Open, Surrender, Give Me Your Cash

Chapter 40 of Neophyte: My Life In A Sex Cult

Photo by Katerina May 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 40

I slumped on the floor during Silver’s Wednesday night class, my scowl growing more pronounced by the minute. I didn’t want to be here anymore, and I wasn’t bothering to hide it. Since the last sweat lodge, a flood of newcomers had joined, dragging us back to the basics yet again.

Silver had been bouncing between two intriguing teachings for months: Shamanic Levels of Perception and a numerology study called the Twenty Count. Just as we were on the verge of advancing, a new face would appear, and Silver would abruptly switch gears. I used to find joy in watching the newcomers’ eyes light up as Silver revealed the magic of these teachings. But now, the constant repetition had drained that enjoyment, leaving me frustrated and bored.

My irritation intensified as I listened to Silver joking with the new arrivals, teaching them how to arrange the elements around a medicine wheel. It was so elementary. I was shelling out twenty dollars a week for this class. The thought of my student loans, bills, and the fact that I hadn’t had a vacation in years only fueled my anger. It was infuriating to think that I was paying eighty dollars a month to hear Silver give the most basic teachings to newcomers, all because he refused to offer an advanced class.

I wanted out. I wanted to stop coming, but that thought was quickly overshadowed by a wave of panic. I couldn’t simply drop out—Silver would be furious. I sighed deeply, trying to release some of the tension coiling inside me. I felt like a prisoner to the situation, unable to understand why dropping out of the Wednesday night class stirred such intense emotions. I was an adult; adults can make their own choices. Yet, the mere idea of telling Silver I no longer wanted to attend filled me with fear.

The following week, something in me snapped.

On a Tuesday evening, Silver lounged in the blanket-covered wooden chair at the front of the classroom, his voice rising in a furious rant while the rest of us remained still, sitting cross-legged in meditation pose. Our hands rested on our knees, fingers forming the Gyan Mudra with thumbs and index fingers touching. I could feel a fire of anger igniting in my chest as I listened to his tirade. I was fed up with his “sermons,” which he delivered after each forty-five-minute Rudra meditation session.

Rudra meditation is an open-eye kundalini meditation technique developed decades earlier by Silver’s teacher, a man named Rudi, who died in a plane crash in the early ‘70s. The technique requires students to remain completely still, not moving a muscle, while gazing into the teacher’s eyes. Students are expected to focus on three things: using breath to bring energy up from the base of their spine, clearing their minds, and silently reciting a mantra: "I ask to open, surrender, and grow spiritually."

I had been attending these sessions three times a week for two and a half years, and they always concluded with a "dharma talk." In these talks, Silver would discuss "Shakti-Pat," defined as the transmission of spiritual energy, and the importance of spiritual devotion. To grow spiritually, he often said, we must surrender our ego, which, in essence, meant submitting to the teacher. In our case, this was Silver Ra. Without a teacher, spiritual growth is virtually impossible. "You can't do this process on your own," Silver frequently emphasized.

For a while, Silver kept the talks brief, usually 10 to 15 minutes. Lately, however, Silver had grown increasingly aggressive. His talks had stretched longer and longer, sometimes lasting up to an hour, and we were expected to endure them in silence, maintaining our silent mantra and kundalini breath without letting his words stir our emotions. He called this complex and seemingly impossible process “eating impressions.” In essence, it meant not allowing anyone or anything in the world to affect us.

“…and you call yourself ‘devoted’? Are you kidding me? I am here all day, every day, in pure service to this center. I don’t take days off. I don’t take vacations! I am here in service! That is what it means to be spiritual, not all this talk of abundance and personal desires. I am here, giving my time, and yet no one seems to have any questions. Really? You have a living teacher right here, and not one of you can come up with a question? And on the rare occasions that you do, they are completely incoherent.”

Silver was on a roll now, and my anger intensified with each passing minute. How long had we been here? I subtly shifted my gaze to the left, attempting to catch a glimpse of the wall clock out of the corner of my eye. The hands read eight-thirty.

Finally, he brought his hands together and bowed his forehead, signaling the end of the evening. I exhaled deeply and noticed several others doing the same. On meditation nights, planning anything was always tricky because we never knew when class would end.

Instead of returning to my apartment, I decided to take a walk. Walking was a soothing activity for me, and I felt my fury begin to dissipate. As I passed through a nearby park, a clarifying thought struck me: I had to get out of Rudra Meditation. But how would I tell Silver?

The next day, I called Necea for advice.

“Absolutely,” she said. “Taking a break from this meditation class will be wonderful for you. It will cleanse your spirit and give you space to rejuvenate.”

While I felt relieved by her support, I was also nervous about having to inform Silver of my decision.

I just have to do it, I thought. I walked to his door, silently rehearsing what I would say. I tried to remain calm and confident, but my voice shook as I explained how exhausted I was. I asked for his blessing to take a one-month break from Rudra Meditation and outlined my reasons.

He looked at me, bewildered. “You want to take a break from your spiritual work, and you think that’s how you’re going to grow spiritually?” He stared at me as if I were insane. I felt myself shrinking, my throat tightening as I attempted to make my case. Silver listened quietly for a moment before interrupting.

“You know what? I’m going to make this easy for you. You are no longer welcome at Rudra Meditation. If you can’t commit fully, don’t bother coming back.”

I looked at him, surprised by his nonchalant attitude. Then, to my astonishment, he smiled, gave me a hug, and wished me a good day.

That day, after leaving Silver’s apartment, I felt a freedom I hadn’t experienced in a long time. I hoped this newfound sense of liberation would resolve the negative feelings I had about the Wednesday night class. Yet, week after week, my anger only grew as I continued to part with my hard-earned dollars. I wanted that time back. I wanted that money for other things. The thought of all the money I was losing began to make me feel nauseous, and I knew I had to get out.

This time, however, I decided to tell Silver rather than ask his permission. On a cold Wednesday afternoon in December 2016, I gave him a call.

“Hey Silver!” I said cheerfully. “I wanted to let you know that I won’t be in class tonight because I’ll be at a networking event. And actually, I’m going to be taking a break from the Wednesday night class for a while. I really appreciate you and everything I’ve learned, but I need to use that time for some money-making opportunities so I can continue my medicine work. I want you to know I am still fully dedicated to my spiritual work, but I need to get my finances in order to continue growing. And, I’m going to tell all the other students so they won’t wonder where I am.”

“Alright, thanks for letting me know. Good luck, and keep me posted on your activities.”

That’s it? No chastising, no arguing, no lecture?

For years, every time someone left the group, Silver had harsh words for them. “They think they can do it on their own, but it’s not possible,” he would say to us in class. “You can’t leave and still be spiritual. If you think you can, that’s your ego talking.”

This time, it would be different. I would prove to Silver that devotion didn’t require attending every single event he offered. My example would show him that it was possible to remain devoted without his constant presence. Perhaps I would help him heal whatever wound he carried about people leaving. I imagined the impact I could make on his life and smiled with satisfaction.

Go to Chapter 41.