FEAR

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
Arising
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

Oh
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
By KiKi TOAO

Q&A

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?
No.
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

The Wind

I am waiting
I am waiting for the wind
To call me into action
Calling for the rain
To bless the land I tread on

Raindrops are the rhythm
Falling on my drum
Translating words of Spirit
Into poetry called Music

These herbs in front of me
Are my own very Being
Burning into ashes
Transforming into smoke
Traveling from Here to the Other

The woman in the mirror
Speaks of Wisdom and Truth
Demanding for Freedom

I myself am the smoke
Cloaking the mirror
The mirror my gateway

I am waiting
I am waiting for the wind
To blow away the smoke
The mirror into pieces

So I can become the wind

By Kiki Toao

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

The Old Ones

We are building
our own little place of wisdom
and let ourselves be guided
by the Old Ones along the way

Who are the Old Ones, 
you might ask

We just know that they are here
And no one has the right to say
they’re not

Maybe we ourselves will be, some day, 
the Wise Ones
We already carry the wisdom
we need along the way

It is our task to provide the path
for the Old Ones to walk among us
It may be slow but it will see 
the light of day
of our right to say

That all this time, we ourselves were the path 
alongside which
The Old Ones found their way

— By Kiki Toao

ONE MOMENT IN TIME OF A NIGHTLIFE MYSTIC

What if you had to tell this guy who’s sitting next to you that Love is waiting for him just around every corner in his life?
You can tell by way the smile on his face is fading into an expression of pain and frustration he doesn’t believe you.
Some people are starting to think they’d rather kill themselves than spend another day with their self-loathing insecurities; it’s written all over their faces. You’re only hoping you’re just on time to prevent them from actually doing it.

You get a big hug after the reading, and see the guy return a couple of hours later to ask Rombout to roll one up for him because he makes them taste so good. Rombout is quite popular with the guys.

Seven tarot cards is all it takes to describe the ins and outs of a lawsuit.
The battle, the money, the big possibility of victory.
The psychological implications: I’m seeing them mirrored in the opposing viewpoints of the case.
A soft voice in your head whispers she has another option: make the financial sacrifice and leave the whole damn lot to rot in hell so she can start leading a happy life right now.
Meanwhile she needs to check the quality of the tapwater in her house, it may not be as good as she thinks.


The psychological implications: I’m seeing them mirrored in the opposing viewpoints of the case.
A soft voice in your head whispers she has another option: make the financial sacrifice and leave the whole damn lot to rot in hell so she can start leading a happy life right now.
Meanwhile she needs to check the quality of the tapwater in her house, it may not be as good as she thinks.

A Moroccan girl is smiling shyly. She possesses this particular mixed aura of modesty and strength I love so much about Moroccan people. In my mind she’s being surrounded by a whole bunch of naughty boys, all little brothers and nephews. They’re a pain in the ass, but they all love her and she knows it. 

My head seems to be filling up with the colour blue. “BLUUUEEEE” all over the place. 
What is so incredibly blue about her life? She needs to think about it and starts laughing. She works for an airline, and blue is the colour of her uniform. Then it turns all RED. She’s in debt big time. She needs to be a good girl and finish her study, that is: if she wants to get rid of her debts any time soon.
She looks up at me, she says, and gazes at me in awe while I’m telling her I’m 41 years old and promise her this bullshit we need to deal with as women will for sure become easier when she gets older. I feel I shouldn’t be too modest about my position as an ‘Older Woman’. Not this time.

Her actual request is: she wants to learn how to develop her intuition, so I give her my stack of cards and request a reading of her.
She gives me an accurate elucidation of how I lead my life: the sense of loneliness I feel about what I do and share with the many men and women who have gone before me on this spiritual path. The amount of hard work I do all by myself, which isn’t bad but just is the way it is. How I feel I already possess everything I need in life, apart from one thing: that roof.
Don’t I want that roof over my head, that prevents me from thinking too much and being spiritually tuned in every single moment of the day?
Yes, I’d love that.
Then, she says, I will just have to connect with the Mother more often; it may seem contradictory, but the Earth will provide me with the roof I’m longing for.

Yes, I’m dealing with an Islamic girl who is pointing out the shamanic basics I should be practicing more often, on a couch in a busy nightclub, while being bombarded with the beat people are dancing to on the dancefloor right under our feet.

I offer her the five euro note I just received as a donation from The-Guy-Deserving-of-Love, as a token of my appreciation. She finds it difficult to accept, but likes my suggestion to pass it on to the next person who needs it and puts it in the pocket of her jeans.

It’s 4 in the morning and I’ve been doing readings for three hours in a row for about 7 or 8 people. I’m feeling drained and I’m craving for a cigarette.
I may have to ask Rombout to roll one up for me, because he makes it taste so good.

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.

From my memoirs ‘Tobacco – Curse and Blessing of a Shamaness
By Kiki Toao

ME, SHAMANiC MACHiNE

Raw and unvalidated data from my diary:

The shamanic process.
Where does it leave me in the equation?
A continuous shift of perspective, like discovering a machine’s purpose by pushing its buttons. But I am the one whose buttons are being pushed.

*beep* What do you think about this concept?
*beep* How do you feel about this proposal?
*beep* What would you say if your purpose looked a little something like this?
*beep*

Constant contextualizing and negotiating, evaluating and scrutinizing.
What leaves me (at times literally) breathless is: the process doesn’t necessarily have regard for my personal integrity, my moral/ethical values, sometimes not even for my well-being and daily life.

I, – me, myself, and I – am the one who is the safeguard of my intentions, the gatekeeper of the channel I seem to be.
To do good seems to be shamanic common sense, it seems so obvious within the mainstream concept of spirituality.
However, I am always being confronted with the opposite.

Archaic principles are pushing themselves through me, and it’s hard to describe them in comprehensible, human language, but I can feel them writhing underneath the surface, like some ancient technological mechanism, forcing me to seek refuge in metaphorical expressions.
Writing poetry therefore is a natural response to the process.

It is by discovering and eventually describing my role as facilitator in the process, I am establishing my relationship with The Sacred.
But (hang on, wait a minute): what is The Sacred?
All I know (or rather: feel) is: what has been defined as sacred by our world’s religions, are diluted, meager, compromised representations of what it is, resulting in a set of rules saying: What It’s Supposed To Be.

Well, it isn’t supposed to be anything, it just IS.

And then, the following, everlasting, returning questions are:
Is that so?
Is it really?
Guiding me back to my initial contemplation:
Where does it leave me? Who am I? What am I doing?

The wavering trepidation in there, the searching, the authenticating;
welcome to my shamanic loophole, ladies and gentlemen.
And every time I’m wondering: what is my conclusion, is there a point to be made?
To only find there ultimately are no points, no conclusions to be made.
There only is: The Expression.

I’m starting to understand why mathematicians and physicists are seeking to capture everything into one single, elegant formula.

I am not equipped with such skills – art is my language.

From my memoirs ‘Tobacco – Curse & Blessing of a Shamaness’
Love, Kiki Toao

THE SHAMANiC PLAYGROUND DiSASTER

At times I look at my life and I can’t help but to feel like a bystander observing a spectacle of a playground that’s been run over by some bulldozer.

And I’m watching all the kids crying, their parents waving their angry fists in indignance while one of them is shouting:

“What the HELL was that?!”

Then some skinny male authority figure with a pockmarked face responds by saying:

“Oh, don’t freak out! It’s only Shamanism.
Nothing to worry about.
Move along people, nothing to see here”.

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