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

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

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