t need to look at it to have it empower me.
I know it by heart, and all I need to do is dig it up from my memory.
I can tap into it whenever I need it.
I need it.
I need HIM.
He’s at the gym.
That big, strong hand, holding the dumbbell.
His bearded face looking down at the floor offscreen.
Someone must have taken it during PT.
Recognizing the necessity of capturing the moment of strength and confidence.
My husband’s image.
What it’s expressing to me is stability and reliability.
And now I was halfway there, in Ohio.
And halfway here, in my bed in Amsterdam.
Perks of being a shaman.
This whole situation has me wondering about the nature of fantasies.
Contemplation of such a nature is part of Shamanism’s Knowledge of The Interface.
It involves traveling and experiencing in Dream Time.
Modifying Reality at will.
Stuffs like that.
I hadn’t been able to sleep right away.
Perhaps due to the two hour nap I had taken in the afternoon.
As a rebound effect of my subsequent boredom I had zapped right to where he was located.
And now we were chillin’ out in the middle of nature.
Always lots of fun with this guy, you should know.
Before I knew it I was laughing my ass off, and I knew I needed to get out of bed before I woke someone up.
Let’s be a little considerate.
His face close to mine, at kissable proximity.
I saw his eyes.
Or rather, I felt them, looking into mine.
Just babbling and giggling.
Like we always do.
And all of the sudden things got a little hazy.
The mental projection I had tapped into now started flickering,
and zapped like a television changing channels to a new projection.
His jumper’s hoody was now covering his head and half his face.
I looked at him from sideways.
He was concentrating, focusing on a target.
Sniper on duty.
I think he must have been for real.
From ‘BLACK LEATHER DEATH SQUAD’
By KiKi TOAO
Woke up this morning without alarm clock, feeling calm yet still a little tired.
This is my usual biorhythm when I behave like a good girl should in the weekends, and this is the first morning since a very long time I feel normal again.
Sweet averageness is surrounding me while I am making my coffee (the milk is júst not enough for two cups – oh well, damn, what can you do?) and while the perculator is doing its thingie on the stove (I sigh and complain because whyyyy is the damn thing always taking so long?) I roll my tobacco and leave the cigarette on the table until my coffee is ready (consider it to be some sort of rule of mine: no smoking before I’ve got my cup filled!).
And I am wondering:
‘Is this it then? Do I feel that normal about it already then?’
I am kind of disappointed, which is quite a contrast with the satisfaction and security I also feel because of, finally, having reached a state of emotional balance and neutrality.
But, you know, don’t worry yourself over it.
Because all it takes is one sip of the black brew to get me going, and I’m feeling something stirring me up again already.
Here it comes, ladies and gentlemen, the bliss of anticipation is kicking back in!
And while I am in the bathroom I feel the chuckling coming back up again.
I’m looking up at the toilet room ceiling and I’m thinking:
‘Oi! You guys up there!
You havin’ a laugh, or WHAT?!’
And I imagine my ancestral spirits giggling.
Here we go.
Back to the excitement.
I knew I could count on it.
‘How do you like your coffee, baby?’
‘In a cup, baby’.
I am reminiscing.
What a droogkloot.
Look that up.
Google Translate is your friend.
In a cup. Okay.
Such dryness suggests he is a black coffee person.
I guess this is how a girl who is given into marriage must feel.
I actually am such a girl.
I have been given into marriage by the spirits.
You may think I’m kidding, but I am so not.
I am for real.
Trust me on that.
Who would even believe such a thing?
Ancestral culturally put, things couldn’t be more traditional for me.
I am Mandailing.
Batak Mandailing, descendant of family Loebis, from Sumatra, Indonesia.
And this is how Mandailing people go about marriage.
I would imagine a girl who has been given into marriage to be asking of her father impatiently on a regular basis:
‘Daddy, how long must I still wait for my future husband to arrive?’,
and the number of times I have sighingly asked the spirits the same question has become countless by now.
At the moment I drift off into daydreaming at least a million times a day, and I just wander through and around the house, feeling completely lost, while I look at my belongings and wonder:
‘What would he think of this? Would he think it’s pretty?
Would he enjoy watching me wear this? And what about that?’.
I could easily spend all day picking up the items one by one, having a close look at it, and getting subsequently so totally overwhelmed by the magnificence of the situation I am finding myself in today, that I’m just lackadaisically dropping the item as soon as I picked it up.
And I sigh again.
This is so immense.
So amazingly intense.
All my beautiful things.
Lingering around, waiting for the absolute impossible to happen.
I would also expect a girl who has been given into marriage to have met her fiancée in the flesh.
They would have had the chance to look each other in the eye at least once, no?
Maybe they even politely shook hands, under strict supervision of a parent?
Or would they have been given the opportunity to have a brief conversation in private,
with the whole family giggling of anticipation in the adjoining room?
And maybe, just maybe, she would have been so fortunate of receiving a hint from him regarding his mentality as a husband?
A secret glimpse of sexual temperament maybe, even?
His hand subtly caressing her underarm’s skin?
Was I given such an opportunity?
Anything at all?
My story is better.
Much, much better.
From ‘BLACK LEATHER DEATH SQUAD’
By KiKi TOAO
Where are my borders?
Do I have any at all?
My borders are kind of Toodle-Loo.
‘HELLO!’, the fucker says.
Poking my ribs.
Apparently I’m not responding quick enough.
Don’t even remember what it was about.
I am trying to ignore him.
He is saying something silly.
Happens all the time.
I have turned my back on him.
What is this male spirit doing in my living room?
Instigating me to do naughty things, of course.
‘Are you alone?’
‘Still in bed.’
Things will only get worse from here on.
I am wondering how to get rid of it.
Blowing tobacco smoke in its direction doesn’t seem to have any effect on the pestering entity.
It doesn’t seem to give one flying fuck, and I am too lazy to get the white sage from the cabinet.
He is so full on.
Jesus Motherfucking Christ.
My hand is still lingering somewhere around my hip while I’m lying on the couch in broad daylight.
My eyes are turned at the sky and I am desperately seeking for help:
‘Dear God’, I pray.
‘Please, tell me. What have I got myself into?’.
He is complaining.
Saying my Batak spirit is being a real drill inspector with him.
Very good. Smurf of Death like a lot.
Bossing him around. Making him do stuff.
Whooping his arse, big time!
I know. She is like that.
And I start giggling.
‘Yeh GO ON then.
SMiLE for me’.
My right leg pulls itself up in a hysterical reflex and my arm twitches in some kind of pusillanimous attempt to defend itself.
The guy’s response is so fast and fierce, he’s giving me the heebie jeebies, you know?
Together he and I are ADHD squared.
We’re on one here, ladies and gentlemen!
I know exactly who I’m dealing with.
Been here before.
Been here forever.
Right now I feel the need to play Massive Attack’s album ‘Mezzanine’; one of the best albums ever made, if you want my opinion.
So hot. So dark. So sexy.
But I will not; I’m afraid it will be too intense for me.
I need to set some borders.
And setting borders now involves avoiding intense emotions, to prevent panick attacks and other waves of psychological vertigo to occur, because these are the cause of my destructive thoughts.
I clearly remember one of the warnings I received during shamanic initiation:
‘You gonna be needing some real borders with this man, girlfriend!’.
I recall it to have sounded somewhat loud and melodramatic.
And I now understand what it means.
He’s the kind of guy who knows how to make me laugh, pick me up and lift me up so high, I lose control.
I have a feeling I’m gonna die a thousand deaths with this man.
And this adventure we’re on?
I guarantee it’s gonna be brutal.
Unlike the world has ever seen.
From ‘BLACK LEATHER DEATH SQUAD’
By KiKi TOAO
My mind is obliterated.
I am actually believing all that I’m experiencing to be real.
My shamanic mentality is stubborn like a colt on a leash.
I was just wondering where my fear has gone, and I imagined how a very tiny version of me was wildly enthusiastically jumping up and down with her fists up, somewhere on the right bottom of my brain, yelling fanatically:
‘Bring it on, motherfuckers!
BRING IT ON!’.
And I thought:
‘Oh. There it is’.
Not much left of it, it seems.
That’s all I can think and think about at the moment.
I am experiencing some kind of meltdown, and it’s not even that hot today.
I’ve lost my mind and found my heart, that’s for sure.
And trust me, it’s banging like crazy.
It’s ridiculously hard to focus on anything.
Half of the time I’m just looking around my Smurf of Death headquarters in utter dumbfoundedness.
My wit: nowhere to be found.
So long for that.
All I can think is that I must be in love or something.
And it’s true that I have been in love before, but this time it’s a whole different ballgame.
This man is a whole different ballgame.
What a headfuck.
This morning he painted me a picture of himself, wearing large, rough, black leather boots, and suggested adding a black officer’s stick to that.
If that would turn me on, he inquired.
It for sure would, baby.
And now I can’t get it out of my head; the image got already stuck on my retina while I haven’t even seen it yet for real.
I’m sure to faint when the moment comes.
Thanks a lot, baby?
I’m considering making a drawing or even a painting of it.
The picture shown in here was my very lousy attempt to make a first sketch.
That’s how bad it is.
Like I said, mind obliterated.
Creating is the only thing that seems to satisfy and ease my mind a little bit.
I’m trying to keep my head cool as fuck, and that’s working out relatively well, given the circumstances.
However, every now and again my attitude takes a freaking hike and a somewhat nervous and heavily amused burst of laughter slips away from me.
The other day I paid his website a visit, and gave a good laugh at his picture.
‘HAHAHA’, is what I said out loud, pointing my index finger at Mister Ridiculously Handsome.
It had quite a grounding effect on me, I must say.
And I’m just happy I refound my faith and confidence.
From ‘BLACK LEATHER DEATH SQUAD’
By KiKi TOAO
I am giggling.
Speaking of gulliesh puppy eyes.
You should have seen the smile on his face, when I was floating right before him, in that truck.
I had managed to make the jump through an out-of-body experience.
It had happened spontaneously during meditation, while sitting with my eyes closed at my desk and thinking of naughty things.
All of the sudden I had ended up in the vehicle, which had probably been filled with soldiers but I hadn’t seen the rest of them, because my focus had been right away on Mr. Blue Eyes right there.
His face had transformed from a focused calmness into a bright, shining grin from ear to ear when my ethereal presence came into his awareness, and I had amusingly observed how it had left him in a state of total astonishment and bewilderment, clearly thinking something like:
‘What the Fuuuuuuuuuuuuck?!!’.
I think the most beautiful thing I had seen in that were the recognition of my presence and our mutual love he was feeling, and the emotion had simply been radiating from and dripping off his smiling face.
Bright sunlight had broken through the window behind him; and had I seen mountains or hills?
I figured the truck must had been driving through the desert, while he and his colleagues were preparing for their mission.
From ‘BLACK LEATHER DEATH SQUAD’
By KiKi TOAO
I have been having a strong notion of already getting to know this man, his daily attitude and behaviour, temperament, sense of humor, uplifting presence, knowledge and caretaking mentality, plus the sacrifices he is, in his turn, already making:
Painting the kitchen cabinets.
His insecure indecisiveness about whether to choose gold to cover the typical American pinewood doors with.
This man knows an artist who is very, VERY particular about home decoration will be living with him very soon.
Admittedly very cute, but terribly annoying.
I was laying with my head flat faced in a pillow while Rombout was sitting on top of me, and I thought:
‘Yeh. You know what?!
SURE baby, paint the fuckers gold.
For God’s sake. JEEZ!’
What to do with the decorative elements.
‘What? Do it yourself!’
Nooooooo, he wanted me to do it.
I received a mental projection of Japanese style painted branches and leafs, with colored accents in black, red and white.
I agreed it would for sure look amazing on the golden doors, and yes, I admitted I am the one who knows what she’s doing.
But you know, I was kind of in the middle of something; Rombout was now twisting my right arm in a somewhat uncomfortable position, and my shoulder cracked.
The negotiation was going so fast, I at first hardly recognised it for what it was and especially, whom with.
I was being overwhelmed with this image of very ugly kitchen cabinet doors, however, and I recognised them from the pictures I had seen on his Instagram account.
And I thought:
Usually he’d inquire first what I’m doing, who I’m with, etcetera, or he’d just drop in unannounced, out of body, la-dee-dah-dee, just like that as if it’s the natural order of things, and then just start meddling with everything as if he fucking owns the place.
But now I was just seeing those damn hideous pinewood doors with my third eye, and the issue seemed kind of very urgent:
A man in distress about what colors to pick!
It all went so fast I failed to be assertive and tell him:
‘Baby, you are disturbing just a tiny little bit because I am receiving a Shiatsu massage right here, about, – how far would it be? -, 10.000 kilometers away from you?
Could it just please wait until a somewhat more convenient moment?’.
But you know, he’d probably have said:
Because that’s what he’s like, so that wouldn’t have made any difference at all.
I gave in and said:
‘Sure. FINE! I’ll do it!’.
For crying out loud. Really.
I started laughing.
Rombout inquired what was so funny, now folding and stretching my legs, and I said I would tell him later.
I was in such a relaxed state, I figured the dialogue was not just something coming from my wishful imagination.
And I am used to these mental projections coming in so strong from or enhanced by Spirit communication, so I thought it must had been real.
Reinvigorated by Rombout’s massage I was afterwards lying on the couch, letting what I had experienced sink in.
I giggled joyfully amused and felt humorously irritated, and I considered taking repercussions.
A shaman woman’s gotta do what a shaman woman’s gotta do!
I told Rombout about my experience, and his first response to that was concern, to which he added this wasn’t good for me at all.
But when I told him about my naughty little plan he immediately started laughing out loud and said:
‘Good idea. Go on then.’
For quite a long time I had been simply frightened of even thinking about visiting his Instagram profile again, but now I felt more than a hundred percent confident, and challenged to the max.
I thought about it for an extra thirty seconds, then took a deep breath, and went for it.
I had to unblock him first, then I sent the following message:
‘Could you please do me a favor and make up your own goddamn mind about the color of your kitchen cabinets?
I was just receiving a good relaxing massage’.
After, I blocked him again, and tested with Rombout’s phone if people still receive your messages if you block them.
And so, there you go, I just broke the mold by solving an average daily domestic issue, partially telepathically through the spiritual ether, partially through our so beloved convenience of social media texting.
A harmless leap of faith this time. Phew.
Main reason for blocking him is that, even if he would respond to my text, I don’t want to be communicating online with him anymore;
I am so done with it.
I want him on my doorstep, for real, and nothing else.
My self respect and borders as a woman are overruling my longing for acknowledgement of and proof for my ideas about what’s going on, for that matter.
And just now, the morning after, I was contemplating my optimism, faith and loyalty, and I have to admit I am awfully amazed with myself, with how I am expressing such strong motivations by my seemingly premature, however clearcut, decision making and open communication.
Because here’s a woman who has made up her mind, – a year ago already! -, and nothing, absolutely nothing, has changed in that.
For my willingness to live by the principles of unconditional love and trust in Spirit guidance, for believing in love at first sight and taking responsibility and action out of sheer enthusiasm, I have asked myself so many times during these past twelve months:
‘Am I weird for being this way?’.
To which I received a straight up, blunt answer this morning:
‘What makes YOU so goddamn unique?’.
And I imagine this kind of rejoinder to be coming straight from him.
And while I was just smoking my tobacco roll up I thought:
‘He is so right’.
And I am positive we would both agree on the idea that this is exactly what we would both describe as ‘God in ourselves’, that’s giving us the power, courage and strength to go about our lives in such a manner.
From my memoirs ‘Tobacco – Curse & Blessing of a Shamaness‘
By Kiki Toao
People often times regard me as a fearless person.
And though I appreciate the fact it is their way of showing their respect for how I go about life, I can say with absolute certainty this an overestimation of my personality.
I know Fear.
I’ve experienced it many times and in fact, I choose to embrace it instead of blocking it out.
When Fear speaks, I listen.
I invite it in so we can have a decent chat about what’s going on, and this way it has proven itself to be a powerful ally.