You're Not Sick, You're In Pity
Chapter 11 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 11
I awoke to the soft sounds of the drummers’ voices, their quiet song pulling me back to reality. The other dancers in my quadrant were stirring; some were already awake and dressed in their ceremonial attire. I felt Silver’s hands gently touching my shoulder to rouse me.
“It’s time to get up,” he said.
I sat up and observed dancers from all around the arbor carrying their chairs to the east gate. Quickly, I dressed and picked up my chair, following the others and setting it down next to Silver. Matthew, who had a dance lane in the west, brought his chair right next to mine. He smiled and kissed me on the cheek, then discreetly took my hand.
Two of the SunDance leaders led the morning ceremony, a shortened version that included only one prayer to Great Spirit and the conjuring for each direction. After the ceremony, the dancers returned to their lanes. Day two of the dance had begun.
By afternoon, exhaustion set in. I felt it in my dusty, sweaty body, and I saw it in the demeanor of the other dancers, who paced slowly back and forth to the tree. The lack of food and sleep took its toll, evident in the weariness of those who sat in their chairs or rested on their cots, too tired to get up and dance. Every hour, I visited the water sanctuary, hoping for relief. However, the warm water did little to refresh me.
Friday was even harder.
By mid-morning, I was nauseous, trembling, and in pain. My stomach hurt, my sides hurt, and I couldn’t stop thinking about food. The morning sun beat mercilessly, and the winds had stilled. I returned to the water sanctuary, but couldn’t take more than a few sips. The warm water, devoid of salt or electrolytes, made my nausea worse.
At noon, I decided to visit the healing arbor.
The healing arbor was a small, grassy space next to the drum arbor, enclosed almost completely in shade cloth. A doorway-sized opening served as the entry point. When I walked inside, I noticed a dancer sprawled on the ground. A healing attendant knelt beside her, holding a round basket on her navel. I recognized the basket as a powerful medicine tool of Diné origin, called a marriage basket.
An older woman with short grey hair walked toward me and asked how she could help.
“I am feeling very ill,” I told her, my voice struggling to convey the seriousness of my condition while maintaining an attitude of ‘no pity.’ I was afraid she would think I was exaggerating or making up my symptoms. Shame crept in. All week, I had heard the phrase ‘no pity’ repeated endlessly. Pity, I had learned, was considered a low-vibrational state, a major issue on the planet. Even Terra Medica, the small adobe structure that served as our clinic, had a sign on its door that read: “No Pity Clinic.”
The woman smiled, touched my shoulder, and invited me to sit on the ground.
“I’m going to do a psychic check on you,” she said, moving directly behind me and placing her hands on either side of my navel.
“Okay, you don’t need electrolytes. You are in pity. Go dance seven runs to the tree and give away your pity to Great Spirit. If you are still feeling ill after that, you can return.”
I tried to keep a brave face as I left the healing arbor and returned to my dance lane. I picked up my plumes and whistles, took a pinch of paho from my pouch, and walked toward the tree. My insides hurt, I felt nauseous, weak, dizzy, and ashamed. I pleaded with Great Spirit in my mind: Please, take this pain away. I give it away! I give it away now! When I reached the center tree, I rested my forehead on its bark. I whispered a steady stream of giveaways, praying for an end to my pity, my anger, my weakness, my fear, my trauma. I could barely hold my body up, but back and forth I went, and each step brought wave upon wave of painful nausea.
Several minutes later, I completed my seven dance runs. Practically stumbling, I re-hung my plumes and whistles and collapsed on my cot. After some time, I heard the woman a few cots over call loudly, “We need more dancers!” Every dance quadrant had to have at least three dancers up at all times, from six in the morning until two in the morning. I tried to stir my body, but couldn’t move, and soon dozed off.
Hours later, with my pain and nausea as strong as ever, I returned to the healing arbor. A new set of healing attendants had replaced the ones from earlier. With tears in my eyes, I explained my pain, nausea, and fatigue to another grey-haired woman.
“Have you cried at the tree?” she said in a southern drawl. “That always makes me feel better.”
“Not yet,” I muttered. To my utter dismay, she instructed me to sit down and positioned herself behind me.
“I’m going to do a psychic check,” she said while I blinked back tears.
A tall, slim woman with short brown hair approached us. I recognized her as one of the healing chiefs I had met earlier in the week. I was glad to see her, as she had a kind face and a soothing presence.
“I think she’s in pity,” my healing attendant told her. “Let me check,” was the chief’s reply. My attendant moved over so the chief could take her place behind me. She placed her hands on my navel.
“She needs electrolytes,” the chief said. “Her organs are sticking together—I can feel it. Here, let me show you.” The chief guided the attendant’s hands back to my sides. “Take her to Terra Medica.”
The attendant and I left the healing arbor, slipped past the drum arbor and walked backwards through the east gate. Terra Medica was situated just beyond, about a dozen yards away. We walked inside, and the attendant passed me to the medic on duty, instructing her to give me electrolytes.
The medic poured me a cup of Recharge and gave me a second cup of salty-tasting liquid. I drank gratefully, and within moments, I felt my nausea pass and my strength return.
“Do you want another?” she asked, and I held out my cup for more.
My mood shifted after that. I felt euphoric, happy, and strong enough to dance. It was near dusk by the time I left Terra Medica. A cool breeze swept through the land, and the evening sunset’s orange, purple, and pink rays illuminated the sky. I walked past the ever-burning ceremonial fire by the east gate with a big smile on my face.
Go to Chapter 12.