of my 'I've been everywhere, man' series
Some of my past lifetime recollections
brought back to life for you
Image of myself (L) photoshopped beside actress Nurgül Yeşilçay (R) who played
Kösem Sultan in the Turkish series Magnificent Century: Kösem
"I know I am deathless…We have thus far exhausted trillions of winters and summers,
There are trillions ahead, and trillions ahead of them."
– Walt Whitman
LOOK, IF YOU DON’T THINK REINCARNATION is a thing, I’m not here to convince you. I’m here to talk to those who understand the process exists, mysterious as it is. There are not enough hours in the day to try educating the ignorant or convincing the disbelievers. I cannot waste my time. Let’s cut to the chase. When you know you just know.
Let’s start there.
There’s nothing quite like undergoing personal past lifetime regressions to confirm the repetitive nature of my enemies’ continuous relentless attempts to replace me with some stooge with a view to making her into the image of me. With the added nastiness of trying to destroy me along the way. So wrong, people! Time after time they try and fail.
“We interact in these five dimensions simultaneously. The process of interaction happens through the aspect of karma. What is karma? The literal meaning of karma is action, and it has been used in many different ways to define the levels of human interaction,
to define the nature which is manifesting in one's life.”
– Swami Niranjana
The problem with the Veils of Forgetfulness is those folks never recall how dismal their failures are each time, and the toll it takes on their bloodlines. Not to mention their ever-growing list of criminal acts recorded in the Akashic library, a list as long now as infinity. Not to mention the impact on their karma. So they never learn. Each new lifetime they try all over again. Sigh.
I’m tired. They must be by now. Yet they have this chronic compulsion to keep having another go at me. It’s their addiction.
And looking back in time to my lifetime as Kösem, there it is, in our faces. Trying to replace me from the very start!
Admittedly, Ahmet does some bad things to bring me to him once more, but as always they try supplanting me with one of their moles, and it’s on again for young and old. Yet another lifetime of shite. For everyone, no exceptions. The entire world is affected by their continuous attempts on my life. And of course, Ahmet dies young. Who wouldn’t? I wish I had.
Doesn’t matter the scenario, there they are.
"The souls must reenter the absolute substance whence they have emerged. But to accomplish this, they must develop all the perfections, the germ of which is planted in them; and if they have not fulfilled this condition during one life, they must commence another, a third, and so forth, until they have acquired the condition
which fits them for reunion with God."
– Jalalu 'D-Din Rumi, Sufi mystic
Now let me just make this crystal clear. I’m not writing this in order to create another repetition. Oh no, my dear friends. It’s over for them. This time they go into the light, or the dark. Whichever takes them first. Either way it spells their end. Ended, over and out, never again. Gone into God’s great cosmic mulching machinery. Because this reality is over them and spitting them out with great disgust.
Now the next thing we need to address with the whole reincarnation thing are people’s misconceptions and preconceived ideas, all that.
“One should act without thinking that oneself is the actor.
The actions go on despite his agelessness.
The person has come into manifestation for a certain purpose.
That purpose will be accomplished whether he considers himself
the actor or not.”
– Ramana Maharshi
First, we don’t always look the same in each lifetime, we don’t arrive each and every lifetime, with the same hair color, facial features and skin colour. I don’t know why I have to say this, but I can see many judgments are being made around this false idea.
Yes, sometimes we’re the dead-spit of a past lifetime or past ancestor. These things can be deceiving, as can the idea that we are reborn into the same culture, bloodline, family and religion et al each and every time.
Throw away these mistaken concepts, my friends!
Every lifetime has its own unique taste and flavour and there are many diverse factors discussed within the Akashic Light Guardians Council with our Oversoul Self, that lead to the lives we live and varied appearances we take.
"Reincarnation" film by Karl Lagerfeld ft. P. Williams, C. Delevingne & G. Chaplin | CHANEL
If you don’t understand the Laws of Karma you won’t understand the Laws of Cause and Effect.
“The meaning of karma is in the intention.
The intention behind action is what matters”
– The Gita
Thus someone hideous like Dr Mengele may very well have had a series of recent lifetimes as a lab monkey experiment, being operated on in horrendous ways so he gets the gist of the horrors he perpetrated during his Nazi lifetime.
You see? No one would recognise him and he’d be held captive in the psychopathic hands of sadists just like him. We might hope this to be so. He doesn’t just get to repeat his brutal sadism on Innocents time after time -– did you think this to be so? No.
But again, don't think all lab rats are Dr Mengele types getting bad karma -– most are just poor innocent creatures being tortured by yet more creepy sadists.
“The subject of karma and destiny is a very difficult one to talk about and understand, because to experience karma and destiny is a lifelong process beyond human comprehension.”
– Swami Niranjana
Karma doesn’t always operate in obvious ways. Karma and Cause and Effect are a slow-moving operation and can take many lifetimes to play out. It might be hard to understand each time just what we're paying for -– or being rewarded for. You’ll get your answers later -– when having that great cappuccino moment in the sky, reviewing your last life.
“Still others commit all sorts of evil deeds, claiming karma doesn't exist.
They erroneously maintain that since everything is empty, committing evil isn't wrong. Such persons fall into a hell of endless darkness with no hope of release. Those who are wise hold no such conception.”
The fact that a number of demonic entities have tampered with Akashic timelines and other crucial deciding factors of the Akasha doesn’t help. The sick interference of witches, vampires and demons is part of the greater Battle between Light and Dark. The original Blood wars.
Another story for another day. Which I go into in much greater depth in my forthcoming trilogy Love + Power: Interview with a Dhamphir.
NOTE: These online Memoirs of Past Lives are naturally not as complex and intensive as my books, I’m forced to keep them brief for various reasons. Please forgive me for leaving out a million other important facets of my life as Kösem. I focused on certain points of reference to give a succinct overview of my process of past life regression.
“The written word is the greatest sacred documentation.”
― Lailah Gifty Akita, 'Pearls of Wisdom: Great Mind'
Valide-i Muazzama Kösem Sultan | The real power
I LIVE IN A TIME where orders are given with a flicker in the eyes, a subtle lift of an eyebrow, a slight shift and lift of the jaw, or a discreet pursing of the lips, keeping the eyes shaded. A skill I've mastered. Partially to keep the coarseness out of giving direct orders. Such refined delicacy needs a keen eye to catch, understand and correctly act on it.
The thing is, many of us were originally slaves brought here against our will. No, I correct myself. We were not originally slaves, for we all had other lives before the Palace. I am a Priest’s daughter, and others come from farms, or were craftspeople, or worked in shops in the villages. We have a silent almost telepathic understanding between us, we the stolen children.
Admittedly there have been other times where I’ve shouted in sudden anger, frustration or dismay, so I’m not always elegantly subtle, it’s true. Things happen that trigger a knee-jerk reaction, and it’s not always easy to practice restrained diplomacy.
I can’t count the number of times a group of elite assassins have turned the corner of some room I’m in, dressed from head to toe in deadly black leather, heads hooded and faces masked and that give-away thin silken cord dangling dangerously from one hand. Executioners on their way to strangle some unfortunate -– their ‘crime’ usually that of simply being alive, their existence a threat to some higher- up, usually the Sultan, whether male or female. Doesn’t matter.
And each time I see that troupe of relentless assassins pass by, a cry is wrenched from the depths of my soul, sometimes voiced, sometimes swallowed.
Yes I’ve shouted. And yes I’ve been subtle and silently expressive to those who know and understand me. There are those who truly get me.
These are some of my Past Life Memoirs, friends, uncut and uncensored. I’ll keep it short and sweet, because I’ve already said much to clearly lay out the situation we were all in. Most of us had been slaves at some time.
Most Sultan's mothers were not Turkish.
On some census count of the times, at least seventy five percent of the population were seen to have originated as slaves in Ottoman society.
I mean, what do you think this does to a person? And a larger population?
It's hard to say in actuality. Because clearly many ‘slaves’ became devoted fanatical protectors of both Islam and the entire Ottoman culture.
'Tho there are also stories of certain slaves who refused to convert and were speared through the chest for their commitment to their religion, usually Christians.
Yet the strangest fact of all is that the majority of Ottoman society who were followers of Islam had converted from Christianity, and were now fanatically faithful to their new masters and spiritual path.
There are other telling factors within all this.
Many men arrived as prisoners of war and had their manhood savagely cut off (by Christians, please note, prior to their arrival at slave markets) in a painfully barbaric manner. Many women had been kidnapped then stripped naked and sold in stinking slave markets. Perhaps such extreme terrorising factors shifted one’s thinking a little when it came to captivity and your long-term survival.
Then there’s the fact that generally slavery has a use-by date in Ottoman culture.
For example, many Harem women usually leave that life after ten or so years and are married off to a high-ranking man -– pashas and viziers -– not left to languish in some brothel or die in the streets as you might have imagined. However others were required to live out the rest of their lives in monastic isolation and seclusion
and provides access to the Mediterranean Sea | World Atlas
And of course there were the hundreds, nay, more likely thousands of unfortunate Harem women who were tied into weighted sacks -– some heavily pregnant -– and thrown into the Bosphorus to drown, usually because of some aggravation or jealousy of a mad master, and not of their own doing. Or sometimes just to make room for new blood ...
Death could come in an instant, and you didn’t necessarily have to do anything to bring it down.
Then there’s the beauty and power of Islam, the Words of the Prophet striking a deep chord within the heart and soul of many. And others who carried both religions silently within their heart, openly paying fealty to the one pre-dominant religion of the place.
But shouldn’t one come freely to a religion? Am I joking? In what period of history has religion ever been a free choice? Moving forward. We cannot waste a second more of our precious time on the vexatious question of free choice in religion throughout history.
The Ottoman Empire
Sublime Ottoman State
دولت عليه عثمانیه
Devlet-i ʿAlīye-i ʿOsmānīye
'The Ottoman Empire, historically and colloquially known as the Turkish Empire, was an empire that controlled much of Southeast Europe, Western Asia, and Northern Africa between the 14th and early 20th centuries. The empire also controlled an eastern region of Central Europe from the 16th to the late 17th century. The empire was founded at the end of the13th century in northwestern Anatolia in the town of Söğüt (modern-day Bilecik Province) by the Turkoman tribal leader Osman I. After 1354, the Ottomans crossed into Europe and, with the conquest of the Balkans, the Ottoman beylik was transformed into a transcontinental empire. The Ottomans ended the Byzantine Empire with the conquest of Constantinople in 1453 by Mehmed II.' Source: Ottoman Empire
Benjamin Constant, 1876 | Museé des Augustins, Toulouse
‘From the 14th through the early 20th century, the Middle East consisted of a hybrid civilization composed of various tribes and peoples stretching from the Balkans down through the Arabian Peninsula under the auspices of the Ottoman Empire. To its promoters, Constantinople administered a multicultural society that balanced ethnic and religious differences into a harmonious whole. To its detractors, the Ottoman regime was a decadent, degenerate ruling class that lived above the poverty of its servants and relied upon an endless supply of slaves to feed its military and royal harems. In the end, economic and political weakness led to the empire’s unraveling, as nationalism in the wake of the first world war broke the back of the empire and led it to the carve up into the modern Turkish state and the surrounding nations.’
Adam Smith, ‘Sunset of the Ottomans’
My time in the Ottoman Empire was extraordinary. I do feel it was my only lifetime in that particular aspect of Turkish culture, although I’m deeply familiar with ancient Turks from other times. Also Mongolian, Siberian, Tibetan, Chinese, Japanese and other cultures who at many times were in terrible conflict with eachother.
There’s a deeper reason for this. Which I’m bringing to light now, my friends. Because I was chosen to incarnate into all those warring cultures to tell the story later – now – and remind us all that many of you were also there.
We've all been on both sides of the table, both sides of the river, and each end of town. It's simply that I remember and many don’t. And that I carry an enduring love for each of those conflicting cultures within my breast.
And there’s more, of course. My own nature stands at the Zero Point, the shamanic position In The Centre Of All Things, the one who can see both sides of the story. The good shaman is the one who brings together the two tribes from each side of the river to have peace talks. Because beneath it all they truly love eachother, the all-consuming hatred just overcame clear thinking.
And I for one completely understand the enduring nature of profound hatred!
Hatred. Hmm. It certainly deserves closer examination.
Hamas + Zion
Image | Magnificent Century: Kösem
Even as I write, a fierce war has broken out yet again between Hamas (Sunni Islamists) and Zionists in the Gaza strip area (October '23). Perhaps here and now is the time to examine the rationale for hatred. Loving your enemy yet hating their evil, is it a bit too late? Hoping people see the light and stop being so cruel, asking ‘why can’t we all just get along’ is just not going to cut it. Too much damage done. Too much destruction and terrible suffering. With flaring emotions of extremely vengeful belligerence on both sides, where will it end?
And while we are treated to the somewhat bizarre sight of warlords such as Erdoğan and Putin putting their hands up to mediate peace talks, we know that they know that achieving a compromise on either side will be a Herculean task. Mission Impossible, some say.
Turkish President Recep Tayyip Erdoğan being the earnest diplomat? Interesting times, as the old Chinese saying goes. And Putin, my old frenemy? All I can say is ‘go for it, the both of you’. Can’t do any harm, might even do some good.
I find the timing of this latest explosive outbreak more than interesting, and was put on the spot for a few days… wondering where my Kösem memoirs could go from here, in the midst of all the heavy politicking, recriminations, finger pointing, and the utter, utter inevitability of it all. Happening now.
Well, we knew it was going to happen, something anyway, as black storm clouds grew increasingly threatening on the horizon, and here it is. Russia and Ukraine duking it out on the one hand, and the Zionists and Hamas bombing the hell out of eachother on the other.
God knows, in my lifetime as Kösem I survived many wars. And in my view – no matter what he might think due to religious beliefs – Erdoğan is another reincarnate from those times. I can smell it from here. I’m not sure how, who and when he was there, but a high-ranking officer in the Ottoman Empire he surely was, I count three times he was there during as many centuries, and now holds an incredible nostalgia for those times close to his heart.
Now we will see what kind of battle strategies he carried back from then, with the knowing of the savagery of a war that cannot be won. The brilliance in Chinese General Sun Tzu’s advice. When retreat might be the only option to save precious people. But such intelligent action is unlikely right now. The Palace – read World – is overrun with way too many bats, perhaps what’s happening is totally out of all our hands.
I know I have to fight my own wars and cannot ever back down, and God knows, neither can those in the throes of such outrageous destruction.
We will never surrender to evil.
So? In the face of such odds, what? What do we do.
To be honest, I’m not participating in debating this war. We don’t have all the facts. Much is hidden. Again, I am the shaman in the centre of all things, seeking to find common ground. Again, I seek to declaw those religions seeking to rip each-others heads off with their bare hands, and re-open that old robust dialogue between the mystics of all religions. This is what’s badly missing.
Unfortunately, my discovery that the current crop of so-called ‘elders’ in power are a terribly corrupt lot doesn’t lend much strength to my argument, and I’m sorry about that. Not my fault.
Elder Council Chambers | Interior Imperial Palace | Skyrim
The serious nature of this problem opens another relevant discussion about building a circle of elders that’s NOT corrupt. And how to decide that. An audition process for clean, intelligent, educated, wise, healthy elders – what would that look like? Then how long before the other truth kicks in –that absolute power breeds absolute corruption? How to keep 'em incorruptible?
I gather the United Nation is intended to fill this glaring gap. And now BRICS.
When it comes to land, like Native Americans I feel shocked, as I don’t concur with the view that the Earth can be bought or sold, it belongs to all. The need for factions to group together, skin colors and religions, I do understand, with the violent supremacy element still extant. Hanging together lends some illusion of safety I guess, however it also makes you a larger target when it comes to attack.
"Our land is more valuable than your money. It will last forever. It will not even perish by the flames of fire. As long as the sun shines and the waters flow, this land will be here to give life to men and animals. We cannot sell the lives of men and animals; therefore we cannot sell this land. It was put here for us by the Great Spirit and we cannot sell it because it does not belong to us. You can count your money and burn it within the nod of a buffalo's head, but only the great Spirit can count the grains of sand and the blades of grass of these plains. As a present to you, we will give you
anything we have that you can take with you, but the land, never."
– Crowfoot, Chief of the Blackfeet, circa 1885
Then again, on further reflection, the Native Americans had their territories, tribes, boundaries, sacred places and burial grounds. So we can all see the matter of who was where first and whose Prophet deigned the dirt beneath one's feet as belonging to whoever, all bears further rumination and deeper discussion if we are to have any hope whatsoever of reaching any intelligent resolution. Serious contradictions are rife.
But bombing the living bejesus out of innocent people is completely empty of intelligence.
Empire of Beauty
Topkapi Sarayi or ‘Cannongate Palace’ was built in 1465 and the administrative centre of the Ottoman Empire. The Sultan’s private sanctuary, Topkapi Palace is a world of its own, a satellite city within a city, an island grounded on land. The giant complex is the epitome of elegant refinement with heavenly views from its expansive and exquisitely tiled balconies. If you were one of the lucky ones, the blessed ones, who got to see the views, that is. I was one such. The sheer size and grandeur of the entire place is breathtaking. I showed you the floor plan of the Harem in Part Three of these memoirs, and just imagine, that was only one corner.
Empire of Pain
'The word Ottoman is a historical anglicisation of the name of Osman I, the founder of the Empire and of the ruling House of Osman (also known as the Ottoman dynasty). Osman's name in turn was the Turkish form of the Arabic name ʿUthmān (عثمان). In Ottoman Turkish, the empire was referred to as Devlet-i ʿAlīye-yi ʿOsmānīye (دولت عليه عثمانیه), lit. 'Sublime Ottoman State', or simply Devlet-i ʿOsmānīye (دولت عثمانيه), lit. 'Ottoman State'.
The Turkish word for "Ottoman" (Osmanlı) originally referred to the tribal followers of Osman in the fourteenth century. The word subsequently came to be used to refer to the empire's military-administrative elite. In contrast, the term "Turk" (Türk) was used to refer to the Anatolian peasant and tribal population and was seen as a disparaging term when applied to urban, educated individuals.
In the early modern period, an educated, urban-dwelling Turkish-speaker who was not a member of the military-administrative class would often refer to themself neither as an Osmanlı nor as a Türk, but rather as a Rūmī (رومى), or "Roman", meaning an inhabitant of the territory of the former Byzantine Empire in the Balkans and Anatolia. The term Rūmī was also used to refer to Turkish speakers by the other Muslim peoples of the empire and beyond.' Source: Ottoman Empire
There was an obvious agenda in Ottoman times of morphing Christianity into Islam. Now I’m no champion of Christianity, despite my great love of Jesus. My meetings with Christians of good character have been few and far between, and the history of Christianity is just as horrific, with as much blood on their hands, as every other religion.
In this current lifetime I’m fiercely persecuted by ‘Christians’. Fake Christians of course, true ones are rare and would never seek to harm me, knowing Jesus and I are on the very same page.
The evil ones are New Age Christians. Creepy people who actually worship evil and Satan. The extent of crime by their hands is equal to all others I accuse.
Again, I know I don’t stand exempt in my past lives. I don’t pretend to have never participated in wars or other harmful activities of persecution through my many, many lifetimes. As have you dear reader, as have you.
Time after time I’ve forgotten my higher celestial mission, becoming fully embroiled in the events of the day as though nothing else ever existed.
I’m convinced this happened during my lifetime as Kösem, along with other mitigating factors, plus a large dose of false and severely biased reporting about my rationale for certain actions I took and certain decisions I made.
Getting back to the agenda of transforming Christianity into Islam. I mean, the Hagia Sophia is a prime example.
The Desecration of Hagia Sophia | unknown artist
But how is it any different to whites or Christians defacing images of darker-skinned races in Ancient Egyptian depictions – cutting off any wider noses – some say this was to stop the breath of life; painting lighter colors over dark skin and so on. On the other hand, there were also lighter-skinned images in the original depictions of those cultures.
Fresco of Roman Senators gathering at the feet of the Imperial throne, painted over ancient reliefs | Luxor Temple, 3rd century AD | The American Research Center | Egypt
It’s a mess, that’s what is, it’s all just a huge God-damned mess.
Ultimately, one should never judge any person for the culture they're born into, each soul (hopefully) has its own individual ability to think and reason. Just as entire cultures are not responsible for the atrocities of certain of their ruling classes.
Getting back to the Ottoman Empire – which is where we walk for now. You see, I can never resist my shamanic impulse to look at both sides of the story. A blessing and a curse in one. Sigh.
The Hagia Sophia was completed in 537 AD. The church's desecration by the Crusaders in 1204 led to the final split between the Greek Orthodox and Roman Catholic churches. Mehmet II conquered Constantinople in 1453 and declared the Church to be a Mosque. Now it's just a Museum. A lot of bad blood here.
Jirair Tutunjian writes about color coding, that 'life for Christians living in 16th century Constantinople was subject to many humiliating restrictions. Armenians had to wear deep crimson shoes, Greeks black, Jews pale blue. They had to paint their houses black and wear black clothes. They had to dismount whenever they met a Muslim.'
I'm not writing this to defend Christians, far from it. However mutual respect is going to be the only way forward if we are to learn from the mistakes of the past.
A pipe dream, you say? A smokin' hot hookah full of opium? Maybe.
But you have to admit, it's the only way we can go forward, despite the deeply flawed rationale of land grabs, oil barons and the supremacy of wealth over all.
How do we rise above all those elite overlord wannabes to create another world? A new paradigm? A separate reality? What? No – I'm asking you! Ha! I don't have all the answers you know! One thing I'm not is an economist. I strongly believe in specialists – and many are being born with the requisite skills for the host of changes so badly needed.
Sunset of an Empire
The twenty-five sultans who followed Suleiman were, without exception, totally lacking in any of the qualities needed to rule. Enervated and enfeebled by seclusion and idleness filled with ennui, they sought pleasure and diversion in eerie and traditional forms of extravagance, self-indulgence, and vice,” wrote Prof. Barnette Miller in
“Beyond the Sublime Porte”.
There were twenty-seven Sultans between 1520 and 1915. Twelve were deposed and two were killed, says Tutunjian. Some say the seven hundred year (mis)rule of the Ottomans was characterized by corruption, violence, usurious taxation, authoritarianism, racism, a violent brand of Islam; plunder, slavery, sloth, unqualified rulers and the oppression of minorities.
I struggle to disagree, yet I have other memories, good ones, despite a terrible sorrow still lingering in my heart from those times, and the knowledge that many other civilizations weren't a hell of a lot better, and some far worse.
Kösem and the Moon
They named me for the Moon yet I was such a child of the Sun. Kept indoors too long in Topkapi Palace faded my tanned golden skin to smooth pale alabaster.
I saw why they named me that tho’. I’d such a round cherubic face, sweet and innocent to boot. I really was. In the beginning. Naïve was my first name and Gullible my middle name. ‘Til the serpent of Wisdom came to nest in my heart. Then I became something else altogether.
Don’t get me wrong, I always had the Dove of Light soaring and dancing in my soul, she never, ever leaves me.
The Antonym | Turkish Poem | Gonca Özmen
Gonca Özmen is a Turkish poet and translator who has performed in this audio
which is a collage of her essay about Water and the poem Moon.
During the writing of this, other past life memories have arisen from other times. And something – well someone – also stood out. A recurring connection with one particular soul. This is curious, because one of my earliest past-life memories is a deep and powerful one-off soul connection with Akhnatn, and this other soul is, well, not that. I say ‘that’, because Akhnatn was in earthly terms Herm-Aphrodite, but we used other words for that in Old Egypt.
The Sweetest Love Triangle
My heart is too big for just one of you
An iconic Mapplethorpe
However, this later soul connection is different, I'd say more a Twin Flame connection, fraught with difficulties yet an incredible love connection encompassing every chakra. Rooted below my toes, deep within the earth, up to the heights of the celestial heavens. He's NOT Akhnatn, I realized. Akhnatn's my Soulmate. The other my Twin Flame.
And both – mine.
I was always meant to have TWO mates, not one. I’ve always known this, and tried to tell myself this secret. Whether gay or straight, male or female or other, in all my lifetimes I’ve yearned for the eternal triangle – in its best form.
Yet also ecstatically happy when in happy twosome with either one.
Our time together is usually cut tragically short. I've many memories in different lives of HIM dying young, as I live on alone for decades with a broken heart, left to deal with the immense fallout. Because very often we are public figures with great responsibilities that cannot be ignored.
The important thing is for me not to deny this about myself. This yearning for two male companions, any sexuality fine, as long as we deeply groove with eachother deeply.
I prefer incarnating in a male body. Being female is complicated and often annoying, the masculine body a more streamlined device which I find malleable and versatile. I remember author Anne Rice expressing a similar sentiment, and in that we’re on the same page. However the female body holds immense creator power. I’ll leave that there.
This realization of my having two Loves makes this journey an even more interesting one. Remembering how time after time us Twin Flames find ways to get back together and do our good work.
With precious moments making powerful inflammatory love.
Now when the three of us finally get together again, cosmic things will go down. The heavens will open to rain joy upon those below as angels sing and demons cower and hide, as we three lovers entwine and dance our sublime three-way tango. For not only do they adore me and I them, but also one another.
This love is something else altogether. Unleashing the power of everything.
It’s the sacred sex magic Akhnatn and I tried to achieve in Old Egypt and messed up due to a crucial missing piece of the instructions, hidden by a rogue priest (jealous nemesis Lynn Andrews in male incarnation).
There were always meant to be three, not two. The final missing link of the Arc of the Covenant is the third one.
I and thee and thee. Makes a marriage of three.
In this lifetime, I was not seeking two husbands, no, I sought nothing but a sense of freedom within this palace of imprisonment. I intended to use any power I held in my hands for the good of all. And for my family, my new family. I kept many secrets close to my chest tho', even my Ahmet didn’t know as much about me as he imagined, despite our many moments of intense oneness.
I fell hard for the man, but also knew I’d fall harder and not in a good way, if I revealed all that was in my heart. I knew of the pregnant harem women tied into weighted sacks then thrown into the sea to drown, I knew of the strangulations, beheadings and poisonings. I intended to weave my way through all these deadly threats and stay alive, come what may.
Ahmet was my magical talisman of protection, and God, the brilliant flame lighting my lamp through my many dark nights of the soul.
So I devoted myself to learning it all – the language, laws and religion, wielding my knowledge like a sceptre.
Image | 'The Magnificent Century: Kösem' series
But grief ahh grief I know thy pain so well. My heart ever bleeding from yet another loved one lost. Not just my Beloved Lover. But children, friends, servants… I loved them all … and too many were ripped from life too soon.
Kösem Sultan, birth name Anastasia
Ottoman Turkish: كوسم سلطان; c. 1589 – 2 September 1651, also known as Mahpeyker Sultan - Persian: ماه پيكر; lit.'Visage of the Moon', was Haseki Sultan of the Ottoman Empire as the chief consort and legal wife of the Ottoman Sultan Ahmed I, valide sultan as the mother of sultans Murad IV and Ibrahim,and büyük (lit.'elder') valide sultan as the grandmother of Sultan Mehmed IV. She became one of the most powerful and influential women in Ottoman history, as well as a central figure during the period known as the Sultanate of Women.
Religion: Sunni Islam
Source: Kösem Sultan
Kösem Sultan Müzikleri Yirmialt_Saat v 2.0
The Venetian ambassador Simon Contarini, bailo between 1609 and 1612, mentions Kösem in his report in 1612 and portrays her as:
"[A woman] of beauty and shrewdness, and furthermore ... of many talents, she sings excellently, whence she continues to be extremely well loved by the king ... Not that she is respected by all, but she is listened to in some matters and is the favorite of the king, who wants her beside him continually."
George Sandys, an English traveller who visited Constantinople in the early 1610s, believed she was "a witch beyond beauty". He claimed the Sultan had a "passionate" love for Kösem, emphasizing that this was the result of witchcraft. Sandys went on to characterise her as a woman with "a delicate and at the same time shy nature." Source: Kösem Sultan
Ahmet, dear one love of my heart and my life. Where art thou ? Since you’ve been gone, I’ve been vilified, slandered and poisoned. Many turned against me as I walked in the shoes of the women before me, keeping the Empire afloat and our family on an even keel.
Where are you my love? Are you walking with me in Light?
Surely you now see I can rule as well as any man, and do so in discretion within the law of the land? I call on you my love, help me now to rid this world of darkness and bring light back once more.
A healthy and happy Ahmet | Image: 'The Magnificent Century: Kösem' series
Ahmed I – Ottoman Turkish: احمد اول Aḥmed-i evvel; Turkish: I. Ahmed; Şah Ahmed bin Mehmed Han (18 April 1590 – 22 November 1617, was Sultan of the Ottoman Empire from 1603 to his death. Source: Ahmed I
In Ahmet's life the number 14 was important. He came to throne in the age of 14, reigned for 14 years and was the 14th sultan of the Ottoman Empire. He died at the age of 28 (22nd November 1617).
The Fourteen Infallibles (Arabic: ٱلْمَعْصُومُون ٱلْأَرْبَعَة عَشَر, al-Maʿṣūmūn al-ʾArbaʿah ʿAšar; Persian: چهارده معصومین, Čahârdah Ma'sūmīn) in Twelver Shia Islam are the Islamic prophet Muhammad, his daughter Fatima Zahra, and the Twelve Imams. All are considered to be infallible under the theological concept of Ismah. Accordingly, they have the power to commit sin but by their nature are able to avoid doing so, which is regarded as a miraculous gift from God. The Infallibles are believed to follow only God's desire in their actions because of their supreme righteousness, consciousness, and love for God. They are also regarded as being immune to error in practical matters, in calling people to religion, and in the perception of divine knowledge. Source: The Fourteen Infallibles
Image: Ahmet sick and dying ... | 'The Magnificent Century: Kösem' series
Ahmet's Wives: Hatice Mahfiruz Sultana, Kösem Sultana (Mahpeyker Sultan), Fatma Haseki. Other unknown concubines. Source: The Ottomans: Sultan Ahmet 1
Your Presence Changes Everything
Ahmet. You who made everything possible. Your presence changed everything. One such as you shone a new light on it all for me. A good heart. A beautiful soul. Our love was real, and somehow negated the rest of it, the hierarchy, the ranks, all of it. Between you and I was simply pure love.
Then they married you off to someone else. What was that about? Ahh my friends, the usual. The way of the Turks. My heart broke, then worse, a child Osman, was born to you and Mahfiruz. Mahfiruz, meaning: ‘glorious moon,’ ‘daytime moon,’ ‘turquoise moon’. What, wait – I was your moon! Not her! What the hell?!
I refuse to go into the circumstances of her disappearance. I’d nothing to do with her end, as far as I recall she died in childbirth.
I mean, some of the latest movies romanticise my relationship with Ahmet. With me as his one and only. Well that simply wasn’t true. I was faithful, utterly and completely, with tunnel vision when it came to other men. I could see only him.
But I was well aware of the ‘traditional’ ways of the Harem. He could sleep with anyone he pleased, be they male or female. And he did. Yet over time, the other children of other concubines became my children. That's how it went. That’s why I say I had eleven children, not the officially recorded number of eight.
Our relationship evolved into a fairly exclusive one but I’m well aware of his dalliances. But it was our companionship, the level of trust between us and my advice that helped his political forays when making crucial decisions that really cemented things between us.
Let’s just say love is love. There from the start, it only got stronger over time.
We were terribly attracted to one another. Yet it wasn't just our wonderfully passionate lovemaking, but our meeting of minds that really placed that protective wall of iron around us no other could penetrate.
For a time we did well – for many years. But his health was always fragile, his constitution wasn’t the greatest. Years after his death, I reflected more objectively on our time together and clearly saw a thread of poison running through it -–Safiye’s – of that I had no doubt. Real poison, his sickness waxing and waning.
The official reasons given for his passing were typhus and gastric bleeding, but I knew these illnesses were somehow delivered to him, not accidentally contracted.
His tragic death was a king hit, a heavy blow that knocked me out for a time.
Many presume that once slave women such as Safiye and myself became Haseki then Valide and later Regent, our past simply dissipates in a fog.
No. Not so. We always carry our origins within our heart. There’s something about being a bi-racial woman only we understood. We can stand with a foot on each side of the dividing line and love both sides, at the same time clearly seeing the inherent flaws and weaknesses in both.
Do you think we entirely let go of our initial anger and distress at our manner of entry into the Empire? Again no. Did time heal all wounds? No. Did the sumptuous luxury and power I gained cause me to forget my humble beginnings? Never. It was as much a part of me as my original religion. However, my heart-opening romance with Ahmet also opened my heart to the culture, and I grew to love Islam and the ways of the Palace. And my power. Which I wielded like nunchucks, my friends.
Records say I had eight children with Ahmet, but I say eleven.
Image | 'The Magnificent Century: Kösem' series
Ayşe Sultan, Fatma Sultan, Hanzade Sultan, Gevherhan Sultan, Murad IV, Şehzade Süleyman, Şehzade Kasım, Ibrahim
The Sultanate of Women
During the17th century, in a period known as the Sultanate of Women, a series of incompetent or child sultans raised the role of Valide Sultan to new heights. Various Valide Sultans acted as Regents for our sons, assuming the vast power and influence the position entailed.
I was one such.
THE SULTANATE OF WOMEN
The Sultanate of Women – Ottoman Turkish: قادينلر سلطنتى, romanized: Kadınlar saltanatı, was a period when wives and mothers of the Sultans of the Ottoman Empire exerted extraordinary political influence. This phenomenon took place from roughly 1533 to 1656. Source: Sultanate of Women
The practice of a female Sultanate operating out of necessity opened the door to my participation in politics. There wasn’t an aristocracy as such in Turkey back then, yet there was an elite, obviously. I’ve discussed in other parts of these memoirs my suspicions of invisible puppet-masters always behind the scenes of such empires, directing the heads of state to steal strong and healthy Starfyre Priestesses such as myself from our island homes.
Girls of certain lineage, basically used first as sex slaves and then breeders, to enrich and enhance their own bloodline.
Now, when any of us rose up the food chain, there was no guarantee we'd hold the title given us forever, it could be withdrawn at any moment. The whole thing was carefully designed to protect the dynasty and prevent the rise of any rival dynasties. The Osman bloodline was the royal bloodline and all protections were in place to keep it that way.
However, too often the Sultans were way too young, weak-minded or even insane, and thus, we women stepped into safeguard the Sultancy and dynasty – oft literally ruling hidden behind screens. Time and again I was forced into this role, and always rose to the occasion, and many incredibly difficult decisions passed through my hands.
In those times we women – when Regents – were the true rulers.
Being Valide Sultan
Valide Sultan - Ottoman Turkish: والده سلطان, lit. "Sultana mother", was the title held by the mother of a ruling sultan of the Ottoman Empire. The word valide (والده) literally means 'mother' in Ottoman Turkish, from Arabic wālida. The Turkish pronunciation of the word valide is [vaː.liˈde]. Sultan (سلطان, sulṭān) is an Arabic word originally meaning 'authority' or 'dominion'. By the beginning of the 16th century, this title, carried by both men and women of the Ottoman dynasty, was replacing other titles by which prominent members of the imperial family had been known (notably hatun for women and bey for men). Source: Valide Sultan
"I am a woman, a rock, anger could not crack, I am the authority of all sins, I pay the blood money of all religions, my hands in blood, the color of henna, my man is a horse in long winter ages, but I am boiled-pounded wheat in poor houses, I’m tarhana, soup cooked with plain water, I’m rose jam in mansions, and a rose-smelling concubine in palaces."
– Ayten Mutlu, A Rebellion Song
Ahmet had called me Kösem, meaning ''sheep leading the herd'' (or shepherd). Yet after his death, certain men persisted in speaking to me in a patronising manner.
I spoke of this to Karaçelebizade Abdülaziz Efendi, ally of Sofu Mehmed Pasha, during an imperial audience when I was Sultan:
“When certain imperial commands have been issued, they have said [to the Sultan i.e. me], ‘My dear, who taught you to say these things?’ Such patronizing behavior towards Sultans is impermissible! And so what, if the Sultan is instructed?”
'Salute to you, seven wise men, the wise men of my time, the literate men, the scholars, studied and devoted themselves for a rose path, with a strong belief that human beings deserve roses! Listen to me, I’ve got my roads to take, arriving at yours, have got my states worse than yours, my heart beating hard, my feet inexperienced, don’t prevent me, don’t step on me, ready to fly, my wings are timid, don’t break my wings, enough, enough is enough, I paid every smile of mine, I’ve got delayed loves, songs waiting for me to sing, my voice will gurgle like a flowing river, and my hands together with yours, will recreate new life.'
– Ayten Mutlu
I wasn’t able to control the endemic corruption of the officials around me, and only now – post-death – know of the violence of my tax collectors across the Islands.
A divan or diwan (Persian: دیوان, dīvān; from Sumerian dub, clay tablet) was a high government ministry in various Islamic states, or its chief official. Source: Divan
Time and again I was thrust back into the lion’s den of politics. Never a big fan of royalty, I’ve been born and reborn time and again into its ways, forced to confront the exact nature of the beast. And what a beast it is. Royalty. Entitlement. Privilege. All the major ailments of the planet wrapped into one social construct.
Meanwhile, when in the thick of things I had to manage as best I could. What an opportunity to set things to rights! If you could keep your grip on the reigns of such a wildly bucking creature without being thrown and getting your neck broke, that is!
Whenever Regent, thus usually acting on behalf of an underage son, I made it crystal clear I expected to be listened to with respect and that all understood that I held the power in my own two hands.
I performed my role with great dignity, appointing political figures and overseeing the state's administration, which allowed me to establish connections with statesmen, judges, and other court figures. I met with foreign ambassadors from other countries to discuss international treaties.
Leading viziers wrote letters directly to me and I composed letters in response.
Despite the times requiring I sit behind a curtain or screen, my presence was surely felt. Although I do admit to a few grave errors in judgement over the years, in the main I orchestrated things to my way of thinking…
The past-life dream I had of myself when in my twenties comes into its own in my Kösem lifetime. I dreamt I was a philanthropist, a wealthy woman, patron of artists and also the poor and destitute. I loved giving money away to the needy and the feeling it gave me. Warmth spread all through me when I gave my innate generosity free rein. I see now my detractors spread the story that all my good works were done in a desperate attempt to get a good name for myself and disguise my apparent greed for power and great ambitions for the sultanate!
Let’s explore that!
Yet again I was misunderstood – but was I? In so many ways yes. And in other ways, no.
I became a victim of the times, as we all do every lifetime, when a kind of blindness sets in over time. The veils that come with each rebirth further cloud our recall of certain missions we arrived with, but we do what we do.
Our higher self, our Oversoul now and then alights again within to remind us of our path. The extent to which we become entangled within the politics of the time and the dramas of the moment will determine some of our journey.
Yet, within it all there is karma and other not so obvious factors. To understand the non-linear nature of time will go some way towards explaining the knowledge we carry from both past and future. Trapped within a human form, our soul always fights to moderate the needs, wants, desires and cravings all humans must deal with. Our soul, so much larger than the human form it’s crammed into, is always trying to get over the frustrations of the dreadfully slow nature of earth time as opposed to the mercurial nature of our souls soaring flight.
Manifestation. Yes many speak of how humans manifest.
‘If only you’d think the right thing in the right way, you’d get what you want faster,’ and suchlike credos.
So many false teachings. Are we here to manifest material things? Is that why we came to Earth after all? To get fat and wealthy on the riches of the land? And lord it over others less fortunate? For the soul intensively schooled lifetime after lifetime in the, at times, spartan asceticism or, at least, minimising of material desires, of oriental spiritual teachings; then fully immersed in the flagrantly wealth-loving African religions; to then be deeply confused by the mixed messages of blatant wealth embedded within lip service to Christian teachings of frugality, then it’s no wonder many are incredibly bewildered. About why we’re here.
That old existential question. Why are we here?
Over the past few weeks I've read, watched and listened to many pretty authentic records on Kösem, to help me write this memoir. Because the knowing came a few years ago, and my lifetime as Kösem was so complex, so damn full of dramas each and every day, with truly never a dull moment, that I needed to revisit the whole thing using old records about that lifetime. To do it justice. I’ve also pledged to paint this picture of these memoirs with absolute respect and deference to all involved, even down to my worst enemies of the time.
To visit both the Christian and the Islamic religions, both of which I value to the depths of my soul, is actually a great gift I give to myself; and I hope to impart my love for both religions also to you, dear readers. Tricky territory, I’m well aware. And yet this was how many, many people lived in the times of the Ottoman Empire, and also throughout today’s world. Holding both religions dear to their heart. It’s the dilemma of today’s world.
It's why, for example, many cultures have cloaked their Lucumi or Santerian religions behind Christian icons. Too many lifetimes of rape, pillage, torture and death for those accused as unbelievers has left its mark on too many souls. The fear is etched deep.
My past lifetime memories on planet earth span many cultures, countries and creeds, so how to tread delicately through these minefields, these fields of eggshells, without breaking the eggs? Without setting off the landmines? I know I can do it, I have faith in myself. A strong calling like this carries a sense of knowing that I’m entrusted with the skill-set to successfully do this.
To be honest, I’ve had to wait a few days to begin, before really getting stuck into this particular piece of work. I’ve had to firstly deal with some external harassment, as per usual, and also await the arrival of certain of my muses. A subtle flutter within, along with a faint aroma of jasmine heralds their presence. Nothing works ‘til they’re here. And so now we begin.
I've a deeper underlying commitment embedded within the writing of these pastlife memoirs. I’ll explain further. Or perhaps the discerning reader has already got it. Caught the drift of perfume wafting through, a celestial scent of profound appreciation for all cultures and creeds. With hopes that others might find my love of all cultures contagious. Perchance the profound beauty of Words written from the heart of Godly Prophets will seep like sweetest honey into your soul, dear reader.
Yet my intention is also to highlight the paradox of the many terrible abuses enacted against fellow humans, embedded within the very same culture. This goes for ALL cultures, without exception.
Regrets I have ... quite a few ….
Reflecting upon the works I managed to undertake to completion, I have a strong sense of returning from a future lifetime to embark on Kösem's particular lifetime of work. I even instigated a five-day work week for the Pages guarding my apartments, giving them the first recorded weekend of sorts!
‘KEEPING THE WATERS PURE’
‘I keep the waters pure’ | Artist unknown
– 36th Ideal of 'The 42 Ideals of Ma’at'
Ma’at and Isis travelled with me through this lifetime, as I instinctively worked to ‘keep the waters pure.’ My date of birth isn’t recorded but if Scorpio isn’t strongly aspected, I’ll be greatly surprised! I held the power of fire in my hands, but Gatekeeper of the Waters has always been one of my tasks. A multi-elemental legacy of being a Dhamphir.
"Mother of Sultan Ibrahim Khan, her Majesty of the Sultana, the most munificent mother of the sultan: She constructed this divine edifice as an act of charity. Lo, let it be a house of prayer for the servants of God! May they be summoned to God's mercy at the five times [of prayer]! May it be a halting place for worshippers and ascetics! She built a school, fountain, bath and fountain, for which let God grant her favor and benevolence! Philanthropists and those who worship in it, O God, take them into the eternal Paradises! The charitable work of the sultan's mother was completed
in [the Islamic year] one thousand fifty [1640-41]."
– Chronogram appearing on the gate of the Çinili Mosque's courtyard
I'd such a driving desire to do good for the community. Despite the many contradictions constantly troubling me, I loved the place and wanted prosperity and better times for the people we ruled over.
Being an extrasensory empath has never been easy in these scenarios, where I cannot sleep for feeling the suffering of the people outside the palace gates, let alone the visceral sensation of the weeping of my own flesh and blood, imprisoned within the impregnable stone walls of the Kafes; or sick with some plaguing illness, or in any kind of pain. There were many I adored and called family whatever their rank might be in the royal hierarchy. When they suffered, I suffered. My heart soared when I saw them happy. If I’d contributed in any small way to their joy, all the better.
Thus, rather than allowing myself to sink into the mindless numbness of an opium haze, or as others did, drinking myself insensible to blot out any self-reproach, I turned instead to positive addictions. Losing myself in the intensive process of creating, renovating, building, healing and providing.
Restoring beauty where it was broken, such as the incredible architecture of Constantinople; or building badly-needed facilities for the hard-working populace, who had much, much less than I. It was the least I could do.
Doing so reconnected me with my God and also the people. My soul sang as I did these things, the gloom of many sorrows momentarily lifting, my oft-sombre footfall lightened.
Yes my friends giving is also receiving, I learnt that beautiful truth long, long ago.
Ancient İznik tiles | Çinili Camii
Some of my works included funding the designing, building, fixing or renovating of the following:
– The nearby school in Üsküdar.
– Funded the construction of the Büyük Valide Han in Constantinople, which was used to provide accommodation for foreign traders, store goods and merchandise, house artisan workshops and provide business offices
– Following the capture of Rethymno in Crete in 1646, one of its many converted churches was renamed the Valide Sultan Mosque in Ortakapı in my honour, making me the first Ottoman noblewoman whose name was given to one of a conquered city's converted religious structures.
Çinili Mosque today | Tiled Mosque
My old beloved
+ old nemesis
Safiye Sultan portrayed by brilliant actress Hülya Avşar
in 'Magnificent Century: Kösem' series | artist unknown
Safiye Sultan – Ottoman Turkish: صفیه سلطان; "pure" c. 1550 – after 20 April 1619, was the Haseki Sultan of Murad III and Valide Sultan of the Ottoman Empire as the mother of Mehmed III and the grandmother of Sultans Ahmed I and Mustafa I. Safiye was also one of the eminent figures during the era known as the Sultanate of Women. She lived in the Ottoman Empire as a courtier during the reigns of seven sultans: Suleiman the Magnificent, Selim II, Murad III, Mehmed III, Ahmed I, Mustafa I and Osman II. Source: Safiye Sultan (mother of Mehmed III)
And Now, Let Us Prey
Reminiscing on a peak predator…
Safiye Sultan's Plan to Poison Sultan Ahmed
I've so many mixed emotions when I look back at Safiye. Oh my God, such tumult within my breast still lingers at the thought of her. Truth be told, for a time I was secretly in love with her, before hatred set in when I saw how seriously low her moral decline had gone. In her was a potential mirror of who I could be.
Initially I thought she might be a prior incarnation of Lynn Andrews, now I’m not so sure. In fact, I don’t think so at all anymore. I now feel the incredible actress who played her was possibly her! Safiye herself. I had to let go of my belief in all the actors being purely channels for the ancestors, and let in the concept of some possibly being prior incarnates. Hülya Avşar, I believe, is one such.
Now remember we don’t carry the same traits forward, we live and learn, change and grow. Some energetic imprints remain, these are the markers I feel into, as I ascertain the truth of who someone may have been.
Hülya Avşar – a complicated gorgeous thinking woman’s woman. There she is in all her glory. Very possibly Safiye’s reincarnate. I hope Hülya doesn’t mind my saying so! She might completely disagree! I apologise if this upsets her, and will move forward in this brief dissertation in all respect. However I know in my heart that Hülya’s made of sterner stuff and being upset at my words prob’ly wouldn’t cross her mind – more than likely she’ll be amused at my mixed-up memories of her!
When I think on her, old emotions arise so strongly I cannot ignore them, in many ways fiercer than my recollections of my dear sweet Ahmet. Powerful reactions move within me like massive waves hitting a sandy beach. Who was she?
The truth of women loving women in the Harem is a secret many would like kept quiet. Whatever her feelings were for me, I get waves of recollections of being strongly impacted, even mesmerised initially by her presence, and desire was part of that.
Now, despite powerful women basically saving the Ottoman Empire during that long timeframe of a spate of weak or crazy male Sultans, we were also viewed as an irritation. Ahmet was aggravated by his beautiful mother Handan’s attempts to assist him in his rule to the degree he pushed her away, purposely estranging her. It went the same way for his grandmother Safiye, shoved off into the old Palace as the older women were. Still, we crossed eachothers paths more often than not. And now and then I was sent off to that old Palace myself.
Once courtier, then Haseki rising to Valide Sultan, Safiye lived through the reigns of seven Sultans. When I arrived, she wasn’t the angel of a woman she’d once been, yet I delighted in her mischievous nature, and her brilliant mind intrigued me. She devoted much time and expense to maintaining her natural beauty, the results were stunning. The woman was killer beautiful.
She wasn’t given to sentiment and her loyalty could never be counted on. I learnt this the hard way.
Yet despite her deft poisoning arts and sly attitude, I’ll never not love her. I don’t recognise Safiye's latest incarnation in any other than the actress, who of course as I said, has evolved from those negative qualities, with a fine balance between brains and beauty. Controversy always her middle name.
Why my enemy back then tho'? She had her own reasons, but I suspect more, than a little, my Ahmet’s death wasn’t the official reason given, but a gradual decline of already fragile health due to a long-term poisoning campaign orchestrated by his own grandmother.
Yet now, centuries later, when I think on her I've so many tangled feelings, I also sense tangled sheets. Hmmm. But here’s the thing, as I go into these past lifetime regressions, I uncover things I can’t fully understand.
Here’s what I’ve been told over the past weeks by those spiritual guides of the Akasha assisting me in all my journeys back in time. About both Safiye and Hülya.
She may very well be the same person in different incarnations. She may also be – not me – but an aspect of my OverSoul – another ray of light emanating from my/our eternal Sunshine…if you get my drift. Perhaps you don’t, it’s hard enough for me to comprehend let alone explain. The reason I feel so drawn to her is that we are incarnated aspects of each other’s probabilities, unique threads of destiny chosen by different aspects of the same Self.
I can’t help but love her, no matter what she does. But oh my God, back then I was completely over her by the end of her days. She’d become so malevolent. I had no tolerance of her garbage and saw through her winsome ways all too well.
Getting too close to her was like fronting up to an angry cobra. If you moved too fast it spat venom in your eye or violently lashed out – either way you’d die.
I owe a lot of who I became to her legendary ways, to be honest. I refer here to her strength not her malevolence. She set a certain precedent and I enlarged on the theme. In my own unique way. I certainly had my own agenda. But we were both originally slaves, don’t forget, risen to the highest heights possible in that empire.
Now, whilst reading up on Safiye to trigger my past life memories – part of my process – I came across certain Turkish folks stating loud and vociferously that they seriously disliked the actress Hülya Avşar, that she was awful and her lifestyle 'dirty' (???) etcetera, the usual horrible hater campaign. Upon further investigation, I found what I think was the main reason underlying this malicious attitude.
A brief excerpt from an article in EKURD DAILY back in 2009 states that 'Hülya Avşar, whose father is Kurdish and mother Turkish, said she saw herself as a Turk', then discusses her so-called 'hate speech':
ISTANBUL, Turkey — The famous Turkish artist Hülya Avşar is under investigation by the District Attorney’s Office for allegedly inciting hate and enmity in an interview. In the interview with Milliyet, Avşar said that Kurds and Turks should be equal. Avşar, in an interview with daily Milliyet in August, was cautious about the government’s efforts to address the grievances of Kurds through more democracy. She had said once the process started, there would be no turning back and this fact scared her. Singer Avşar, whose father is Kurdish and mother Turkish, said she saw herself as a Turk and noted that Turks naturally did not want their country divided. “However, this shouldn’t mean ethnic pressure on Kurds,” she said in an interview with the Turkish daily Milliyet.
If charged and found guilty by court, Avşar will face up to four and a half years in jail. She also said that members of the outlawed Turkey's Kurdistan Workers Party, or PKK, would not return by choice once the Kurdish initiative began. When asked if she supported the government’s plans, she said: “I have no idea what it is.” When asked by Hürriyet to comment on the investigation, Avşar said she had never felt so insulted.
To read the rest of this click on this link:
Don't you love her madly?
Definitely a sister. I loved her all the more upon reading this. Obviously she got through all those negative reactions to speaking out relatively unscathed, enough to be offered this momentous Turkish acting role years later.
Others clearly adore her, so never get stuck on a small but loud group’s voice of hatred. The question is – where was her so-called hate (stated in the article’s title)? I don't see any.
See how smear campaigns work? And yes, I identify.
Enemies Now and Then
– Gautama Buddha
So here we are, a multitude of incredibly beautiful women of great ambition, all caged together in Topkapi, dressed to kill. Literally.
I’ve tried to feel into who of those women are back around me today. And are they friend or foe?
Things change, we don’t always maintain old conflicts in different incarnations, the veils of forgetfulness give the possibility of clean-slating past grievances. Giving a chance to heal and rebuild with those we once loved where things had gone sour.
Yet we also carry past injuries forward. I've a karmic neck injury. This time 'round I’ve been in three car accidents, none my fault, and each has worsened my whiplash injury.
Without a doubt this neck injury is a legacy of past lifetimes. I sense it as due to various deaths. As Kösem, I’m horrendously strangled. I've other soul memories of other deaths by beheading, hanging, garrotting, and other attacks. These styles of death are not unique to me. Death by burning for those accused of witchcraft is a common memory, even for those who find past life recall difficult.
It's part of the work of each lifetime to understand and heal those karmic injuries.
I say this because the reactions we have to one another also carry burnt seeds of the past within them. Why is a good person hated for no reason? Why are evil people loved? Well, there’s a depth to these questions, no doubt, but many answer lies in past lifetimes. Inexplicable reactions to one another often carry past lifetime memories. Other reactions lie in prejudices, pheromones and subtle cues that affect us without even realizing it. Plus smear campaigns seem to very easily sway the masses these days.
So when I try to ascertain who around me today is from back in the day, I have to keep my mind open. I might be related to someone who once killed me or vice versa. I might love someone now who I once despised – and vice versa.
Thousands of people from different cultures passed through the Ottoman Empire, mostly as slaves. You were prob’ly there too, dear reader.
"Of any of my sons that ascends the throne, it is acceptable for him to kill his brothers for the common benefit of the people (nizam-i alem). The majority of the ulama (Muslim scholars) have approved this; let action be taken accordingly."
Or to be blunt, newly-enthroned sultans killed all their brothers—no matter how young—to prevent succession wars. To prevent spilling of blood on expensive carpets the preferred technique of killing was strangulation.
I changed all that. Or at least tried to. And was successful for a time.
The Kafes or Princely Cages
The Kafes, Ottoman Turkish: قفس, romanized: kafes, from Arabic: قفص, literally "cage", was the part of the Imperial Harem of the Ottoman Palace where possible successors to the throne were kept under a form of house-arrest and constant surveillance by the palace guards.
The Kafes of Topkapi Palace
Cages that were created when the policy of murder changed to the policy of containment proved not the greatest solution. Life at any cost?
The Insanity of Ibrahim
"We were quiet and quiet, we forgot our humanity because of your
being God, I am tired, I am insulted, I am ignorant.“
Ayten Mutlu, A Rebellion Song
After Ahmet’s death, the Game of Thrones began. When our son Murad IV rose to Sultan, Ibrahim along with all his brothers was locked into the Kafes, seen as a happier alternative to the old ways of execution by strangling of any kin of a newly enthroned Sultan. There he’d remain for the next sixteen years. Because of Murad’s paranoia, over time one by one Ibrahim’s three half-brothers were executed ‘til he was the only one left.
Ibrahim | 'The Magnificent Century: Kösem' series
Already weak-minded, this terrible enforced isolation pushed my beautiful boy over the edge. Not quite right in the head from the very beginning, the cage-time drove him completely crazy.
How could he understand this was meant to be saving his life? No-one locked up for so long could possibly comprehend any semblance of compassion behind the prison’s original concept. The Kafe’s had been implemented in other countries, Persia for one, I think, and the Ottoman Empire took it on.
It must have seemed a fate worse than death, yet its inmates clung tenaciously to their meagre life. Mustapha was another who went insane within the cold walls.
As a mother I felt the wailing of my imprisoned sons shivering like icy shards of broken glass through my veins night and day, their close proximity made it worse. So near and yet so far. Tortured by the whole situation, my heart was ripped in half – rather my sons alive than dead, despite it all. Yet one by one, they were the more easily killed off as captives.
My tumultuous mother-son relationship with Murad is another story for another day. His death by cirrhosis of the liver heralded the end of Ibrahim’s imprisonment, yet as he lay dying, Murad ordered his execution, not wanting a lunatic in power after his death. But I managed to save Ibrahim’s life.
And despite his madness, Ibrahim knew enough of executioners to also try to protect himself. And so began his reign as Sultan. At first it went well but his thin grasp on reality soon unravelled and things began going seriously downhill. Physical frailties and migraines plagued him, and all the childhood trauma of the Kafes began to show.
Unstable and unhinged, he was sexually insatiable and demanded a constant stream of slave girls to satisfy his cravings. All the fantastical stories about Harem's you’ve heard, in his case were true. He was a rapey predatory monster, basically. Bondage? He was into it. Abuse? He was into it. Cruelty? His middle name.
Time and again he ordered crowds of virgins to be assembled, then galloped like a deranged horsey amongst them, stripping then raping them like some mad stallion. Every woman’s worst nightmare had his name on it.
More than once I intervened, shoving a dagger against his throat and ordering him to stop inflicting some new horror on some young girl.
Other expensive appetites included furs, fat women, jewels, perfumes, anything luxurious really. He had his chambers completely fur-lined at one point. His betrayal of his sisters through giving away their possessions enraged me. His taxes were brutal. Then he threatened to stuff one of the Vizier’s with straw.
Ibrahim | 'Magnificent Century: Kösem | TIMS Productions
It was clear he was hearing voices in his head whispering dark nothings. Then he started a war. With Venice. Not a good move. He was completely mad by then
Morally and financially bankrupting the Empire, something had to give.
Deposing Ibrahim failed. Not many understand the hardest of decisions that then came. Many think I made that decision. The Janissaries revolted, tore the Grand Vizier to pieces and sent Ibrahim back to the Kafes, a decision I supported. His six year old son Mehmed was now Sultan.
But Ibrahim still being alive was a threat no one wanted anymore and the new Grand Vizier sought a Fatwa. The reply from Sheikh al-Islam Abdürrahim Efendi was ambiguously non-ambiguous:
"If there are two caliphs, kill one of them."
The situation was awful, even the hardened cold-hearted executioner tried to run away on the day, literally dragged back to do the job. And so my thirty-three year old mad son was finally executed, my heart broken into little pieces yet again, and many people left weeping and entirely shocked by the whole damned thing.
The Kafes did not work. But Fratricide was evil. Just a few of the signs of ever-widening cracks in the crumbling walls of the Ottoman Empire. Yet still it persisted for a time.
Is Ibrahim’s latest incarnation around me today? I find I cannot say.
But I’ve a strong feeling that even now he has no idea how much I loved him, my son, and how many times I saved his life. ’Til it was taken out of my hands.
The Day That I Died
In one of my well-known Divan speeches responding to the neverending reactions against me, a woman, taking so much power, I accuse the Grand Vizier Sofu Ahmed Pasha of wanting to kill me, then continue,
“Thank God I survived four rulers and I ruled for a long time myself. The world will neither collapse nor reform with my death.”
Then of course the day finally arrives when they do kill me.
Magnificent Century: Kösem | Episode 60 Fınal | English Subtitles
I am moved to place the entire final episode of Magnificent Century: Kosem, ending in Kösem's awful death by execution. A fair representation of all that went down? It explains a lot, clarifies what might seem to have been bad decisions, and my feeling there was no other decision to make ... a position I was placed in many times through my career as Valide Sultan, Regent and Sultan.
I don't look at myself with pride for my thoughts and actions on that final day, no I don't. I feel some shame for my decision to harm a child, yet there was a strong rationale behind it. Always my driving passion to protect state and Empire. In a time of fratricide and abject murder of any opposition, my decision wasn't as out of the ordinary as you might imagine. Yet it was the complete opposite of all I truly am, and I know by that day I’d lost what I'd arrived with – my innocence.
Then in the night we heard them, the sound of killing very close outside as they came for me. I prevaricated, hoping for some last-minute reprieve that never came, my beloved Janissaries must have fallen. I finally ran to hide, down through the secret candlelit passage behind a false shelf in my apartment chambers, I clambered into a cupboard then sat silent and dead-still on pile of boxes with the door tightly shut, my heart beating so hard it was in my mouth. I could hardly breathe … My soul knew.
They found me somehow, I must have left the cupboard door slightly ajar in my panicked flight.
I recall the moments of dying more than anything, rough men pulling me harshly from my hiding place by my dress, then it seems a tangle of scarves, my hair, hands knees pressing down on first my back then my chest, choking choking, passing out, being manhandled and dragged like some animal through the halls, through the dim haze of my fading vision seeing the girls of Turhan standing around, hands balled into sharp claws, waiting to rip into my carcase like vultures.
I twist and turn, I don’t go down easy oh no. I fight so hard I shock the men trying to kill me. They’re weak and unsure, my knowing enhanced a thousandfold, I feel their guilt and shame, yet they persevere, then I bite their hand, then I pass out cold after one knocks me hard on the head.
Still, I hear them, the clatter of running feet away down the stone halls, the guttural sound of those murderous men’s voices, ‘Dead dead! She is dead!’ …
Then a scrabbling of a thousand rough female fingers, hands roughly ripping at my waist, my throat, my dress, ripping off my jewels, my pearls and ornaments, tearing at me, until I heave to, gasping, back again from the dead and the women scream and fall back in shock but not too far, they know my hour has come and my reprieve will be brief.
I'm not dead yet .... | 'Magnificent Century: Kösem'
The men race back in and knee me in the chest, and the intense sensation of my hair being ripped from my scalp as they wind my own night braids around my throat with the scarves and curtain cords and what have you, all there, blood pouring from some wound on my head, blood begins pouring from my nose, mouth and ears as they strangle me with all the feeble strength they can muster, me fighting back ‘til I can fight no longer … I subside I subside… torn from my body my soul now above looking down, release release sweet sweet release … yet still so much to do…
The day was a bad one, I knew, I knew it, I knew in my soul this was coming but it happened so fast there was no time. I was gone I was free … to begin remembering me.
Image depicting my murder | 'The Magnificent Century: Kösem' series
Well it wasn’t much really, not like Safiye’s. No. They took my corpse from Topkapi Palace to the Old Palace – Eski Sarayı – and laid me out to wash me. I was covered in caked blood and dirt and tangled scarves and such from the hall floors I died on.
I realized I could stay awhile before taking off into the celestial realms, so floated around in spirit form watching the preparations with interest, wondering how stately my final farewell would be. Not very. The Black Eunuchs stretched me out in the Royal Mosch, and very soon my personal slaves surrounded me, maybe four hundred or so, shrieking with sorrowful lamenting, pulling on their hair and ripping their clothes.
I was deeply touched by their heartfelt grieving, it felt very real, and I could see others of the court were also very affected by the terrible sounds of grief-stricken mourning emanating from the Mosque.
There was no ceremony. I was simply interred in my dead husband Ahmed I’s Mausoleum, and then it was done.
The Morning After
Yet still, many publicly protested my horrible death. The morning after my murder, a huge crowd gathered outside the Topkapi Palace gates, blaming the Janissaries for my death and vowing vengeance. I saw the people of Constantinople mourn me for three days, a spontaneous decision they made that wasn't customary.
The daily lighting of candles for my soul began in Topkapi Palace, a beautiful practice I loved to see, and for hundreds of years the bright warmth of those candle flames lit up my soul.
“Innocence…innocence …but it was the first thing to be taken from my hands when I got power. How painful it is to remember…oh the grief! They say “the way they died is the way they are remembered”…
Is that really true? A woman fits into many attributes in life, and she is someone else in every moment.
She becomes a child, a woman, a mother and, if she is a beloved, intelligent servant of God, then she can even become a Sultana. Saw and lived through all of those, thank God. I tasted them all.
But what capacity shall I be remembered as? What attribute shall describe me?
What will they say about me centuries later? An innocent girl who fell in love with Sultan Ahmet, and who was torn away from her name?
A powerful, charitable Valide Sultana who gave the imperial house of Osman four princes, kept the tent of the state standing, and kept the bellies of twenty thousand people full in her foundation? Or…a cruel woman, who for the sake of the sultanate went crazy for her own ambition and didn’t even spare her own children?”
quote from Turkish series "The Magnificent Century: Kösem"
Tomb of Mahpeyker Kösem Sultan
Had I known you lacked such mercy,
Had I known the absence of courtesy in your ways,
Would I have been kinder to myself?
I ask myself this everyday whilst I wallow in loss.
Why did you not introduce yourself sooner?
© Shahina, 'Dear Time', Lyrically Speaking 2017
Image | 'The Magnificent Century: Kösem' series
Died: September 2, 1651
Age: 61 or 62
I was posthumously referred to by the names:
"Vālide-i Muazzama" (magnificent mother),
"Vālide-i Maḳtūle" (murdered mother), and
"Vālide-i Şehīde" (martyred mother).
The American Heritage® Roget's Thesaurus. Copyright © 2013
Copyright © 2023 by Julie Von Nonveiller Cairnes. All rights reserved.
If you're enjoying this series so far, stay tuned for more!
Oh and of course, this :
I’ll next bring you Chapter Four of my Past Lifetime Memoirs: Elisabeth von Wittelsbach, wife of Emperor Franz Joseph and Empress of Austria from 1854 to 1898, now I’ve completed my fascinating, confronting
and challenging Kösem Sultan series.
Let’s see how I and my twin-flame and soulmate keep finding ways
to get together time after time after time!
We’re not always this high profile but these royalty stories
are very much the easiest to research.