From the Roof of the Sky: Turkish Mythology and Silent Heroes

When you listen to the sound of the wind, sometimes you hear the footsteps of an animal, sometimes

the neighing of a horse, sometimes the tears of a woman. Turkish mythology is the sum total of these

sounds. It is not only in the past, nor is it only told to the future. It is the trace left behind by a nation as

it walks. It is hidden in every stone, every star, every child's gaze. Because the mythology of the Turks

is the movement of a pendulum between heaven and earth. Sometimes it comes from the heart of the

mountain, sometimes from the leaf of the tree, sometimes from the walk of the wolves. It neither

begins nor ends with a book. The sky is at the heart of this mythology. The Turk always walks with his

head up. He calls out to God from there. That is why the Sky God is not just a belief, but a sense of

direction. All figures speak by looking up to the sky. The tales of a nation that gives birth to the sun,

rules the moon and reads the stars are of course close to the sky. Oğuz Kağan is blessed with a light

from the sky as he walks between day and night. His story begins when his mother sees a light in her

dream. Because every born leader is born with the permission of heaven. The earth is like an echo of

this heaven. Mountains speak, stones listen, wolves guide. In Turkish mythology, it is said that a

mountain is not just a stone, but an ancestor. Sometimes a mountain is a mother, sometimes a

mountain is an enemy. But always the mountain carries a secret. That secret is sometimes the answer

to a war, sometimes the beginning of a nation. Ergenekon is not just an exit; it is a birth. In a place

where iron is like a mountain, if people melt the mountain with their hands, destiny is rewritten. The

nation born from that molten iron is now closer to the sky.

Figures in Turkish mythology are not only in human form. Animals have as much say as humans. The

wolf is the most ancient guide of this mythology. Those who follow a she-wolf become the founders

of a nation. In the teeth of that wolf there is neither death nor fear; there is only the way. Because for

the Turk, the road is not just a relocation; it is a search for meaning. The wolf shows the way. The one

who follows him finds not only his path but also himself. That is why the wolf is not a symbol in

mythology, but a companion. The horse is not alone in this journey either. The horse is the

embodiment of the Turkish soul. Sometimes it is winged, pierces the sky, runs through the floors of

the sky. It skips the distance between earth and sky. Sometimes it carries its owner on its back,

sometimes it senses danger before its owner. In shamanic rituals, the sound emitted by the beating of

the horse drum is the sound that makes the heart of the sky tremble. With that sound, both horse and

man change. There are horses that come in dreams, those that run in dreams. They are the messengers

of destiny. And the horse that brings fate never lies. In mythology, female figures have a special

power. The White Mother is born from the waters of creation. She comes flying over the waters and

whispers to the Creator the inspiration to create. She is not a woman; she is the breath of creation.

Mother Umay is the protector. Her shadow is over every child. Every fear that vibrates in a mother's

heart goes to Umay's ears. That is why she is the one who is prayed to at birth and called upon when

the child is sick. Because Umay envelops not only the body but also the soul. She not only protects but

also gives direction. Ayzıt comes out of the night, her sword is like a star from the sky. She carries

beauty and wisdom, grace and courage in the same pot. In Turkish mythology, the woman is neither

behind nor in front of the man. She stands in a completely different place. Sometimes as silent as a

mountain, sometimes as exuberant as a flood. Sometimes she is a guiding dream, sometimes the pole

of a tent. But she is always there. And with her presence, she keeps the spirit of the nation in balance.

There are other beings as great as the mountains. Alp Er Tunga is not just a warrior. He is a ruler, a

sage, an epic. Hearts devastated by his death lament his death. These laments that permeate epics are

not only for one man. In those laments, an era ends, a sky is plunged into darkness. Alp Er Tunga

grows more after his death than while he is alive. Because it is not only the living who carry a nation;

it is the traces left behind by the dead. Tengri watches these traces from the sky. He is neither a god of

anger nor a warrior. He maintains order. He maintains balance. For him, not the one who sheds blood,

but the one who dispenses justice is sacred. That is why in Turkish mythology, not only power but also

measure is glorified. Anything in excess is punished for deviating from balance. The shaman calls on

Tengri

to reach the sky. Each floor is a test. The one who passes the test gets one step closer to the truth. And

this journey is actually a journey inward. Man finds himself on his way to Tengri.

This mythology lives not only in the sky and the mountain, but also in the root of the tree and the wing

of the bird. The tree of life carries nine dimensions with its nine branches. Each branch extends in one

direction. Each direction symbolizes a nation, a destiny, a piece of time. That tree is in the middle of

time. Its root is deep in the earth, its top is at the highest point of the sky. The heart of Turkish

mythology beats there. Every birth begins in the shadow of that tree. Every death ends in a branch of

that tree. That is why this mythology is not just a tale; it is a ruler of time. There are stories that come

with the wind. There are those who go to the abyss. Death is not a departure from this world, but a

transition to another world. Souls are taken up into the sky and mingle with the stars. Stars are not only

the ornament of the sky; they are the mirror of the past. In every star lies the soul of an ancestor. Every

light that shines at night is a memory. That is why night is not something to be feared in Turkish

mythology. Night is a time of remembering. All these figures become the mirror of a nation. There is

not only a face in that mirror; there is history, there is faith, there is march. Turkish mythology has

never been something just told. It was lived. Oğuz Kağan was not a ruler, but a sense of direction.

Ayzıt was not just a beautiful woman; she was the light of truth. Bozkurt was not just an animal; he

was an awakening. Umay was not just a mother; she was tranquility. And Tengri was not just a god; he

was justice.

That is why Turkish mythology has never been forgotten. Because it did not live in tongues; it lived in

eyes. In every eye that looked like a mother looks at her child, there were those figures. Because there

was a story behind everything one owned. The source of those stories was hidden in the voices coming

from the sky. And those voices were still blowing in the steppe. A nation carries its past not only in

written sources but also in the figures in its heart. The Turkish nation carries in its heart a wolf looking

up to the sky, a horse reaching for the stars, a woman guiding it in its dreams, an alpine leaning his

back against a mountain, a shaman carrying fire in his heart. They neither forget nor make us forget.

Every narration is a new awakening. Because mythology is not about understanding the past; it is

about taking root in the future.

HASAN YİĞİT