Nobody Owns Ceremony

Chapter 5 of Neophyte: My Life In A Sex Cult

Photo by Andreas Wagner 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 5

In the hours following a sweat lodge, lightness filled my being, erasing the sense of separation from my body. Instead, I enjoyed a calmness and deep relaxation that stretched all the way to my core. This feeling lingered well into the next day, and I savored waking up in the morning feeling that everything was right in the world. All my anxious thoughts, feelings, and sensations vanished completely.

After my first sweat lodge, I didn’t know if I would ever go back, but as the days turned into weeks, I noticed a gradual return of my anxieties and stress. When the second Saturday in January grew closer, I knew without a doubt I would return.

From then on, I never missed a ceremony. I loved the beauty of the songs, the purifying heat that burned away my deepest pains, and the camaraderie of the group as we moved through these evenings together.

As the months passed, I learned more about the ceremony. I learned that the aromatic herbs I smelled were a mixture of sage, lavender, cedar, and sweetgrass. The roles of Fire Chief and Rock Runner rotated each month, giving everyone a chance to sweat inside the lodge. But Silver was always the Dance Chief.

After every sweat, we shared a potluck feast, filling our plates and sitting on the dojo’s floor, spreading out all around the room. I often sat by myself during these meals, feeling internal and quiet after the intensity of the sweat lodge experience. But I loved seeing the laughter and playfulness in the others. The ease at which they interacted and held themselves inspired me. It was a happiness and kinship I had never seen before.

When I had attended three or four sweats, as the regulars called them, I found my curiosity growing. Anyone could make a fire, build a lodge, and huddle together while invoking the elements. But there was something significant about the way this group did things. The attention to detail, the tapestry of songs and accouterments, and the poetic language I didn’t understand spoke of mysterious knowledge.

It was an enigma, and I wanted to know more.

One month, I approached the topic with Matthew, a strikingly handsome man with wavy dark hair, olive-colored skin, and a vibrant presence. Like Silver, he had a signature outfit: black, loose-fitting drawstring pants that cuffed around the ankles. He was a martial artist, I soon learned, and taught Kung Fu, Tai Chi, and Qigong in the dojo.

“What exactly is this place?” I asked him. “Where does this ceremony come from?”

Matthew flashed me a bright smile that made my heart flutter. Every time I showed up for the sweat lodge, I saw him stare at me with that same dazzling grin.

“It comes from the Deer Tribe,” he said eagerly. “It’s a tradition. You can look them up online.”

Later that weekend, I found their website at dtmms.org. I discovered their full name was the Deer Tribe Metis Medicine Society, the organization behind the Sweet Medicine SunDance Path of Turtle Island.

My head spun as I read. The Sweet Medicine SunDance Path carried the mystery teachings of the Twisted Hairs Council of Elders, whose knowledge held the keys to planetary healing and enlightenment. The end to war, bigotry, racism, and addiction seemed possible if humans could open their hearts, communicate with compassion, and get out of self-pity.

The sacredness of nature, greatest of all teachers, was emphasized, with ceremony serving as our pathway to self-healing, the eradication of pain, and the unlocking of our deepest potential. By healing ourselves first, we could extend our help to others, thus catalyzing the planetary shift necessary to end suffering.

Their website was old and desperately needed an update, but this did not deter me from browsing through its different sections. Near the bottom of the menu bar, I found a link to an online metaphysical store, called the Sweet Medicine Shoppe, which offered crystals, books, pipes, Pendleton blankets, and “medicine mixtures.”

Another link took me to their blog, and I read through a couple of posts about dressing up as an animal, staying up all night, and stepping into our childlike wonder and curiosity.

And then I came across a page about sacred sexuality.

The Deer Tribe, it seemed, had overwhelmingly positive and enthusiastic things to say about sex. They emphasized that humans are inherently sexual beings, and our sexuality serves as the catalyst for our spiritual growth. Viewing it as our life force energy, they asserted that pleasure and orgasm have the power to guide us through profound transformation, heal our deepest wounds, and liberate us beyond our wildest imagination.

This message was completely opposite from what I received growing up inside the Seventh-Day Adventist church. My religion, imposed upon me against my will, shrouded sex in shame and negativity so pervasively that I could not recall learning a single positive thing about sex in all the years I was forced to attend church.

My body began to tingle with hope as I allowed these ideas to sink in. I reflected on the psychological scars and pain from my sexual traumas that I kept locked away. For years I had been unsure of how to heal them or who to trust for guidance. Until this moment, the sweat lodge had been my way of alleviating anxiety and learning to love myself. Now, it seemed that this healing path I had stumbled upon could provide much more than I ever expected.

It felt like the most wonderful, serendipitous coincidence, and I couldn’t believe that it was happening to me.

Not long after this discovery, one of my professors assigned an article written by a woman named Andrea Smith. The article was from her book called “Conquest: Sexual Violence and the American Indian Genocide.”

I finished the article and sat there in shock. The author had completely eviscerated the Deer Tribe, accusing its founder, a man named Harley “SwiftDeer” Reagan, of being a liar, a thief, and a fraud.

The Deer Tribe’s website briefly mentioned this man named “SwiftDeer.” Half Irish and half Cherokee, he had been trained by his Cherokee grandmother, a medicine woman named Spotted Fawn, in traditional ceremonial methods. The Council of Elders had appointed him to bring these sacred teachings to the planet. These teachings had been kept underground for over a hundred years, but now the planet was ready to shift into a higher dimension of consciousness.

According to Andrea Smith, SwiftDeer was not a member of the Cherokee Nation. The Deer Tribe’s sacred sexuality teachings, which went by the name Chuluaqui Quodoushka, were disgusting, exploitative, and harmful.

But the thing that upset me most was the class discussion we had following our assignment. The general consensus among my peers was this: any white woman who attends a sweat lodge is a racist cultural appropriator.

Fear pierced my heart and my anxiety skyrocketed. The last thing I ever wanted to be was a racist cultural appropriator. But how could I give the sweat lodge up? How could I turn my back on the only thing that was helping me?

I didn’t understand how we were cultural appropriators. This group seemed so loving, kind, and welcoming. One woman in my class criticized white people who charged hundreds of dollars for native ceremonies they had stolen. But the folks at the Rudra Center weren’t charging hundreds of dollars. They were asking for a $10 donation to help with the cost of rocks. And it wasn’t even a compulsory donation; if someone couldn’t afford it, they had the option of volunteering in the garden for an hour.

At the next sweat lodge, I approached a kind, older man named Danny. He was a veteran and a member of the Choctaw Nation and made beautiful dream catchers. I had purchased one from him the month before.

After we had dressed the lodge, I pulled him aside and told him what I had learned in class.

A serious look spread across his face. Ceremony is between you and Great Spirit,” he told me. “If this is something that you are called to do, then it is yours to do. No one owns ceremony.”

We talked more about this woman named Andrea Smith. He assured me that I was doing nothing wrong and that I could continue coming to sweat lodges with a free conscience.

Relief swept over me, immediately soothing my heart. Over the next few months, I did more digging online, and I learned that Andrea Smith had been exposed as a fraud herself. She was not a member of the Cherokee Nation, as she had claimed, yet she had benefited professionally by saying that she was.

From that point on, I ignored the naysayers and decided to trust my gut. The people judging me for attending a sweat lodge had never experienced one before. They didn’t know Silver or the Rudra Center. They were just repeating what they read online as an act of virtue signaling. These same people seemed to attack everyone and everything around them. I was sick of it, and so ready to be done with college.

I had found a new path in life, one that was uplifting, and nothing was going to stop me from pursuing it.

Go to Chapter 6.