CarnalNation

The first 20th-century Western woman to describe herself as a Sacred Whore was very likely Cosi Fabian. She started her spiritual work at the age of 42. Her home was her temple, and her clients placed their offerings on the altar. She told each man, “What a fine Phallus!” to remind herself of the sacredness each hard-on brought to her temple. These practices were based on those of the Sacred Whores of ancient times as Cosi understood them and applied them to her 1990s American context.

But this was after years of historical research, dramatic life changes, and intense soul-searching. And Cosi's not particularly happy to admit that it seems that an archetypal energy may have been guiding her life to bring her to that destiny. “I'm English, and we don't want to be special,” she declares. Be that as it may, her life-threatening experiences and unlikely comebacks are not the stuff of an ordinary life.

At 25, Cosi saw others burned to death in an airplane crash, which she survived, only to suffer from survivors' guilt, an undefined condition at that time. After “seven or eight years of hell,” nearly drowning started the healing part of her journey. “I was underwater and realized I was going to die. So I let go. It was the first time since the airplane crash that I surrendered,” she says. “The ocean spat me out.” Cosi returns to the concept of archetypal influences, that of Aphrodite rising out of the foamy sea. “I have a connection to Aphrodite. She saved me. Being a whore was my side of the deal.” But Cosi didn't know that yet.

A few months later she found herself in an Alcoholics Anonymous 12-step program, which called for her to have a relationship with a “higher power.” As a feminist, she was uncomfortable with the Western male god. Her attempts to find a suitable higher power led her to the Goddess religions and spiritual practices that included females as worthy of both offering and receiving divine worship.

It also led her to the knowledge that the ancient goddess religions revered sexuality, and as a person with a vibrant attitude toward pleasure and an active sex life, this was a happy revelation. The temple prostitutes were highly respected healers, teachers, dancers, and priestesses. She became driven by the myths themselves to a strong sense of vocation. From the start of her new profession, she found herself compelled to do sacred sex work and “report back” to other women and other whores on the value of her work and the importance of the sex-spirit connection. Having no family that might be shamed by her work, or her reports about that work, allowed her the freedom to share her findings with others.

One of the perspectives that Cosi reported was her new view of feminism. As a feminist, “I demonized male sexuality and character as women had been demonized,” she admits. However, as she worked with men, she began to see such condemnations as part of our culture's “cycle of abuse.” She noticed a parallel between the way men were acculturated to violence but condemned for acting violent and the way women were taught to be sexy but condemned for having sex. Both violence and sex are essential at the right time and place, but it is abusive to teach lessons and then condemn the student who learns and acts upon them.

Cosi also realized that if she was sacred during the act of sex–that her actions were blessed by the divine–so were her clients. They offered the Sacred Phallus to her Wondrous Vulva, together performing the ultimate act of worship. Women and men were both part of the ancient sacred lineage that honors human sexuality.

She learned true carnal knowledge from her body and from the bodies of the men with whom she shared her sacred temple. This was the type of understanding that can only come from listening to the messages bodies tell us, ours and those we know intimately. She discovered that when a man has an orgasm, it might be the only time in his life that he surrenders. During la petite morte, his defenses fall away, and he connects with spirit.

Her clients often felt safe only with her–a “stranger”–precisely because she was a stranger. The rest of their lives were not dependent upon what happened in her bedroom, as it might sometimes seem at home. Cosi provided this safety. She also offered men unconditional love, a place to surrender to their needs for a woman's touch, and a body that received their passion without shame.

When a young man had particularly nice legs, Cosi told him how handsome he would look in a Roman Centurion's uniform. She intentionally harkened back to the ancient temple practices that required men returning from battle to stop at the temple before entering the gates of town. The temple priestesses loved them and cleansed their spirits so they could return to their families as Husbands and Fathers and Brothers rather than as Warriors. Cosi's young man might have giggled and blushed when she told him that, but when he called for another appointment, he would remind her that he was her “Young Warrior.”

Today's Warriors–whether they go to an actual war or wage daily “war” in a competitive work environment–are seldom acknowledged adequately for their contributions. Cosi believes that honoring men's efforts and sacrifices helps heal the cultural cycle of abuse. When a long-time client was being re-deployed to Iraq for the third time, he came to see her as part of his mental and emotional preparation. Cosi understood the sadness and anger he and his family felt. And, she pointed out, “whores cry, too.”

But it's all grist for the mill. “I like to stay away from the idea of life as pathology. We have to accept horrible things as our daemon leading us to know ourselves. We get meaning in our darkness.” For Cosi, it's all about spirit ultimately–all of life, everything we do, is about helping us release our ego. “Remember, it's about spirit and not sex.”