Middle Sacred Platform: Side Effects May Include Death (But At Least You'll Die Empowered)

Chapter 54 of Neophyte: My Life In A Sex Cult

Photo by Tim Marshall on Unsplash

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.

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Chapter 54

Something strange was happening to me. I was sinking, drowning. I had fallen into a deep, cold, dark pit. I desperately needed to crawl my way out, but an oppressive, crushing weight kept pushing me down.

Strange, uncomfortable sensations appeared in my body. Pin pricks, tingles, and sharp, stabbing pains erupted in my chest, arms, and solar plexus. No matter what I did, I couldn’t calm down. I couldn’t relax. My body was on high alert. Adrenaline and cortisol had taken over.

Repressed memories from childhood flooded my mind. Memories of abuse, sexual depravity, fear, shame… They had been awakened, coursing through my body, disturbing all my waking hours.

I continued with the Middle Sacred Platform, but struggled to follow the reverse chronological timeline during recapitulation. My memories were jumbled and erratic. They had taken on a life of their own. They were controlling the show. They became a movie, replaying over and over in my mind. They played in the background while I was trying to work. They played every second of the day.

Every moment was a fight against fear.

I called June. “I’m struggling with the Middle Sacred Platform. Have you started it yet?”

“No, I need to. What’s going on?”

I tried to explain what was happening to me. A few days later, she reached out.

“Holy fucking shit! I just did the Middle Sacred Platform for the first time. Fuck! That was intense. And they want us to do that three times a week? Fuck that! I think once is more than enough for one lifetime. I don’t think I’m doing it again.”

“But what about our gateway work? We have to complete the whole process.”

“How are they going to know? We can literally just claim we did it, and there is no way for them to verify.”

“But that’s lying.”

“You need to stop trying to be such a good girl.”

Every day was a nightmare. I went through my workday on autopilot, doing just enough to keep my employer satisfied. I had a long list of prospects who never answered their phone, and I called those numbers every day because I knew I wouldn’t have to talk to anyone. Each day, my log showed at least 100 outbound calls. My manager sent me an email complimenting me on my dedication to growing the business during this challenging time of coronavirus.

My thoughts grew darker and my memories more intense. I couldn’t keep them at bay. I was cognizant enough to know what was happening. I was becoming seriously, dangerously depressed. I began to fantasize about suicide. I could do it, I thought. I could take my life and end the pain. But how? I didn’t have access to pills and I didn’t think I had the stomach to slit my wrists. A gun seemed like the most reliable method. Matthew kept his firearms in our closet. But where would I do it? Not in our apartment, where he would find me. Not in a motel where some underpaid staff member would find me. I could drive my car to the mountains and do it inside my vehicle.

I didn’t think I would actually go through with it, but imagining my suicide brought me a strange sense of comfort. When I focused on killing myself, I didn’t think about those horrible memories. My suicide fantasy became my lifeline. Every time an abuse memory appeared, I swiftly redirected my thoughts to how I would walk to our closet, retrieve Matthew’s gun, load it, get in my car, drive to the mountains, put the gun to my temple, pull the trigger. I hoped it would be fast. Someone would report an abandoned car. Hopefully, a police officer would find me, and no one would be traumatized.

Suddenly, I snapped out of my dark reverie. This was becoming alarming. I called June and Olivia and explained what was happening. They were deeply concerned.

“You need to stop doing the Middle Sacred Platform.” They practically begged me. “It is retraumatizing you.” But I wouldn’t stop. If I did, I would have to start over someday.

They began calling me several times a day. It became our unspoken agreement. I wouldn’t do anything to harm myself between phone calls. I told Matthew he needed to lock up the firearms and make sure I couldn’t get to them.

I reached out to Tori, Ruth, and Necea for advice. They were the teachers who knew me well and whom I thought I could trust. I emailed each of them, carefully constructing my sentences so they wouldn’t think I was in pity or at the affect of low-vibrational emotions. Necea told me to step into my warrior mantle and keep going. Ruth informed me she wasn’t the correct person to speak with because she was neither my Bravo teacher nor my apprentice guide. Tori suggested I journal and take a break from the process if I couldn’t sustain the energy.

On May 2, after six weeks, I decided to stop the process. “Oh, thank god,” June said when I told her. She and Olivia continued to call me daily for several weeks.

Our second Bravo session fell at the end of May. Because of COVID-19, it was held on Zoom. Tori and Linda Clarke, the two Bravo teachers, sat side by side in one of the classrooms at the Rainbow Powers Center. A virtual Talking Stick was held. We were instructed to share our experience with the Middle Sacred Platform. When it was my turn to speak, I did my best to speak in a voice of power.

“The Middle Sacred Platform was a dangerous practice for me. I did it correctly and used all my medicine tools so that I could be the witness-observer and stay in neutrality. However, the process had me recapitulating years of extremely painful events and abuse. During the six weeks I practiced this discipline, I experienced alarming levels of depression, sadness, and grief. I was barely able to function. I became suicidal. I decided to stop the practice, and I will not continue it ever again. If that means I can’t progress through the gateways, then so be it. I am a strong person, fully willing to take responsibility for my part in the abuse I experienced. This is not about me being in pity or avoiding doing the work. This practice simply did not work for me. And I am not interested in being challenged on this or offered a different perspective. I know my experience, and I was told to talk about it, so that is what I did.”

No one spoke for several seconds. Finally, Linda said, “I just want to ask you one thing. Are you okay?”

“I’m getting there,” I replied.

A moment later, my phone vibrated. It was a text from June.

Omg you were awesome! You were totally a warrior. Look at you standing up for yourself. And you left Tori and Linda practically speechless! I hope you feel proud. Love you.

Even after stopping the practice, I wasn’t okay. Olivia encouraged me to seek help from a qualified mental health counselor. Silver had always disparaged therapy, as had Swift Deer. But the Deer Tribe’s tools weren’t working for me, so in early June, I found a licensed therapist specializing in EMDR. Each session was $150. I didn’t have insurance and had to pay out of pocket, which put further strain on our finances, but I was desperate. In the end, it was worth it. The sessions helped tremendously. My suicidal ideations and depression disappeared. However, I continued to struggle with anxiety at a much higher level than before I started the Middle Sacred Platform, and it would take several years before my nervous system fully recovered.

Go to Chapter 55.