We Regret To Inform You Healing May Be Delayed Due To Global Pandemic
Chapter 55 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 55
Naomi Everton’s email arrived on a Sunday morning at the end of May. “The Everything has changed, and we are changing with it. It has been decided that for the US SunDance, the music will be recorded and there will be no live singing this year…”
I couldn’t believe what I was reading. No SunDance drum team? Was I misunderstanding her message? I reread the first paragraph to be sure, but there was no mistake. The SunDance drum team had been canceled due to COVID-19.
A well of pain filled my heart, and my eyes brimmed with tears. I shut my laptop, retreated to my bedroom, and collapsed. Sobs shook my body. For the past year, I had dreamed of being back on the SunDance drum team. Every day had brought me a little closer, the thought of singing for the SunDancers carrying me through one brutal workday after another.
I felt heavy with grief. The entire world was falling apart. Everyone was freaking out about coronavirus. The Deer Tribe had already cancelled all sweat lodges indefinitely, and now they were cancelling the drum team. The sweat lodge had been my lifeline for nearly a decade. Without these ceremonies, I felt lost, like my purpose had vanished, like my stability had been ripped away.
When I shared the news with Matthew, he was outraged.
“This is complete and total bullshit,” he ranted. “I can’t believe the Tribe is buying into this plandemic.” I listened quietly as he railed against the social distancing protocols and mask requirements being discussed. Arbor lanes would be spaced six feet apart. Masks would be encouraged but not required in the Taj, yet they wouldn’t be permitted inside the arbor during the dance. None of it made sense.
“Are they even informing the dancers that there will be no live drum?” he asked angrily.
“I don’t know,” I replied. “Naomi only sent the email to the drummers.”
“I bet they aren’t going to say anything. They know if people find out there’s no drum, they’ll lose dancers.”
“That seems out of integrity.”
“It’s totally out of integrity! Swift’s probably turning in his grave.”
I made up my mind; I wasn’t going to SunDance that year. I didn’t want to dance, and just thinking about being there without singing was enough to break my heart.
“Are you still going?” I asked Matthew.
“I have to,” he replied, which didn’t surprise me. Matthew was the Watch Commander for the SunDance security team, and he was deeply dedicated to his role. “Besides, I need to check things out. This might be it for us. If the Deer Tribe is willing to sacrifice our liberty and autonomy for this fear-driven narrative, I’m out.”
By the end of the day, I had a plan. Instead of going to SunDance, I’d visit my cousin in Oregon. After talking it over with her, my sadness started to fade. I hadn’t taken a real vacation in years. Every bit of time off had gone toward ceremonies or workshops. But now, instead of ten grueling days in the scorching desert, I’d get a week to unwind in the lush beauty of the Pacific Northwest.
Three weeks later, while everyone else either headed to SunDance land or hunkered down at home, I boarded a plane to Portland. For the next eight days, I had the time of my life. We hiked along the Salmon River, spent a day at the beach, cooked, lounged, and took peaceful walks around her neighborhood. We created our own ceremonies on a whim, free from the Deer Tribe’s rules, and I was quietly surprised by how powerful they felt.
That visit did more than restore my spirit; it made me rethink everything. What was I doing in the Deer Tribe? My cousin had built a beautiful life for herself. She and her husband had bought three and a half acres and were planning to start a medicinal herb farm. They hadn’t drained their bank accounts on expensive “spiritual” workshops or programs. They hadn’t spent tens of thousands of dollars to learn how to practice magic and medicine. They just lived their lives, worked toward their dreams, and enjoyed the fruits of their labor.
Meanwhile, I was pouring all my money into the Deer Tribe, and for what? To learn how to manifest? The only things I was manifesting were poverty and exhaustion. They had sold me on their “mystery teachings,” their “path to enlightenment,” their promise of “healing.” But the more I thought about it, the clearer it became. There was no finish line, no endpoint. Just an endless maze where the goal kept shifting, always just out of reach.
When I arrived home, I knew what we had to do.
“We need to get out of Phoenix,” I told Matthew when he returned from Sundance land. “My cousin already agreed to let us live with them.”
I spoke nervously, my words rushed, my tone edged with tension. I had already asked him to uproot his entire life in Texas, and now, less than eighteen months later, I was asking him to do it again. What if he refused?
“I know this is out of the blue, but it was a mistake to move here. Or maybe not a mistake, but let’s face it, Phoenix hasn’t lived up to our expectations. It’s hot, I hate my job, we’re living in this tiny apartment, barely getting by. This isn’t the life I want. Let’s get out of here and start over in Oregon.”
“You hate your job? Since when?” He looked surprised. I had never complained about work before.
“Yes! I hate it. I just never told you.”
Matthew was silent. I knew I needed to give him space to think, but the idea had already taken root in my mind, making it hard for me not to push him constantly. I rambled on and on about the opportunities we would have in Oregon: hiking, snowboarding, the ocean, farm-fresh vegetables, cooler summers…
Matthew was resistant. He had finally found a steady stream of work here in Phoenix, working as a subcontractor for a friend. He was open to the idea, but why did we need to move now? Why couldn’t we move next year? Shouldn’t we feel it out more?
I didn’t know how to explain to him that something inside me was screaming to leave. We just had to get away. I felt completely repulsed by the medicine in Phoenix. Staying in the city while trying to extract myself from the community felt impossible.
At the same time, I knew my frantic, desperate energy would only make us both miserable. So, I did my best to stay calm. I began a breath work practice, visualizing the manifestation of my dream and breathing life into the image of Matthew and me in Oregon. I continued to drop hints and plant seeds, but with a lighthearted spirit.
After several weeks, he came to me with a smile on his face.
“Well, should we take a leap of faith and move to Oregon?”
“Yes!” I jumped up and down ecstatically. With our decision made, I called June excitedly.
“Oh, thank God,” she said. “I never thought Phoenix was a good place for you guys.”
Tori had a much different response. “Good for you,” she said curtly.
“Like I said, they were grooming you,” June told me when I shared with her Tori’s attitude. “They just lost a star student.”
Matthew and I worked as a team to coordinate our move. We decided to sell his car, ship our belongings to Oregon in a U-Box, and drive there in my car. On October 1, 2020, we left Phoenix for our next adventure, this time, doing it together.
Go to Chapter 56.