Breathe, Moan, Ascend
Chapter 28 of Neophyte: My Life In A Sex Cult
This is a chapter within my memoir, Neophyte, about my time in a harmful cult called the Deer Tribe Metis Medicine Society. It is not meant to be read as a stand-alone post. To view all book chapters, click here.
The Deer Tribe is a dangerous cult. While they present themselves as a spiritual community offering healing and empowerment, their practices are rooted in manipulation, control, and cultural appropriation. Like many cults, they offer moments of genuine connection and personal insight — but these are strategically used to gain trust and draw people deeper into a harmful system. Readers are encouraged to read the entire book before forming opinions about the Deer Tribe.
Chapter 28
I had one thought when I returned to the gym: I don’t want to go first.
“No one will be paying attention to you,” Brian had assured us the night before. “The instructors have already done it, so we don’t care. Every other participant will be focused on their own task or worried about their turn on the mat. So I repeat: no one will be paying any attention to you.”
What he hadn’t told us, however, was that we would have spectators. About a dozen of them, in fact. When I rejoined the group, I spotted them scattered along the back wall, sitting quietly with their notebooks open.
Who are these people? I wondered, until I saw Catrina. It dawned on me that these were her students, participating in the Aura Perceptual Analysis program happening simultaneously. While my group de-armored our bodies, Catrina’s group would practice gleaning, the Deer Tribe’s technique for reading energy.
The thought of an audience made my heart race; it added a layer of pressure I hadn’t anticipated. I felt a twinge of frustration that neither Brian, Linda, or Catrina had forewarned us.
Conversations went on around me, but I waited quietly for the next portion of the evening, completely uninterested in socializing. How could anyone under these circumstances?
My gaze traveled to the front of the room, where Brian, Linda, and Catrina sat behind a plastic fold-out table. Except for Linda, who wore a sarong wrapped around her waist, they were naked. Given the amount of time we spent naked in Deer Tribe workshops, I was grateful for their focus on hygiene. We were always required to lay a sarong or towel on any surface we rested on, never allowing our bare bottoms to touch anything directly.
Anna appeared in front of me, her expression earnest. “Will you please be the one to do my pressure points?” she pleaded. “I feel shy to have a man.”
I understood her sentiment. Brian had gone over the pressure point chart extensively the night before, and some of the points we’d be pressing were in sensitive areas around our groin and genitals.
“Yes,” I agreed. “I just don’t want to go first.”
We decided that Anna would de-armor first, and I would do her pressure points while Matthew held the chiropractic massagers. After that, I would take my turn, with Matthew doing my pressure points and Anna holding the equipment. Matthew would go last, and Anna would do his pressure points while I held the equipment.
Brian called for the first de-armorers to get positioned on the mat. I admired Anna’s bravery as she removed her sarong, spread it across the mat, and lay down on her back. I took my position at her feet. A laminated chart rested next to me on the floor. This chart depicted a body covered with dozens of colored dots, each indicating a pressure point. Tonight’s session would address pressure points from the feet up to the knees.
Matthew sat on Anna’s right side, and the three of us waited in silence for our next instructions. Nikki appeared a moment later and showed Matthew how to place the chiropractic tools on Anna’s body. The ‘sander’ would rest on her chest, and the ‘thumper’ would be pressed up against her bottom. Matthew would need to hold these in place because Anna would be busy managing her own massage tools: the magic wand, which we were instructed to place right next to our clitorus or penis, and a vibrating dildo, which needed to be inserted in the vagina or, for men, in the anus.
“You can start breathing!” Brian called out. The room was filled with the buzzing of massage tools and the howls of the seven participants on the mat, each breathing and yelling intensely. I recalled Brian’s words from the previous evening: “De-armoring is a healing way to experience orgasm. Our culture taught that orgasm is about genital pleasure. But orgasm is so much more than that. It is our life-force.”
For the first 15 minutes or so, the instructors just stared at us. Then, Brian and Linda got up from their seats. Brian walked to the furthest mat at the end of the room and squatted down by the participant, a young man in his early twenties. He took the sander from the woman holding it, and held it in place. Linda and Nikki did the same, each one stopping by a different mat and coaching the de-armoring participant to completion.
I finished doing Anna’s pressure points and allowed myself to relax. My gaze swept the room, and I noticed that Catrina remained seated at the foldout table, tall, poised, and regal. Curious, I watched her, noticing that she spent several minutes staring intently at each participant, her piercing eyes seeming to look straight to their souls.
Much too soon, the first de-armorers were complete. My abdomen tensed with rising panic because now it was my turn.
Like Anna, I removed my sarong and lay on my back, awkwardly holding my personal massage tools in place while Anna and Matthew took their positions. When Brian told us to begin, I took my first breath, inhaling deeply from my belly, filling my lungs completely before releasing the air with a long, drawn-out “aahhhh!” For the next several minutes, I lay in this position, rapidly inhaling through my nose and exhaling through my mouth, releasing a burst of sound with each exhale. The breathwork was intense, but Brian told us it served an important purpose: channeling our energy up the chakra line to be released.
I felt tightness in my chest, and soon grew weary. I listened to the guttural sounds coming from those around me. Every once in a while, a piercing scream reverberated through the room. It was loud and chaotic, but also trance-inducing.
Right when I felt on the verge of collapse, Linda appeared. She knelt beside me and took the sander from Anna. Matthew had finished the pressure point work and sat quietly near my feet.
“Alright, you,” Linda said softly but emphatically. “You’re doing great. You’re almost done. Hah! Hah! That’s right, ah-hah, ah-hah! Hah! Hah. Ah-hah! Keep going. Keep moving the energy! Okay, one more loud sound.”
With her coaxing, I used the last of my energy to let out a roar. She immediately lifted the sander from my chest and moved on to the next mat, helping that participant complete their process.
Exhausted, I lay in a stupor, feeling a rush of warmth and tingling sensations throughout my limbs. Matthew and Anna removed the used plastic covers from the massage tools and replaced them with new ones. Nikki passed around a pack of wet wipes so participants could clean themselves and their personal massage tools. Then it was time to rotate. I took Anna’s position, while Matthew lay on the mat and Anna prepared to work on his pressure points.
Night after night, we repeated this process. The first three evenings were the toughest. The de-armoring process was physically grueling, leaving me exhausted and weak. I felt light-headed from the intense breathwork we were required to maintain. The vibrations were too intense, and I felt sore everywhere the tools touched.
I also struggled emotionally. Each time I lay on the mat, I listened to the sounds around me and found myself slipping into comparison. Anxiety and panic set in as I worried that I would not be able to heal myself as the others were.
On the third night, I nearly gave up. I can’t do this, I thought over and over as I lay on the mat while Matthew worked the pressure points on my abdomen and rib cage. These were our anger points, we had been told. I struggled to keep up the breathing cycle, and my sounds came out in a whisper. My breathing slowed until I lay still and despondent, releasing my personal massage tools from my grasp.
Suddenly, I heard Catrina whispering in my ear. Her thick, Norwegian accent came out in a command.
“You have got to break this armor. Come on, now. Take a deep breath. Yes, that’s it!”
With Catrina’s support, I resumed the de-armoring breath and forced myself to make sound. All the while, Catrina kept murmuring words of encouragement. The more I breathed, the angrier I felt. The anger swelled inside me, growing bigger and bigger, until it poured out of me in a wail.
“That’s right!” Catrina said as she helped me turn over. With her hand resting on the back of my neck, she continued speaking to me.
“You did so well. That’s right. No more holding that anger inside. No more taking shit from anyone anymore. Just breathe and relax. You are free.”
I continued to wail for several seconds, tears streaming down my cheeks. A sense of catharsis enveloped me, leaving me feeling light. Soon, euphoria filled me—the kind I cherished, the kind that drew me back to these ceremonies time and again.
I did it. I broke my armor. I am free.
Go to Chapter 29.