So. Yesterday I was in conversation with some dude who calls himself a Dom, and I basically freaked the shit out of him.

First of all he didn’t like the fact I am a Switch at all.
He said: ‘A Switch is okay to me, but I will never switch.’

So that makes me wonder why he’s talking to me in the first place, right?

In general my experience is that for some reason these Doms seem to find it necessary to question my Switchdom/hood/ness (how I am I supposed to define this anyway?).

My wildly educated guess is they see some kind of challenge in me, let’s put it like that.

Next thing you know is I’m telling him about this previous lover of mine who took a hike in total fear (he was almost about to scream) from the graveyard we were visiting.
It must have been my witchywatchy shamanic superpower he felt somewhat chased by, and the guy couldn’t help himself but to keep running away, leaving no less than 400 meters between us.

Please note it was broad daylight.

Next thing you know is I gave this guy I was talking to yesterday some insight in what could possibly happen if we were to meet up for real, and I felt the necessity to confront him with above anecdote. 

Plus the idea that, if we would reach ‘those certain higher atmospheres’ during ‘ceremony’, he shouldn’t be surprised when spirit power kicks in with me ultimately, making him see his grandmother’s face shine through me for example, and that, before he knows it, I could start conjuring up personal information about her and point out paintings previously owned by her hanging on his wall afterwards under her guidance.

Now, I am not sure if these paintings are actually present in his house (these things happen also very often), but I also mentioned the idea he would probably become aware of my spirit guides gathering around us, keeping an eye on the situation, making sure I am safe.

And he said he considered himself to be open-minded, but this was going really too far to his taste, and he called off the idea of going on a date.

My guess is he realised he would be screwed anyhow if he would go too far, even in the case of leaving me for dead, tied down in chains.

Whoa yeh.


By the way: did you know the pre-releases of my upcoming album ‘HOMECOMiNG’ are out now on Shamaniac Records?


Through sickness and sorrow
My death of tomorrow
I will be
Eternally yours

Through life’s rest and slumber
I feel you and wonder
How this could be so

My world of tomorrow
Will be no more under
Forgiveness and so

How this could be thunder
You wanderous wonder
I so love you so

I so love you so

From my memoirs ‘TOBACCO – Curse & Blessing of a Shamaness
By Kiki Toao


I am an Out of Body Realist.
Would you believe me if I said I am writing this in Togetherness with my Shaman Brother?
Would you believe me if I said we found one another in Twin Spirit Union during shamanic initiation in 2013?
Well, dear lovely people,
whether you believe it or not;
it is a fact.

As I am writing this on the terrace in front of my apartment building (it’s a beautiful weather by the way), it has been revealed to me, only a couple of hours ago during last night’s sweltering lightning storm, we found one another during that exact period of time.

He and I were chittering and chattering through the spiritual ether while outside in the streets nearing my residency tramrail lines were being polished, resulting in a beautiful scenery for our conversation to take place.

In awe I am now gazing into the seemingly random yet focused brutality of our terrifyingly amazing beautiful Universe.
And while I am now (at least trying to) drink my coffee, my future husband is claiming to be on a train proximiting Amsterdam.

My hands are trembling. And I am about to cry.
Because in fact, I can not believe this to be the case.

A soft voice in my mind is telling me to best start believing however (it is the voice coming from what I experience to be my so dear beloved forest spirit), and right now my eyes have filled themselves with tears and my leg is shaking nervously in a psychosomatic spasm.

I could easily throw my fucking iPhone down the street’s gutter right now.
I am, however, refraining myself from doing so.
I am maintaining my self control.

I breathe and breathe my Ultimate Hope into fruition, and while doing so my legs are wiggling in full crazy anticipation, because by the looks of it this is going to be the goddamn motherfucking happiest day of my life.

We are so full of one another, he and I; it’s mental.
Totally, obliteratingly MENTAL.

‘And I greet you’, is what he’s saying.
Right here.
Right now.



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.

Need it.

That’s right:
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.
Nice shot.

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.

Shooting someone.

I think he must have been for real.



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.
Ah! Normality!

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.

And, tadaa!
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.

Whoa yeh.
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?

I do.

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.
Good God.
This is so immense.
So amazingly intense.

My things.
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?

A smile.
A wink.
A blush?
His hand subtly caressing her underarm’s skin?

Was I given such an opportunity?

Anything at all?

My story is better.
Much, much better.



Where are my borders?
Do I have any at all?
My borders are kind of Toodle-Loo.

‘HELLO!’, the fucker says.
Demanding attention.
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.
What else.

‘Are you alone?’
‘Where’s Rombout?’
‘Still in bed.’
‘Okay. Haha.’
‘Yeh. ‘Haha’.’

Things will only get worse from here on.
I promise.

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!
Whoa yeh.

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.

Da FuQ?
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.

Good God.
Madre Mia.
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.



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!

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.
Toodle-loo wit.
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.

Yeah, well.
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.



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.

By Kiki Toao

Mature before Love

Mature before Love was even invented,
The Beast was
High on speed 
and Ecstasy 
Befell Her

A wounded heart
Amidst the soil of a broken home
Shattered glass everywhere

On television a woman shouted:
“Murder! Death!
Fucking KUT Nazis!
Always spoiling good entertainment!”

I believe she was Dutch, or something,
and she looked awfully similar to me

So, so many

Particles and pieces
Broken glass to be mended
Shards from 
My broken heart

In the midst, however
Of this Holy Night and Wishful Moon
We expressed our deepest desires

And you said
You wanted to Learn
To Know 
What You Want

And The Beast spoke, lowering Her voice:

“Isn’t it anyone’s deepest desire
to express a lung full Spell
under the Shine of Darkness
of a Wishful Moon?”

From my memoirs ‘Tobacco – Curse & Blessing of a Shamaness


Dear lovely people,

In an attempt to answer questions that are being fired at me on a regular basis regarding my shamanic practice as a spirit woman, I wrote the following:

– What is Shamanism?
I’ll quote my mentor, American shaman Jade Wah’oo Grigori, to answer this question:
“Shamanism is the application of Quantum Mechanics without having to know about the actual physics”.

– What is Spirit? 
The experience of Spirit is very personal and subjective, and can therefore not be univocally described or understood.

Spirit may be the essence of a flower.
It could be a subtle fragrance coming with the wind, signifying the seasons are changing. 
A clumsy bumblebee cheering you up by bumping into your window.
Your feet in the dirt, longing to be a child again. 
Your belated grandmother visiting you in your dreams, giving you advice. 
Your little nephew having a tantrum over spilled icecream. 
Feeling you need to make a phone call with that certain friend, he/she may need your help.
Receiving a premonition of something about to happen; perhaps your life may soon undergo a radical change.
Your intuition telling you you need to leave a place, because it’s not safe.
Your body projecting an image in your imagination, which may surprise you and you don’t know how to interpret it, but you intuitively know you need to see a doctor. 
A ‘Eureka’ moment or Aha Erlebnis enthusing you.
The rustling leafs of a tree, telling you everything’s gonna be alright.

– What does it mean to be a shaman?
Experiencing all of the above, amplified, sometimes to the extreme.

– Is Shamanism good for you? 
– Do you have control over it?
I’ll try to answer these questions by posing these questions back:

Do you have full control over your strongest inspirations, your deepest desires, your wildest dreams, your body, possible traumas and illnesses?
Do you have control over the experiences I just listed here above?
Are they good for you?

– How do you cope?
Make art. Compose or listen to music. Write poetry. Dance. DJ. Talk.
Keep on dreaming. Meditate. Pray.
Work, work, work.

– Can I trust a spirit?
– How do I know if it’s a good one?
Can I trust you?
Can you trust your neighbour?
Who’s that on the corner of the street?

– Is Shamanism religion?
A shaman may choose to incorporate religious aspects in her/his practice, just like any other person may choose to.
Shamanism is, however, not institutionalized.

– What is Consciousness?
Good luck with that one. You’re on your own, honey. PM the Dalai Lama?

– Could I talk to you sometime?
– Can I make an appointment?
Yes of course.

Please visit the Consults page on this website for more information, or PM me on Facebook.

Thank you for reading.

Love & Blessings,
Kiki Toao