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Kösem Sultan (Part 1)

Updated: Oct 25, 2023

Ch. 2 of my "I'VE BEEN EVERYWHERE, MAN" Series

Some of my past lifetime recollections brought back to life for you


“I am Anastasia. I saw and found in this old palace the most painful grief inside the world’s greatest wealth, the darkness inside the sparkling of the most perfect and dazzling gems, the devils behind the most beautiful faces, and inside the world’s most powerful ruler, a pure and mighty heart – deep and clear as the waters.”


Kösem Sultan,

quote from Turkish series


The magnificent Topkapi Palace at sunrise

Please note: From time to time throughout the telling of this tale, you’ll be privileged to have the pleasure of strategic video snippets from ‘The Magnificent Century: Kösem' series.
I’m only mentioning this because the translations are often rather endearing,
calling Kösem ‘he’ and 'him' at times, while others are called ‘it.’ Enjoy!


Life after Life after Life


IN MY AEONS OF TRAVELS through many, many lifetimes, I've come to understand we traverse many diverse cultures, worlds and belief systems. Sometimes we might wear a similar face, sometimes not.


I've heard it said that some believe that each time they re-incarnate, they stay within the same bloodline, family, culture and religion. I respect that view and belief, but it's not mine. I've had too many past life memories of being re-born into too many different races, colours, cultures and creeds, not to mention countries and worlds, to think that, for even one nanosecond.


We definitely carry certain 'Soul DNA' strands across all our lifetimes and cosmic travels, but that's another story for another day.


Will it scare you to hear I've lived in different dimensions and universes? I hope to return to the non-predatory dimension, a place most humans cannot even begin to conceptualise. Returning here would be a major disappointment. I can't bear it here much more despite the physical beauty of Earth herself. Madness is pandemic, the grey fog setting in thick as porridge.


Yet I look back on some lifetimes here with great affection and compassion, despite humans having been absolutely horrendous to one another over the ages - at times I was also part of that. I give us all a little leeway for not knowing better.


But now we all know better, we should all do better.


Aside from all the bad behavior there was epic love, incredible beauty and living magic. Here again, I offer you my memory of my life in the Ottoman Empire, after I was kidnapped from my family home in Greece and taken to Turkey to be a slave and concubine, yet became a very powerful Sultan in my own right.


I look back on that lifetime with great warmth in my heart for the young Greek girl who made the best of a very bad situation, then become completely entangled within it.


Image from The Magnificent Century: Kösem' series


Not that old Cliché!


“Our Soul incarnates and, over thousands of years, has many lives, and thus personalities. As an analogy, one could say that our past lives are siblings to us, and the Soul is the parent. One could then say that the Spirit Guide is the god-parent. Our soul groups are our

spiritual families; and we are all striving to get back to the One,

the ultimate merging into unity, merging towards the One -

and we are doing this together.

Well, that's the plan anyway!”


Yes, it’s that old cliché about Psychics - they’ve all been Cleopatra. Or Nefertiti. You know what I'm saying here. But sometimes we just know in our bones that not only have we had lifetimes as poor starving peasants, hardworking farmers, craftsmen or slaves, we also carry the powerful memory of nobility and royalty etched within our very soul DNA.


I’ve carried that knowing all through this lifetime.


Pretty early on this time around, I examined certain attitudes within myself which didn’t match the life I was born into. Attitudes that seemed only a woman of royalty would hold, and not through just one lifetime either.


Coming across a highly toxic coven of witches in Australia with connections to global elite forces has been interesting. Striving beyond all reason to convince me I am nothing, and need not try ‘rising above my allotted place in life, my rank’ and the rest of their imperialist crappage. I soon saw right through them, wishing I had of my few of my trusty warrior protectors around to shoot them in their stupid faces.


That I’ve evolved is clear but it’s also clear I’ve been enlightened a number of times through the thousands, nay millions, of years I’ve incarnated here and elsewhere.



***


Life as fair play and a level playing field


“Never apologize for having high standards. People who really want

to be in your life will rise up to meet them.”

Dr Brian Weiss, 'Many Lives Many Masters'


I arrived here this time with an experiential belief system at great odds with the current Games World I find here that I despise so deeply. To be honest, where I come from they don’t have sports at all, staying fit and strong in other ways, without pitting themselves against eachother as done here.


The fact that these days on Earth it's mostly only the corrupt who rise, through cheating and a leg-up via elite support, is grating and stinks of evil.


I’ve brought an abiding sense of life as fair play and a level playing field. Call it socialism, call it what you will. I don’t. I call it life without competition, life where we each celebrate each-others achievements and help each be the very best he or she can possibly be.


That I also carry some mildly toxic remnants of certain lifetimes in my soul DNA is also true.


The attitudes are there but whether I act on them is always a matter of choice. Always. I’m never at the mercy of old mindsets and behaviors. The main reason I tell these stories to you now, my friends, is to look at those peoples of other lands and countries you or your countrymen might hate - and open the door to the strong likelihood they were once your family, friend, lover or brother.


We’ve been male and female, gay, straight, vicious and peacemaker, baker and candlemaker, monk and warrior, mother, witch, soldier, priest and slave. All these and so much more are etched within our Soul DNA strands.


Enemies are a different thing, and another lesson we learn is regarding certain highly hostile adversaries following us across the ages, as dangerous now as they were then. Those who poisoned us then will again try to poison us now. Those we tortured or executed try to torture or execute us now, or find some other way to harm us.


It cuts both ways, that’s for sure.


***

Balancing karma is one thing, revenge another!

“We are all simply reacting, played by events that occurred centuries before.”


Marti Melville, Midnight Omen Deja vu


Then we have the ‘N Factor’, those negative dark entities who’ve not only infiltrated our planet but also the Akashic Records, playing havoc with the karmic balance sheets.


Another story for another day also.

So don’t presume that all that’s happening is karmic each and every time. We must each of us search deeply within our soul, or examine our path with the assistance of those of us skilled enough to know where it’s an implanted memory, false recollection, fake karmic debt, destroyed timeline or the like. Our cosmic records have been ravaged by demons. Let’s name what’s been mucking around within our Akashic records.


Theirs is a crime breaking all Cosmic Law and the payment for said crime will be total. Total dissolution and dispersion of their forms into cosmic mulch, for better seeds to rise.

Meanwhile those of us in the know are here to deal with the fallout of their crimes.


***

Right Royal Attitudes


“It was as if she would never be whole until the secrets of the past were exposed.”


― Rachel Abbott, The Back Road


So what were those attitudes I carried into this lifetime clearly denoting royalty flowing within my blood and in my soul?


I admit to being a tad embarrassed by some of the old attitudes a royal might carry - that of entitlement, of privilege, of having had servants to do my bidding, doing many things for me.


Yet there are also many soul attitudes that over-ride those old learned behaviors, always balancing out my royal sense of entitled privilege. Even as a child I sometimes laughed a little at myself, at other times I was a little appalled at those feelings I carried within.

There’s been little opportunity to indulge those attitudes, they just sit within me from other times. Born into this lifetime with a strong sense of justice and equality for all, definitely of the lineage of Friedrich Von Schiller in more ways than one, those royal urges within me remained mostly deeply buried. What remains and that I hold onto, is knowing who I am and have been, where I come from, and what I'm not.


Both my family lineages this lifetime are fallen royalty and nobility, thus explaining the inexplicably bruised egos many of my so-called 'relatives' carry.


To remember we’ve all been born and reborn for millions of years rather than thousands might go some way toward explaining why many carry memories of nobility and royalty when it might seem unlikely - and yet its highly likely.

It’s also how karma works – living on both sides of the river, so to speak.


***

The Power of Ten Thousand Suns





So when that bunch of deluded retarded witches keep trying to put me in my place, letting me know I’m ‘not special’, it just doesn’t wash. I remember too much. It's crystal clear why they’re so threatened by me.


I’m so much more than ‘nothing’, I’ve never been ‘small’, and my powers exceed theirs by ten thousand suns.


They’d do well to remember this, what I carry at my fingertips. Not only that: just who and what my protectors are. God and my Spirit Warriors.


Do not trifle with me, witches.


***

Different lifetimes, different families

“I do not fear death. I see what has gone before,

through eyes that are not of this body.

When I dream, my visions

are of days yet to be.”


― Cathy M. Donnelly


Writing and recalling this again for the purpose of telling my tale hasn’t been that easy. Some readers might presume I come into each new lifetime with the same family members, children, lovers, friends and protectors, and this isn’t so.


Looking at my sons now, for example, I reflected deeply on whether they were my sons in my life as Kösem, and the answer is no.


If they were, it would have gone some way toward explaining the fragmented and difficult relationship I have with each of them now, but I’m told that’s for other reasons, partially interference from certain entities making my life extremely hard this time 'round - nothing new of course.


Looking with spiritual vision at my current two sons, I’m informed one was leaving life as an old man as I was born in Greece as Anastasia, the other son I’m not sure about as yet. Perhaps more information will come as I get deeper into writing these memories.


If they wonder who and what they were in those times, it would be helpful to go into an Akashic record and pull out that entire memory – then search their own soul as to whether they recall certain lifetimes in Turkey, especially during the Ottoman period. This is part of how these answers come to each of us.

As to whether any of my current family members were part of my life back then, the answer is mostly no.


I was brought into this current family lineage as part of the manipulation of two ancient and powerful bloodlines, and am definitely the odd one out in those remaining in the current line-up.


Who manipulated those two lineages and why is not a question I’ll go into here. That the outcome of the marriage was me, and that certain forces have aligned, so desperate to block my Becoming, my coming into my full mature powers, has been something to behold. But I digress.


***


Existential Exhaustion

“Virtually no soul ever achieves all of its objectives in one lifetime.”

Anthea Wynn,



I’m not sure where I’ll go after this lifetime. That I’m bone-weary to the deepest depths of my soul is indisputably true. That there are many others feeling the same is undeniable. That we’re in the midst of THE Battle of all Battles is also irrefutably true.


So, my friends, we must ask our Self - is there time after this life for an exhausted soul’s sojourn in the Healing Halls of Heaven to recoup and regroup?


Is timing everything right now?

How does timelessness in the celestial realms correspond to THE Battle NOW ensuing?

I search my soul and don’t find the answer.


Because despite knowing a whole lot more of infinity and eternity in-between lifetimes, I always forget what timelessness really feels like when here on Earth. Every time. It stays in theory whilst here, an intellectual understanding only.


So pacing myself whilst here, at least, is crucial. Taking the Shaman’s Rest whenever needed, otherwise the risk of losing my life becomes too immediate. My enemies know this and have thus kept their constant onslaught going to fully exhaust me, knowing I can’t afford to take my eyes off them for too long. Ignoring them only makes those evil parasites dig in deeper.


These days when I see and feel them attacking me, I shoot to kill. I take no prisoners. The attacks and assaults against me have been going on too long now for me to believe it’s ever going to end, or that they’ll have some miraculous change of heart. No. Thinking that is pure folly. And a death wish. I know in my heart their aim is to kill me. So.


Be warned, any of my enemies reading this, hidden amongst my dear friends, for I know you’re there. I feel you.

I don’t use a gun. If you were wondering. My abilities are those of the Dhamphir, quite preternatural and supernatural, and they work how they work.

That they DO kill is indisputable fact.

***

The (fake)‘Family’


“You listen to people,

you listen so deep you can hear their past lives,

The crackle of their funeral pyres.”

Dick Allen, Zen Master Poems (1)


That I’m constantly assailed by a group of Vampire witches who like to call themselves my Family is another exhausting factor.


That people refer to them as my ‘Family’ is grating beyond belief.


Hear me now, friends.


These people are NOT my family! They’re my enemies! They’d love you to think they’re teaching me a thing or two, that they’re my teachers, parents and colleagues! Biggest joke of all time!

Oh, they’ve taught me a thing or two alright! How they operate and what they’re up to is now pretty clear.

The utter truth is this: they’re out to kill me after harvesting every little bit of me, handing it all over to one of their own. This extreme cosmic crime has been going on for quite some time, but it’s all stopping now, as I am given the tools to fight and destroy every little bit of them!


That they’ve traveled throughout time to destroy and usurp me is very true. That they appear and reappear through various of my lifetimes is absolutely real. But not in the way they’d like you to think!

And my REAL FAMILY is NOTHING to do with them.


In this lifetime a Binding was so strong and a Hexing and Spellwork so deep that I forgot much. ‘Til something triggered the remembering and also the unbinding and activation of my powers. And that’s got them running scared!

Recalling who I am and have been is a huge part of the reactivation of my abilities and powers.

***


Never forget: we are the sum of all we’ve ever been.

“When the incarnation of the Dakini marked by the dragon is found by her mirror, the chains of the dragon will melt from the land of snows." Prophecy of a Free Tibet




And anyone who tells you to forget and let go of the past is asking, nay demanding, that you let go of the entirety of YOU. A very precious thing! Be highly suspicious of such New Age Cult rhetoric, designed to get you in their thrall, an empty vessel. Emptied of all you’ve ever been, ready to be their meat and milking cow.


Don’t fall for it! This is as deadly serious as it sounds.


That I approached some of those enemies of mine this lifetime with love in my heart and open arms, speaks of how deep the spellbinding went. I didn’t see who they were ‘til their destructive acts towards me had stripped away a lot of what I loved. In the end I can say, as in all lifetimes, that what was lost needed to go, was never real. We find out who our true and loyal ones are at the end of the day.

Although it must be said that some of my loyal loved one have also been spellbound.

The mind-control of the good people, those with inner light - the original flame, has been serious this lifetime. The enemy is using every trick they could possibly find from both the Nazi and Stasi manuals – similar entities.


The advanced and sophisticated technology now available for those with the funds, and the techies with the knowhow to destroy those like me, has been a diabolical factor in this battle. That cyber warfare is a huge tool in their spiritual warfare against us is indisputable.

But I’m seeing many of those I thought lost to me now returning, their memories coming back as understanding kicks in hard. They can see what’s going on, and what the enemy has tried to do to me. It takes spiritual understanding and an open mind to the diabolical underworld, to truly see.


Those who discard truths with derogatory terms such as ‘conspiracy theories’ miss the facts. Spiritual warfare and psychological terrorism is in full swing, aimed straight at those like myself. Those who are targeted well know it by now.

That this is an Occult war and that Occult fraternities of evil underpin most of the governing bodies now ruling the world is fact. That those of us who have a different vision - those of us who carry the Original Flame - are being tortured and killed, is the battle. To turn the tide we too must fight on an occult level. We must study the playbooks and satanic bibles of the dark forces in order to reverse their reversals, the reverse grid now destroying any good intentions.


Know thine enemy. But don’t forget to destroy them. Not fighting back is only going to get you killed, something they count on. We must rise above the New Age rhetoric seeking to shut us down. Know, my children of the Light, that we have powers beyond understanding. You must remember and access them to fight those devils!

That we seek peace is real. But we do not lie down and die, letting them walk all over us, hoping this will make it happen!

***

My real family





My real family does not try to kill me. They don’t try to steal all that makes me who I am and give it to a Gollum such as Durga H, with the extremely evil intention of remaking her as me. That whole thing is so disgusting as to make me ill. She – it - still tries to steal from me every damn chance she gets. It’s obviously encoded into its Gollum clay self. It’s unable to stop. So I turn away from it, and leave it behind because even looking at it feeds the damned thing.


Perhaps calling it a Gollum gives it too much leeway, when the truth is it’s a Vampire, a Nazi Vampire seeking to drain me of my entire essence. So overtly evil I’m often left breathless and aghast when seeing those who still think it’s not.

Evil entities such as Durga H have definitely followed me here, there and everywhere over time. I’ll speak more on those particular entities in a minute.


I want to name the qualities of my true family. Loyalty where earned and love where real. My true family is extremely spiritually intelligent and spread across time and space in other dimensions and worlds. Family that's here for now are golden encoded souls.


Recognition comes. The powerful spell my enemies cast over me has been broken, and those who have awakened now truly see me, not the lies told about me by those seeking to steal my essence, at the same time as pinning me down under a heavy burden of their lies about me. I’ve spent years now fighting their lies and slander. I've had to cut my losses to carry on.


My true family has had the blinkers removed. They now know and see the truth.


Continuing to break these spells is part of our work now. Those spells they cast over the entire world.


My true family are spiritual warriors of the highest of the high calibre! They cannot be constrained once they know the truth. For a long time many of my family has remained hidden. Biding their time ‘til the spider’s web of lies was cut through, the Fog Machine broken and the truth revealed.

The Fog Machine continues pumping out its crap after being patched up by its makers, but enough damage was done to it for those bearing the Original Flame within their heart to see clearly again.

***


Stealing Mother’s memories


“Sometimes the most evolved souls take the most challenging paths.”


Dr Brian Weiss, 'Many Lives Many Masters'


For a long time now they’ve been handing over all my past life memories to their own, those Vampire and Witches. How they do it is simple, once you know. Once I realized they were not only hacking me, they'd had me under 24 hour surveillance for over a decade, I understood what was really going on.


Not only silently and almost invisibly sitting in my email servers, not only were they keylogging and watching my written creative work on my computer, they were watching me in my home and often outdoors and in my car, livestreaming me on some dark web server, watching my every move. It’s clear there are webcams through-out my home and lodged on my computers. Nothing I do is private, nothing.

They know every movie I watch and how it affects me, then steal any of my powerful memories that have been triggered, taking them as their own! Those demons are my living hell.

Whether they have remote viewers checking in on my thoughts and emotions is not debatable. They do all this and more. They have the resources and funds to assail and survey me in all these ways.


Torture of a diabolical kind for the extrasensory. Psychological and spiritual torture.


Not paranoia, my friends. It’s the same as was done during the cold and boiling hot world wars - the Stasi manual playing out to the letter. They’ve done ALL of this to their targets and right now its going on under all your very noses.


I’m a pretty level-headed and grounded soul despite being extremely extrasensory and ultrasensitive. That’s how they get at me. They well know how sensitive I am, torturing me in that way.


But no more.


Not only that, the bastards have been harvesting my memories and writings.

It’s time now for me to tell my stories. As mine. Because whenever I’ve placed a past life memory online or even in my personal writings, I could count on devils like Durga, Lynn or Momo to try and claim MY PAST LIFE MEMORIES as their own! Often literally within hours. It’s been a sickening experience.


These past life memories of mine are very real.

I’m not making them up. How the memories come in are not during some hypnotised trance - not to say that those ways of bringing in past life recall aren’t very valid.

Recall has come in over my entire lifetime in bits and pieces, not fully understandable, ‘til suddenly a precipitating event brings all those seemingly disparate threads together into the one amazing tapestry, as things suddenly make sense.

Total recall. That’s how I roll.

Mother is taking back her memories! Yes I am! All of them. So back off, witches. Or know retribution in its real form.

Being Extrasensory


Extrasensory - seemingly outside normal sensory channels

Paranormal - not in accordance with scientific laws;

"what seemed to be paranormal manifestations"

sensorial, sensory - involving or derived from the senses;

"sensory experience"; "sensory channels"


Of, coming from, or relating to forces

or beings that exist outside the natural world:

Source: The American Heritage® Roget's Thesaurus © 2013


How did I come to Kösem, or rather, how did she come to me? If you, dear friends, have issues with supernatural and other psychic phenomena, this story won’t sit easily with you. However, I’m just going to cut to the chase and lay it all out there. Presume I’m in good company.


Labelling myself extrasensory is an understatement. I feel so much, too much. It takes time to develop effective ways to dampen or block out the white noise, so as to get a break. Particularly when it came to my enemies hexing me using word spells.


I remember really feeling it as my children grew up and got themselves into scrapes, involving, say, drinking or being ‘round bad company - drug dealers and the like. I felt their distress, pain and other upsets as though it were me. This deeply uncomfortable experience is one of the definitions of being an empath.


This hypersensitivity often drives empaths to drink or drugs in the vain hope that self-medicating might shut it off. I cannot drink - for me, the effect is of everything going out of sync, the timing goes all off. Thoughts and words simply do not synchronise. Some people might enjoy that sensation, I don’t.

As for drugs, I gave them up after a couple of years intensive use in my early teens, when again, the effect of marijuana was to massively amplify my already excruciating hypersensitivity.


I stayed with it back then, ruggedly determined to desensitise, but it only got worse. To the point of even a mere whiff of dope smoke somewhere in the vicinity bringing on an unbearable sensation akin to being a raw nerve, a harp string twanging in every passing breeze. That’s the only way I can explain it. So for survival, I had to go absolutely cleanskin in every way.

I’m telling you all this so you understand the extreme degree of sensitivity I live with. I’m not the only one, there are many with varying degrees of sensitivity.

The “extrasensory perception” definition describes your ability to receive and process

information independent of your five senses. Because extrasensory literally means

“outside the senses,” this phenomenon refers to your “sixth” sense.

This ability is also unbound by the limits of time and space, taking on several

different shapes and forms—from manipulating physical objects or knowing

the thoughts of others to seeing into the future.



Now, when I began intensively meditating again, the re-awakening of my abilities was extreme, and hasn’t shut off since. Telepathy and mind-reading are very real for me. However, it’s not a constant, there are many times I have to double-check my psychic impressions. I find when I block an impression, the door will start closing on that time of connection with Spirits, damming up.


So I have to go with it and flow with it as the messages come, and for me that’s often a rather speedy process. Again, that's how it rolls.


It was when I reached out to those I viewed as part of some larger psychic community, those who made a living with their abilities, that my troubles began.


***


Big Trouble in Paradise




Now wait just a minute! Where was I going with the Extrasensory thing? Its crucial I follow that thread all the way through, as it’s the key to the door of my past life memories. To the Akashic records. I was trying to tell you that I found a way to stop the worst of the psychic attacks, which are, even now, as constant as the air I breathe. By then I'd tried ‘most everything I could think of.


One of the most effective ‘psychic noise blockers’ unexpectedly turned out to be watching movies. Had to be good movies too. Now, I’d fully stopped watching TV and movies for about five years up to that moment, but prior to that had been a bit of a movie buff, so it wasn’t too hard to get back into the swing of it. I learnt I had to religiously avoid most ads - toxic as all hell - and also bypass certain online movie posters that carried a definite designer sting, guaranteed to bring you down in one fell swoop.


Once I got that going, watching some great Nordic or other Noir series kept me attack free for as long as I wanted. My scattered focus gradually came back together again too.


But I was totally over American tripe, and scoured the international film sites for quality scripts, acting and cinematography.


Now I was into my Turkish phase and I hit a goldmine - the Mother Lode! The Magnificent Century: Kösem' series! No expense had been spared on any aspect of this lavish production and it was high high quality.


Then it happened, I was triggered. But in a good way. I sat in dead silence for the longest time after the last and 60th episode of the excellent two-part series. I knew. Something very deep inside me had activated and this is why we’re here. Discussing together the awakening to this past life. I’m sure some will love hearing about my recollections, just as I’m equally sure I’ll get hatemail and other trolling reactions from those who cannot bear the thought of me even being alive, let alone being a queen in one lifetime, despite the humble beginnings.


Anyway, their hate is their stuff.


Meanwhile I’ll do my level best to present my journey, my realizations and my memories to you all in the most sensitive way possible. I offer my deepest respect to the Greek and Turkish people, and also to both the Greek Orthodox Christians and Sunni Islamic religions, both religions Kösem followed at different times in her life. If I should inadvertently offend, please bear with me and forgive me, as I do all in my power not to tread on anyone’s toes. Too hard.


***


In retrospect, those psychically attacking me saw a goldmine in me. Not only when they touched me did things start going incredibly well for them, things for me went badly downhill as they literally drained me like a battery. They didn’t even have to physically touch me. A viewing on the internet was enough. More than enough.

But one thing they didn’t count on was the power of my gaze.


I explain this more in my Trilogy. Viewed as highly disturbing by one Emenike La, my gaze actually has the power of a true silver-tongue. I have that ability too. To bring something into existence through the power of the Word.

It’s taken me a long time to get a grip on this unasked-for ability. It’s just one of those things I can do and in denial about for a long time. The reversal and binding spells my enemies placed on my abilities, reversed my good intentions from manifesting, turned good into mud. And led many to think I’m evil which I’m not.


But what my enemies saw was a woman with absolutely no idea whatsoever of any of her abilities. A veritable treasure-trove that was theirs for the taking. And taking and taking and taking.

That I’ve now remembered is one of their worst nightmares come true!

I don’t see a hell of a lot of difference between Psi-vampires and the Sanguinary Vampire breed in many ways. The plundering, theft and harvesting of the life essence of a good soul can often lead to their death just as surely as the blood drinkers guzzling on the jugular can.

And the effect, I’ve heard, can oft lead to some losing the entirety of their essence, even their soul. That’s not going to happen to me I can assure you. Not to say they haven’t tried and aren’t still trying, the devils.

Remembering


Image from The Magnificent Century: Kösem' series



“If there is anything, a book, a piece of fabric, a flower, whatever, that generates that instant, wow, gut-sinking feeling, that is an acid test that it’s extremely likely

to have come from a past-life experience.”

Anthea Wynn,


How it happens is almost always unexpected. I've had some past life recollections when consciously going into a trance and letting the stories in, but more often than not, they come during everyday life.

I can’t remember where they began - the memories - so I’ll start in Greece, as good a place as any.

Yet even as I write up this particular lifetime recall, I’m shocked … no … why am I shocked? It’s entirely predictable that my enemies are suddenly all jumping up and down saying online that this is THEIR memory! Oh my God, where does their garbage end and reality begin.


Look closer my friends and ask yourself, what does the sudden ramping up of their sick competitive behavior indicate?

First – they’re hacked into my computer, reading what I’m writing.

Second – they seek to once more steal another of my past lifetime memories.

And third – they’ll stop at nothing to take everything that’s mine.

I hope you see.


Because I have links to Greece past and present, and because they want everything I have, they want this past lifetime memory of mine to be theirs. Like horrible small children they shriek, “Not yours! It’s mine! Mine!”


Let’s look at a couple of Australian so-called ‘psychics’ who might be part of this crew I’m discussing right now.

***



Niki Stewart to me: “My people hate the Greeks!”


For example,let's take Niki Stewart, once a 'friend', now revealed as a hater and vicious lying thieving enemy. During a conversation I once referred to her Greek heritage and she became angry. When I asked why my reference angered her, she replied,

“My people hate the Greeks! Never say that again!”

I apologized and asked who her ‘people’ were. She replied they were Macedonian.


So for her to ascribe Greek links to herself since then has been so laughable I can’t even begin to describe it.


***

Then there's Rayleen Kable who sold herself on TV as Native American - actually Maori …


Niki's good mate, the so-called ‘psychic’ Rayleen Kable, was selling herself to the gullible public as Native American when I first saw her on Psychic TV. That is, until she was outed as Māori, something I’d known from the get-go.

So let’s talk about honesty and truth right here right now.


The war is real, this is no Game.

The Greek Connection


Me aged 11 on our Maleny farm ( we rented the old farmhouse surrounded by fields) with my faithful skilled snake-killer dog Banjo and a cow skull I’d just found. Apologies to anyone offended by my half naked appearance, that’s how it was that stinking hot tropical afternoon on 100 acres of cattle grazing pasture and no one else in sight. I was a free and wild child, completely innocent and uninhibited when running round the farm, with no clue as to whether I was pretty or not, and of course, always fully clothed at any other time! This was taken a few months prior to our Sydney move.


I was twelve or so when my mother and I moved into Shane Johnston’s family mansion in Raglan Street Mosman. We’d made the huge interstate move from our gorgeous old farmhouse planted within one hundred acres of green paddocks in Maleny in Queensland, after it was sold by the owner.

My mother Rose decided on Sydney, hometown of her elderly father Keith, for a fresh start.

I was in my first years of high school and the move was welcome, I couldn't warm to either Nambour High nor Maleny High, for opposing reasons. Cremorne Girls High turned out a dream come true,with its strong focus on contemporary performing arts, literature, art and a talented choir whose brilliant renditions of gorgeous Latin hymns filled my heart with wonder. I immediately joined! The standards were high.

Family portrait of the Clift -Johnstons, with sad-eyed Shane at far left, brother Martin sitting behind her, mother Charmian Clift next to Shane’s father George Johnston, and her younger brother, Jason in forefront. I believe this photo was taken only a few months before Charmian’s suicide in 1969. Jason is now the only surviving member of this photo.


Shane was the daughter of the famous Australian couple, published authors and prolific writers George Johnston and Charmian Clift. A rather tragic family, she was still emotionally raw from her mother’s suicide in ‘69 and her father’s death of TB a year later.


Her brother Martin, a talented writer but sadly also an addict, also died young, whether by suicide or alcoholism I'm not sure, as I've received mixed stories about the manner of his passing.


Shane's eldest brother Martin Johnston, talented poet and author


She was convinced beyond all reason that suicide was her family curse - and her own fate. I’ll never forget that awful day she privately predicted to me she knew she’d take herself out the same way.


Poem by Martin Johnston

When, she wouldn’t say, all she knew was that it was definite. I was terribly shaken by this sharing of such a self -destructive prophecy. I’d fallen madly in love with the twenty-five-year-old husky-voiced stunner with her boyish crop of blonde hair and a keen intelligence she couldn’t see in herself. But I was so young, too young, so it wasn’t a love that could ever be.

Shane was as obsessed with me as I with her. At first I didn’t know what to make of all her loving attention, I’d never experienced anything like it.


“You remind me of my best friend in Hydra called Maria. Not only do you look exactly like her, I feel like she’s here whenever you’re around. I can’t explain it! I just know you make me feel calm again,” she explained one day, “When I was a child, we did everything together - we were everything to eachother. I miss her so badly! Then you come into my life! And it’s not just that, it’s you.”


She smiled at me as though my face made the sun rise in her heart. It certainly had in mine.


But Shane’s heart had been broken in just about every way you can possibly imagine.


She’d grown up in Greece on the little island of Hydra with her accomplished and famous family, surrounded by many amazing creative folks. Leonard Cohen and his girlfriend Marianne, the writer Charles W. Heckstall, Allen Ginsberg, Margaret Olley and other luminaries often gathered with her family ‘round an old café table under shady fig trees laughing, drinking, musing, singing and playing guitar in the fading light of the day.



Just another of those glorious Hydra afternoons at the legendary local café with a sublime gathering of brilliant writers and artists such as Charles W. Heckstall, Leonard Cohen, Charmian, George, Marianne, and others who remain unnamed. Is that Bob Dylan? I'm really not sure - yes I am! It is Bobby!

But despite this incredible circle of artists and writers, her childhood was far from idyllic, with barbiturates and alcohol the order of the day behind closed doors, her mother Charm a violent abusive drunk, her ill father darkly jealous of his beautiful restless wife.


Yet her romanticised memories of Hydra haunted her like a lost dream after her parents ill-fated decision to move back to Sydney when she was twelve.



Shane and Martin hiding from yet another photo op behind their mother. Hydra

For a young free spirit, used to running 'round her entire life thus far, wild and half naked - just like me in Maleny - clambering over the rocky hills of Hydra like a little mountain goat, or diving into the pristine sparkling Aegean Sea under a sky she described as an impossibly clear blue with a certain kind of sunlight that Australia apparently cannot imagine, moving to Sydney was akin to being locked in a cage in an ugly stinking zoo.


She hated it. With a passion.


She called herself a half-breed: half Greek half not, and never felt at home anywhere again. Her soul was lost, she belonged to Greece.



When we met she was on a cliff edge, already half gone. She stayed on planet Earth a while longer, lavishing love and affection on me for the next couple of years as I flourished under her attentions. But my mother and I finally moved out due to my mother Rose having such similar drug and alcohol habits to Charmian that Shane just couldn’t bear it. They almost came to blows a number of times.

Still Shane was my knight in shining armour, racing to my rescue in her red Alfa Romeo to pick me up from the phone box I was waiting by at Spit Junction, after yet another of my mother’s exceedingly drunk and violent rages forced me to run out onto the street. I stayed with her many times, right up 'til about a week before her heartbreaking death.

After Shane moved to Chippendale due to a consensus family decision to sell the Mosman home, she finally did it. Committed suicide. Her sudden death hit me like a wrecking ball.


For an extensive period of time my state of mind was in numb shock, and it was within those vulnerable early months of grief that Patrick (the father of my children to be) arrived from England. How else can I ever excuse my extremely poor judgement around him, my willingness to self-medicate with dope, then further numb myself with terrible sex.


I’ve written elsewhere on the devastation her death brought my heart. I mean, on top of the extreme grief of her loss from my life, the woman killed herself on my fifteenth birthday (the 27th of October) during my first on-stage performance of a jazz ballet piece in St Leonards Park. The timing felt like a loaded gun aimed straight at my heart.


Like flaming bullets coming at me from every direction, her death hit every part of me, razing me to the ground.



'In the history of tragedy, the House of Johnston seems fit to rival the House of Atreus.

And in both, some primal curse passes from generation to generation.'


John Lucas



Our connection was karmic. An old, old love that had no place in this lifetime.

Let’s dwell on this momentarily. We were brought together rather serendipitously through her tiny ad in the SMH looking for a mother and daughter to share the massive home she was rattling ‘round in with her own daughter.



My grandfather Keith Cairnes gazing rather pensively across Middle Harbour
towards Manly. Astronomical data on the wall behind. 1979: His last year in Mosman.


My highly intelligent humanist grandfather, an astronomy lecturer, had corresponded with her mother Charmian for years. Strikingly handsome in his day with a brilliant mind to match, Keith was by then fading quietly and gently into a stout and gout-stricken old age.

Yet his mind was as piercing as ever, and I imagine Charm awaited his fascinating epistles with great anticipation, just as he did hers.


They lived on opposite sides of Mosman, he on the Pacific Ocean side and she on the Sydney Ferry side. Only minutes apart, they never met as far as I know. Theirs was purely a meeting of minds.


She’d published most of their quirky letters to eachother in her regular Sunday Column in the Sydney Morning Herald, then published an entire chapter about him in her book 'The World of Charmian Clift', entitled ‘Feeling Slightly Tilted’.




This referred to his humorous worldview that we each stand in the centre of our own world and everyone else is slightly tilted. A very interesting man. So there was that going on already.




Less than a year after she had begun her SMH column, her first collection, Images in Aspic, was published with an introduction by Johnston. “Charmian Clift writes thoughtfully and carefully,” he wrote.

***


I not only fell in love with Shane, I also fell for Greece. And now it was everywhere. Her best friend Gabriella was an intelligent, elegantly sophisticated and very beautiful Greek woman whom I adored and wanted to adopt me.


Shane’s boyfriend was Greek, Calla (‘good’), a no-good man in my eyes, who soon left her to marry a Greek girl, something she could never be to his family. This uncompromising and non-negotiable rejection was a heavy blow, a king hit that knocked all the breath out of her.

All the while, she and I were having this highly intense un-named thing.

After dressing me in upmarket hippie clothes she’d stored away in the old wooden trunk at the end of her bed, I sat there feeling like a gorgeous supermodel while she taught me the entire Greek alphabet and all their numbers. I swiftly became highly proficient, so we moved on to conversing in beginner Greek.


I was high as a kite! I loved it.


Then we’d hop into her very cool sports car and head off to some precious little delicatessen hidden in the back streets of the suburbs to buy certain mandatory ingredients for dinner. The old Greek Yia-yia tickled me under my chin and called me adorable, stuffing handfuls of lollies into my pockets.

Once home, we cooked up a storm, carefully layering feta cheese, spinach, chives and leeks into a delicious Spanakopita, then ate baked slices with our fingers ‘til it came out our ears. My favorite food to date.

For dessert it was tiny, intensely sweet Baklavas, made of tissue-thin layers of baked filo pastry stuffed with chopped pistachio, honey and slivered almonds, making your teeth ache after just one bite.


Our coffee was prepared Turkish style, served in small silver cups and strong as a horse’s kick.


Original works of world-renowned Australian artists such as Charles Blackman, Arthur Boyd, Ray Crooke, Robert Dickerson, Russell Drysdale, Sidney Nolan and Lloyd Rees were scattered around the house, artfully covering the worst spots of peeling wallpaper and mouldy old paint. I recognised their art, and Shane said all of them had been gifts to her parents from the artists themselves. The living room was basically wall-to-wall bookshelves crammed with thousands of dusty tomes. I was fully in my element.

True tales of my favorite black-and-white Vampire Movie star Vincent Price having sat in the very chair I was now sitting in left me a little breathless. He really was my idol!

There were many ghostly presences haunting the place, but for me they were always positive. I felt approved of and supported by the spirits that dwelt there.


They let me know in no uncertain terms that I should feel I had a free run of the place.

Vincent Price!

And so I did.


Such as the day I somehow unlocked her father George’s utterly sacrosanct study and sat clacking away for hours on his precious old typewriter, writing mad poetry and changing the ribbons when they died with others I found stashed away in the drawers of his battered old wooden desk, getting black ink all over my fingers.



Clean Straw for Nothing, 1969


Shane loved it, standing outside in the kitchen ironing away and singing ‘The Way We Were’ or ‘I don’t know how to love him’ at the top of her lungs, endless smoking her fave ciggies. This scenario happened many times after that first day, and a good time was had by all! Our rebel souls fully aligned.

I was seen as the one who walked through locked doors and found heaven behind them.


In Shane’s eyes I could do no wrong. To her I was Greece right there in her home, despite the fact I’ve no known Greek blood in me this time ‘round! To her I was Greek and that was that!


Perhaps my presence kept her here a little longer. I truly believe she’d have died sooner if we hadn’t met. That our relationship had no outlet for the powerful desires we both felt was probably another factor in the many complex reasons for her decision to self-destruct. Including her rejection by the Greek man. Bisexuality was and is such a no-no it could never be discussed. For me it’s a given.


While she was here, I had no clue as to what to do with the highly charged energies between us, I was eaten alive by them. I felt fully alive.

To her, I was life.

In those years I was utterly saturated with Greek culture, with even her Greek friends presuming I too was Greek.


In later times I reflected on those meetings with remarkable people such as Shane, and wondered how the hell they came to be, so unbelievable were they.

Yet an underlying message was that of Greece, overlaid with my karmic connection with Shane which I believe will have another day in another way in some other time.


Back on Hydra again, with Shane between father George and mother Charm,
who’s being embraced by a small unnamed girl, then Martin.
A photo that's become rather iconic in writerly circles.

And who could ever resist this last piece of work?


The very sexy Anthony Quinn teaching Alan Bates a thing or two: ‘the whole catastrophe!’ to use Zorba’s own words!


This was the vibe in Shane’s kitchen after a hard week at work or school. We made plates of Dolmades - rice-stuffed vine leaves - and Gabriella provided a bottle or two of the very potent anise (black liquorice) flavored Ouzo. After a thimbleful or two (if I was very lucky), we were off!


Despite the ever-present black cloud of past and pending tragedy hovering over us all, we danced and sang and talked and laughed ‘til we all fell off our chairs.


Zorba just about sums the whole thing up. A good note to end on I think.


Zorba the Greek. Greek title: Αλέξης Ζορμπάς (Alexis Zorbas) is a 1964 film directed by
Cypriot Michael Cacoyannis and starring Anthony Quinn as the title character.
It's based on the novel 'Zorba the Greek' by Nikos Kazantzakis.
The supporting cast includes Alan Bates, Lila Kedrova, Irene Papas.
Μουσική * Music: Μίκης Θεοδωράκης * Mikis Theodorakis.


Greece ahh my Greece, I love thee still. And always will.

“But what has any of this to do with Kösem?” you ask maybe a tad querulously.

My answer is, “Nothing. And everything.”

For it’s these threads of memory that indicate where you’ve been, inexplicably disparate at the time, yet in retrospect loaded with nuance.


It’s these re-connections, like synapses sparking, that show where you’ve lived in other times, illustrating who you’ve been. Those foods, languages, places and people that jolt your hearts memories into a new rhythm. That’s the whole point.


Where people see you as ‘Greece’ herself despite you never having been there - we must pay attention. When we feel love for a country never seen this lifetime, and a yearning for the seas of the Mediterranean, the chalk white houses and the color blue. Oh, those impossible blues. All these are clues of a past life, signifying a powerful connection with a far-off land.

I’ve had many memories of many cultures, but in this case we’re on a specific trajectory - tracing the journey of one past life in particular. These re-connections with a karmic love and a culture, these intense feelings of kinship and familiarity, all these clues are signposts pointing unerringly to Greece.


Kösem’s birthplace and childhood home.

'The Greek Connection' SOURCES:









Copyright © 2023 by Julie Von Nonveiller Cairnes. All rights reserved.


This is only Part One of my Kösem Sultan past life recollections.

Please keep reading on to Part Two (coming soon) where we really dive deep into my past life memories of life as Kösem Sultan.





Kaliníhta agápi mu, Filákia!

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