Only Ten Dollars And A Heart Gift
Chapter 3 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 3
That first sweat lodge marked a pivotal moment in my life.
I was 25 years old and living in Denton, Texas, where I had attended school since 2005. On the outside, my life appeared fine. I had a graduate position as a Teaching Fellow, which paid me a small stipend that covered the cost of my basic living expenses.
I lived in a decent rental home downtown and could walk to the health food store, the library, my bank, the park, and dozens of restaurants, coffee shops, and bars. I had a great roommate, wonderful friends, and a boyfriend with whom I shared a deep emotional connection.
But beneath all of this, something was very wrong.
For years, I had endured intense emotional pain and bizarre physiological symptoms that baffled me. Chronic anxiety, deep sadness, fatigue, and fluctuating physical pain plagued me. This had been my reality for as long as I could remember. These ever-present, unpleasant sensations, negative thoughts, and painful feelings persisted, relentlessly tormenting me. At times, they faded into the background, only to resurface with a trigger, engulfing me in fear, panic, disgust, and shame.
Because I had lived with this for so long, it became my normal. But I didn’t feel normal. I saw the confidence, charisma, creativity, and joy exuded by others. Sure, I knew they had problems. But deep down, they seemed like they felt okay in their skin, and I never felt okay in mine.
While I didn’t understand my feelings, I knew why they were there. I knew they originated from traumas I had experienced throughout my life. And I knew that the big trauma I had experienced when I was 22 years old had made everything much, much worse.
But I didn’t know what to do. For many years, I longed for the financial resources to afford therapy. I felt helpless and resentful toward my parents, whom I barely spoke to and who had never been interested or invested in my well-being.
Then, in 2011, a fortunate thing happened.
My graduate teaching position came with insurance, and so, for the first time in my life, I decided to try therapy. In our sessions, the shame I felt was so debilitating, so humiliating, that it would constrict my throat, rendering me unable to speak. I didn’t want to relive the events in my head, let alone reveal the horrible details to another. So I skirted around the issue, referencing the traumatic experience vaguely, and hoping that somehow, someway, it would disappear and I would be different.
Ultimately, I didn’t know how to give voice to the depths of my anguish. I didn’t have the words for it. Naturally, the benefits I received from therapy were minimal.
A few months into my therapy experiment, I vulnerably shared some of the more intimate details of my struggles with a close friend.
“Why don’t you try going to a sweat lodge?” she suggested kindly, and I could hear the care in her voice. “It’s a healing ceremony. There is a group that holds sweat lodges in Denton. I went to one a few years ago.”
“What?” I exclaimed. “Where?”
“They happen at that place on Locust Street, across from the Greenhouse Restaurant. It’s the place with all the zen gardens and statues.”
I was intrigued. I knew the place she referred to. It was just a few blocks north of the downtown square, and around the corner from my home. I had lived in Denton for nearly seven years and had walked by that property dozens of times.
For the next several days, I couldn’t stop thinking about her suggestion. Although I didn’t know much about sweat lodges, I had been exposed to the idea of traditional native ceremonies in an indigenous studies class. I often wished our society still maintained reverence for nature and a slower pace of life. I wondered if a lifestyle in harmony with the natural world could be my path to inner peace.
One day, I passed by the property on my way home from a therapy appointment. Feeling spontaneous, I decided to check the place out.
The property was certainly unique. Beyond the small parking lot stood a sturdy wooden fence that ended beside a tall hedge. On the other side of the hedge, a wide path of inlaid pebbles seemed to beckon me forward. Opposite the path was a large wooden building with a door facing the street and a sign that read, “Private Residence.” Beside the door, I noticed a posting listing the various services and classes offered.
Whatever this place was, I was certainly intrigued. It offered Nutritional Counseling, Yoga, Kung Fu, Tai Chi, and Meditation. There were also things I had never heard of before, like an “Oxygen Life Spa,” “Qigong,” and “Neuro-Linguistic Programming,” as well as a “Monthly Shamanic Purification Lodge.”
I turned away from the sign and stepped onto the pebbled path, passing under a stunning Japanese gate, or torii. Near the top, a horizontal beam displayed metal letters spelling out the name: Rudra Center for Enlightened Awareness.
As I walked through the garden area, I felt like I was stepping into Narnia. Nothing like this place existed anywhere I had ever lived or visited. Multiple paths meandered around trees and bushes, with a stone bench nestled beneath a trellis covered in green vines.
Whoever designed the building to my right clearly had an appreciation for Japanese architecture. One section reached three stories high, with each floor adorned by elegant, upturned eaves that extended beyond the walls. A magnificent spire graced the top, its striking presence visible from blocks away.
Up ahead to my left stood a historic Victorian-style house with a charming covered porch on the second floor. Below, I noticed a service board encased within an intricately carved wooden frame.
As I followed the path between the two buildings, I passed a giant elephant statue that I recognized as Ganesha. I strolled past one side of a three-tiered water fountain. Beyond it, the back gardens came into view, even more beautiful than the front. The space was filled with lush trees, winding paths, and a towering stone Buddha that overlooked a serene, deep water fountain.
Though I would have loved to explore further, I had a purpose, so I pushed open a heavy door that seemed to be a public entrance to the Victorian-style building. Stepping inside, I found myself in a foyer, and from there, I passed through another door that led to a spacious kitchen.
A man in his late twenties, with dark skin and a muscular, fit build, stood near an industrial-style kitchen island. His warm smile immediately put me at ease.
Though I had intended to ask about the sweat lodge, I suddenly lost my nerve.
"What is the Oxygen Life Spa?" I asked instead.
The man smiled. "I'd be happy to show you our spa! I’m Omari,” he said, extending his hand.
He led me to the other side of the kitchen, opened a door, and invited me inside. The room beyond was quiet and cozy, filled with crystals, bottles of essential oils, and a massage table.
“This is the oxygen spa,” he motioned to a corner of the room. I saw an interesting piece of equipment shaped like a large seat with two sides that folded together, enclosing the person while allowing their head to protrude through an opening in the top.
Omari went on to explain the process and the benefits. As he talked, I felt more and more relaxed. At the next pause in our conversation, I revealed the true purpose of my visit. “I heard there is a sweat lodge that happens here. Can you tell me about that?”
A radiant smile spread across his face.
“Ah,” he said, his eyes glowing. “You mean the shamanic purification lodge. That is a ceremony that will give you spiritual, emotional, physical, mental, and sexual healing.”
I felt a warm and fuzzy sensation in my heart. Wow. This is exactly what I need.
“I’d like to attend,” I told him.
“We’d love to have you,” Omari replied. “We’ve been holding them here for over thirty years. Our current group’s been sweating together every month for about two years, and so our energy is strong. We have another one in two weeks! There are some things you’ll need to bring - do you have a pen and paper?”
Omari waited as I rummaged through my bag and retrieved the journal and pen I typically carried with me.
“You’ll need two towels and something to wear inside the lodge. That could be a swimsuit or a sarong or something similar.”
He paused while I finished writing, then continued. “We have three people who are in service for us so that we can have our ceremony. That’s the Dance Chief, the Fire Chief, and the Rock Runner. So we give each of them a heart gift as a thank you.”
“What’s a heart gift?” I asked.
“It’s a gift from the heart,” Omari smiled. “It’s a gesture of appreciation. It can be anything. You want to know how I know something would make a good heart gift? If I’m at the store and I see something that I really like, then I know: this would make a great heart gift. You know?”
I still didn’t fully understand, but I nodded my head anyway.
“Bring a cash donation. It’s to help cover the costs of the ceremony, like the stones and wood.”
“What amount do you recommend?”
“Ten dollars.” That was cheaper than a yoga class, and seemed reasonable to me.
“Then we have a potluck feast after the ceremony, so bring a food dish.”
“What time do I show up?” I asked.
“Around four o’clock,” he replied. “Oh, and one more thing. If you like to smoke weed, it’s best if you don’t smoke that day. What’s your astrology sign?”
“Aquarius.”
“Hey, me too! Yeah, it’s even more important for us Aquarians, because we like to be in our heads. But this ceremony is designed to get us out of our heads. So try to abstain if you can.”
“No problem,” I said, even though I was a daily toker.
We finished our conversation and I walked home, thrilled about my discovery. That night, I shared the news with my roommate, boyfriend, and a friend who stopped by. Everyone offered me their enthusiastic support.
Over the next two weeks, I could think of little else. I eagerly counted down the days, feeling hopeful yet also trying to temper my expectations, not wanting to be disappointed. The idea of healing, the way Omari described it, sounded amazing. But was it too good to be true? I would have to wait to find out.
I could not have foreseen that this sweat lodge would irrevocably alter the course of my life forever.
Go to Chapter 4.