The Price Of Belonging
Chapter 8 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 8
The rest of the summer went by in a blur. I spent my days frantically job searching, smoking weed, and trying not to feel depressed. There were no jobs or career paths for my degree. I had already told my professor that I wouldn’t return to teaching in the fall, so I no longer had that stipend to depend on. My future looked grimmer by the day, and I felt lost and unsure of what to do.
I continued to attend every sweat lodge, but struggled to make the Wednesday night classes. I didn’t want to show up stoned, and sometimes it was hard to get through the day without smoking weed.
At every sweat, I prayed to Great Spirit to bring me a job, and I gave away my fears and blocks around manifesting one. In August, my prayers were answered. A friend had been hired at a late-term abortion clinic in Dallas, and she got me an interview with her supervisor. I was immediately offered a full-time position. The pay was 14 dollars an hour.
Though I was disappointed by the wage, I felt relieved to have employment, and my mood shifted for the better.
Months passed, and the Rudra Center became as familiar to me as my own home. The monthly sweat lodges and weekly classes became my anchor, and I could no longer imagine my life without them. The more I integrated myself into the community, the happier I felt. I still had anxiety, and worry, and emotional pain, but now I had a pathway out of this mess, and I had hope for better days ahead of me.
As I learned more, I began taking on some of the minor leadership functions during the sweat lodges, and I felt a rush of pride that I knew enough to guide newcomers and help them feel welcome.
Gradually, I discovered more about the center. Those who lived onsite called it “the Ashram,” and I soon adopted that name. I learned that the eye-catching Japanese-inspired wooden building housed five apartment units. Silver and Matthew lived in the two ground-floor units, Reina lived in the one above Matthew, and Danny lived in the loft above hers. Elena occupied the unit above Silver’s.
The Victorian building served as the hub of activity, housing the classroom, the dojo, the community kitchen, and the spa. The dojo was a revolving door for ceremony, martial arts training, and yoga classes. Some of the regulars lived upstairs, each person occupying one of the four bedrooms available for rent while sharing the downstairs kitchen.
Soon I realized that Silver’s entire life was the Ashram. At a sweat lodge one month, Omari assured me that I could approach Silver about anything.
“You can knock on Silver’s door anytime if you have a question or problem,” he told me. “Especially if you bring him a heart gift. It can be something small, like a root beer or chocolate. He’ll eat that up.”
Over time, my shyness around Silver melted away and I felt more comfortable in his presence. The Wednesday night class played a part in this; it was more personable and intimate than the sweat lodge. The vulnerability of the students during our group discussions inspired me, and slowly, I became more comfortable opening up and sharing details about my challenges and dreams.
Eventually, I came to think of Silver as my Spiritual Teacher, a designation he endorsed and that others in our group utilized.
Outside of Ashram life, I finished my graduate degree, relieved to put that part of my life behind me. However, I soon grew resentful of my job at the abortion clinic. We were overworked, underpaid, and I hadn’t been prepared for the brutal nature of the work, which included handling the baby’s body parts, nor the emotional toll it would take on me.
The money I earned covered my basic living expenses, with just enough left over for my spiritual work. I needed around 60 dollars a month for the sweat lodge, weekly classes, and heart gifts, which consisted of things like chocolate bars, gemstones, a few dollars, a kombucha beverage, a book, a journal, bath salts, or homemade goods. This amount seemed completely reasonable to me, especially since in my pre-Ashram life I often spent twice that amount each month on weed.
Throughout it all, I longed for a meaningful and fulfilling career path, but I couldn’t imagine what that would look like. At every sweat lodge, I prayed to discover my life’s purpose. In every ceremony, I gave away my fears and subconscious blocks.
The New Year came and went, and in 2013, I turned 27. For the past year, my boyfriend and I had been breaking up and getting back together. Break-ups always destroyed me, and I had a pattern of hanging onto relationships much longer than I knew was healthy. Finally, in the spring, we called it quits for good. The heartache was excruciating, visceral, the pain so intense I had to call in sick for work. But within a few days, the feelings had passed, and I felt surprised at how quickly I recovered. Silver’s sweat lodges and classes were making me stronger. Already, I was overcoming my codependent patterns and attachments.
My happiest hours were spent in Silver’s presence. His wisdom captivated me, and I longed to attain his level of mastery. In my quest to learn more, I kept returning to the Deer Tribe’s website, trying to understand their esoteric and often cryptic language.
One day, I discovered a page dedicated to something called 'Quodoushka'—the Deer Tribe’s spiritual sexual teachings. Fascinated, I read their perspective on sexuality. Humans, they claimed, have an innate capacity for pleasure and deep intimacy, but social conditioning had stripped us of this birthright. Through the sexual healing practices of Quodoushka, people could supposedly heal their wounds, insecurities, and shame. These teachings were part of the curriculum in the Deer Tribe’s Quodoushka workshops, known as 'Qs,' which they described as spiritual sexual education workshops
My initial excitement turned to disappointment when I realized these events were held sporadically and all took place in other states. The 700 dollar price tag left me stunned. I was already putting money aside each month so I could attend SunDance, which would cost me about 1200 dollars. I couldn’t imagine having more at my disposal. Whatever healing the Quodoushka could offer me would have to wait, and I let the possibility shift to the back of my mind.
In May, I stopped by Silver’s place to pick up the SunDance registration packet. Only “apprentices,” the name for official Deer Tribe members, could access the information online. Everyone else needed to be invited by a member who had attended before.
On my way out I ran into Matthew. He stopped in his tracks, flashed me his magnetic smile, and managed to wrangle me into a conversation, as he usually did when our paths crossed. When he saw the SunDance packet in my hands, his eyes lit up.
“Awesome, you’re coming,” he said excitedly. “Let me know if you have any questions. This will be my fourth SunDance and I’ve got the process down. There’s a lot to do to prepare, and I can help you.”
That was not an understatement. In addition to camping gear, I needed to gather ceremonial regalia, which included an ankle-length skirt with fringe, a turkey bone whistle, feather plumes, and rainbow-colored ribbons for my shirt. I needed appropriate clothing to accommodate the climate, which ranged from the upper 90s during the day down to the lower 40s at night. I needed sturdy shoes to work in, comfortable shoes to dance in, shoes to wear in the shower, snacks, electrolytes, flashlights, a headlamp, sun protection, and any comfort items I didn’t want to go without. I needed to bring my sweat lodge gear. I needed to bring gifts for the Dance Chief and Lineage Leaders, which included tobacco offerings, a Pendleton blanket, and gift cards. And I needed an efficient and functional way to pack and carry all of these items in.
Matthew’s eagerness to help me was obvious, and so for the next few weeks, we spent more time together. I needed to make my SunDance shield, which, I learned, would hang above my designated dance lane during the SunDance. Matthew constructed a round wooden frame and helped me stretch the canvas, stapling it to the back so it was taut as a drum. We did this last piece in his living room, and while we worked, we talked about ourselves and our lives. I felt a rush of pleasure when I realized we shared many mutual interests. We were both musicians and enjoyed some of the same artists, including Madeleine Peyroux, whom he had seen in concert. I learned he had once worked as a raw dessert chef at Cafe Bliss, a restaurant that had gone under due to the owner’s poor management practices.
Talking with him felt easy and natural, and I surprised myself with how much I enjoyed his company.
A few days later, he called to invite me to breakfast. We met up at Loco Cafe, a popular spot located right next door to the Ashram. We stood at the counter and ordered fresh juice, scrambled eggs, and pancakes.
“Shall I pay for breakfast, so it’s officially a date?” he asked while pulling out his wallet and handing the barista his card.
Before parting ways, he invited me over to Silver’s for a movie night that evening. I had never been asked to hang out with Silver before, and I was giddy with excitement. For the first time in my life, I felt like I belonged to something truly amazing.
Go to Chapter 9.