Who Needs Protocols When You Have Drama?
Chapter 42 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 42
Silver and I sat across from each other in the classroom, his Talking Stick discarded on the ground between us. Walter LeVay sat slightly off to one side. In a few hours, the first Denton Q2 would begin, and Walter, who had arrived yesterday, had offered to monitor a Talking Stick session between Silver and me. Things had gone south quickly.
Silver had broken every Talking Stick protocol. He refused to maintain eye contact, continuously interrupted me, and just moments ago, had laid the Talking Stick down instead of passing it back to me.
Now, I was seething with rage, and judging by the look on Silver’s face, he was too.
I picked up the Talking Stick, wanting to give it one more attempt. Silver refused to look at me, keeping his gaze on the ground with his arms folded across his chest.
“Silver, I care about you. I care about this center. For months, I have worked to promote this event and maintain constant communication with you about the developments. I feel saddened that you can’t accept my choices regarding how I choose to live my life—”
Silver rolled his eyes and mumbled under his breath. So much for caring about the voice of the child, I thought bitterly.
“I’m just struggling to feel at peace with you because of the way you’ve been speaking about me to others,” I finished, holding out the stick to him. He refused to take it and instead stood up and walked out of the room.
I should have known better than to ask Walter to assist us. Despite being a Q teacher, Walter was a weak man. More than once, I had seen the female Q instructors berate him publicly in front of participants. In the Deer Tribe, men were either alpha or beta, and Walter was definitely beta. He was simply no match for Silver’s aggressive, alpha male energy.
I left the classroom feeling irate. Tensions between Silver and me had been escalating for weeks, and now they had reached a peak. He just couldn’t stand that I was choosing my own level of involvement at the Ashram. With Silver, it was all or nothing. If I was going to be here, it had to be on his terms. My refusal to conform to his desires was driving him mad.
Fuming, I walked back to my apartment, anxious and fidgety. I knew my nervous system would benefit from calming deep breaths and quiet introspection, but I ignored those signals, searching for a distraction. I felt both relieved and disappointed to find my apartment empty. Matthew was in the kitchen, prepping dinner for the staff; Andie was in the dojo setting up the music; and Necea was next door at the coffee shop, doing whatever she needed to prepare. I paced my living room, feeling angry and useless.
My phone buzzed with a text from my mother: "Can I come and be on logistics?" This was the third time she had asked me. She had served on the logistics team the year before, and I had been amazed by the changes in her. She had been giddy, volunteering for every exercise and happily partnering with any of the freedancing men—as long as they weren’t fat or unattractive.
But last year, at SunDance, something happened that gave me pause. I was talking with our logistics lead from the first Denton Q two years earlier. She was young and friendly, and I liked her. However, when I mentioned that my mother and I had attended the same Q workshop, she gasped.
“What?” Her jaw dropped. “Your mother was there?”
“Yeah.”
“Oh my gosh! No!”
“You mean…you wouldn’t attend a Q with your mother?”
“No!”
Embarrassed, I let the subject drop, but I was confused. All the Q instructors had acted as if it was completely normal. Finally, I decided to approach Necea. A month ago, when I neophyted for her at the annual Phoenix Q1, I had asked, “Do mothers and daughters ever attend the same Q workshop?”
“It’s highly unusual,” she said with a smile. “It’s so beautiful for you and your mother to share that connection.”
Necea’s words did little to console me. Something about it felt off, and that feeling never left. I didn’t want to do another Q with my mother, and I especially didn’t want her at this workshop, which would be my first time neophyting at a Q2.
I was so accustomed to consulting my teachers, whom I saw as authority figures, that instead of simply saying “no,” I chose to discuss it with Necea. During lunch, when we gathered for a staff meeting, I brought up the topic.
“My mom wants to come to the Q and serve on logistics,” I admitted. “But I really don’t feel comfortable with her being here. I’d prefer that she doesn’t come.”
“Oh. Uh…ah. And why is that?” Necea’s demeanor changed instantly. I could almost see the wheels spinning in her head. We had more men than women, and Necea needed female logistics staff to step in as partners for the freedancing men. This was yet another situation she needed to manage carefully to get what she wanted. After all, as Andie liked to say, Necea always got the last word.
“I just don’t feel comfortable. And, just so you know, she’s only volunteering because she wants to attend for free.”
“Mm hmmm.” Necea wasn’t even listening. “Tell her yes! She can come. We’d love to have her.”
“Fine. But I feel very uncomfortable about this.”
“It’ll be okay,” Andie said after our meeting ended.
“Well, if you say so. But I don’t want to interact with her. If she loses it, will you and Rafael handle her?” Rafael was the male neophyte and one of Andie’s lovers.
“Absolutely,” Andie promised, giving me a big hug.
The Denton Q2 started off rocky and became more chaotic with each passing day. From my perspective, this was largely due to Necea breaking multiple Quodoushka protocols. The Deer Tribe required that every logistics staff member have participated in at least two Q workshops of the same level. This was challenging to achieve in a new location, as most people were reluctant to pay for their own airfare and lodging to work a Quodoushka, even with the incentive of “attending” for free. Naturally, Necea didn’t want to purchase multiple plane tickets for qualified logistics staff, as that would cut into her profits.
Despite having attended only one Q2, Necea appointed Matthew as logistics lead. My mother, who had never attended a Q2, joined his staff. I also helped recruit a couple from Dallas, Nina and Tom, to join the team. While they weren’t Deer Tribe apprentices, they occasionally attended Silver’s sweat lodges and had participated in Necea’s New York Q2 the year before. This couple was involved in Orgastic Meditation and had experience facilitating communication workshops, so I assumed they could manage the logistics roles effectively.
Nina, a psychotherapist, didn’t want to close her practice on Thursday and Friday, so Necea agreed to let her join us on Saturday morning. Tom would arrive on Thursday and stay with us for the entire weekend. He assured us that he and Nina had made arrangements allowing him to participate in partner exercises with the freedancing women. Since we were short on women, he wouldn’t need to fill in as a partner, but during the Body Imprint Removal ceremony, I noticed that he joined in with another couple.
Nina arrived the next morning, and I immediately realized that allowing her to come late had been a mistake. By then, our group had been immersed in the Quodoushka environment for nearly 48 hours—a challenging energy to step into. She looked like a deer in headlights, dazed and afraid.
Necea introduced Nina after the morning dance and then quickly moved everyone into a Talking Stick debrief of the Lover’s Mask exercise. I sat at the front of the room, listening as each participant reflected on their experiences from the night before.
I hadn’t been watching Nina’s face, but something must have struck a nerve, because suddenly, Nina’s voice cut through: “Necea, I would like to speak.”
Necea looked surprised; Nina must have caught her off guard. She didn’t wait for the Talking Stick, but stood and confidently addressed the group. “I wasn’t here last night, but when I arrived this morning, I learned that my boyfriend participated in an intimate exercise with another woman. I’m absolutely not okay with this.”
Her voice trembled slightly as she spoke, but it wasn’t fear I sensed—it was anger. A stunned silence filled the room as every eye turned to Nina. Nina’s voice had risen to a shout. No one moved; we held our breath, waiting in shock to see what would happen next. I glanced at Necea; she stood open-mouthed, her hands hanging at her sides. It was one of the rare moments I had seen her appear stunned, unsure of what to do.
“Okay,” Necea finally said. “I understand you’re feeling strongly right now. Let’s take a moment to breathe. Perhaps we can address this privately with a monitored Talking Stick.”
“Who’s going to monitor it?” Nina retorted. “I want a say in that.”
“It will be monitored by one of our staff, but we’ll need to see who’s available.”
“This is important and shouldn’t be put off. I want this Talking Stick now.” Nina glared at Necea, as if daring her to challenge her.
“Okay, everyone!” Necea called out in a sing-song voice, brushing aside Nina’s demand. “Let’s take a fifteen-minute break. I believe our logistics staff has coffee and brownies in the next room!”
The participants visibly relaxed at the break in tension, standing and shuffling through the narrow hallway into the spacious community kitchen. Necea and Walter stood facing Nina, Tom, and a female freedancer who was also from Dallas and a close friend of Nina’s.
Grateful that Necea was handling the situation, I slipped outside for a breath of fresh air. Andie promptly joined me.
“Whew!” she exclaimed, hands on her hips. “What a basket case!”
“Well,” I hesitated, unsure of how to respond. Jealousy was a painful emotion, one I knew all too well. I felt compassion for Nina, but also a slight sense of smugness. Clearly, she was out of balance. A mature spiritual person knows how to manage their feelings and control their behavior. I had felt insane jealousy, too, but I had never lost it like that in a group setting.
For the rest of the workshop, Nina managed to put on a brave face during group interactions. But every time I glanced at her, her eyes were teary, as if she had just cried or was on the verge of doing so. When I went upstairs to the room Necea had rented for the staff, I found Nina sitting on the bed, her face puffy, red, and streaked with tears. Tom sat solemnly beside her, his arm draped around her shoulders.
But as the weekend wore on, my flame of jealousy flared up, vicious and enraged. Another woman was flirting with Matthew, eyeing him and approaching him seductively on the dance floor. He seemed to enjoy the attention, and I watched the interaction in horror, feeling completely brutalized. I angrily pulled him aside and spoke harshly, demanding that he stop. An argument ensued between us. Andie noticed, and while the other participants transitioned into the teaching space, she tried to make me see reason.
“What’s going on with you?” Andie asked. “He’s not doing anything wrong. He just likes to look at pretty flowers. He’s not betraying you or anything.”
But I couldn’t bear it, and this only added to the stress and chaos that seemed to be compounding by the hour.
Doubts crept into my mind. If sexual experiences outside one’s relationship are so wonderful, why are they so hard to manage? Why do they feel so painful?
Go to Chapter 43.