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Protected by a Higher Power
A Navajo Veteran’s Journey (Part 1)
During those months on the battlefield, something extraordinary began to happen. On the mornings before daily scout patrol, I’d wake from vivid dreams that seemed to reveal the day ahead—details and dangers that later unfolded with uncanny accuracy. Guided by those glimpses, I would plan and make decisions during the day and achieve our goals. I didn’t know where this ability came from. But I felt protected by a higher power.
My name is Larrison Manygoats. I was born in 1976 in Tuba City, Arizona, a small town in the Navajo Nation, fifty miles east of the Grand Canyons. I am the oldest of five children—two brothers and two sisters—raised in a traditional Navajo family with deep roots in warrior culture.
The Navajo are the largest Native American tribe, long known for their courage and resilience. In both World Wars, many Navajo men volunteered for military service, carrying on this proud tradition. Their contributions became legendary through the Navajo Code Talkers during World War II, whose use of the Diné language created an unbreakable code that helped secure victory in the Pacific.
My family is a part of that legacy. Our family lineage traces back to Jeff King, a renowned Navajo warrior and centenarian who served in the U.S. Army and helped preserve Diné traditions. My grandfather served in World War II. My father served with the Marine Corps in Viet Nam. My two brothers and I joined the Marines, while a sister joined the Army. Military service runs deep in our blood, and we have always taken pride in honoring our Navajo warrior heritage.
When I was 13, my mother left, walking out on my father and five children—my youngest sister only five years old. That moment carved a lasting scar in my heart. My father raised us single handedly. He worked at a Navajo cultural center, and although he never went to college, he loved learning and was deeply spiritual.
In 1995, at age 18, I joined the Marine Corps after completing its grueling 13-week boot camp. Out of over 100 recruits, only 45 passed. Marine Corps boot camp is the toughest entry training in the U.S. military, and only the most determined candidates make it through. My father was very proud of me.
My years in the Marines shaped me quickly. The constant training—marches, field exercises, and marksmanship drills—built discipline and resilience. I learned to trust my team and stay calm under pressure, lessons that prepared me well for combat.
In 1999, while searching online for spiritual wisdom, my father came across a book called China Falun Gong. Its teachings resonated deeply with the ancient Navajo beliefs he grew up with. He downloaded the book, printed copies, and began learning the exercises. He even taught several of his Navajo friends. Later, father obtained printed version of Zhuan Falun, the main teaching of Falun Gong. In 2000, he gave me a pocket-sized Zhuan Falun and told me the book was special. I trusted his advice and began reading the book. While some of the teachings were foreign to me, I was drawn to three basic principles: Truthfulness, Compassion and Forbearance.
In 2005, I transferred from the Marines to the Army, and the following year I deployed to Iraq. Among the few items I carried was the Zhuan Falun from my father.
Following the US invasion in 2003, Iraq fell into chaos. A large American troop moved in to bring stability and support the new government to take control.
We landed in Taji, a small town 20 miles north of Bagdad. We had a small quick-reaction force made up of six U.S. soldiers. along with 500 Iraq soldiers. Our job was to train Iraqi soldiers in Logistics. Distributing a large quantity of military equipment was a critical element in the entire mission. I also served as the driver for a Lieutenant Colonel, who was the U.S. Commander for the Iraqi Army Mechanized Unit. We encountered numerous IED’s (Improvised Explosive Devices), and sniper fires. Death was never far away.
My greatest concern was always the success of our mission, including the safety of Iraqi soldiers, many of whom had little military training. On many foot patrols, I was the point man—walking in front, often alone, sometimes with one Iraqi soldier on my side. The others stayed 500 feet behind. The role carried extreme risk, but I was never afraid of death. I felt protected by a higher power.
Throughout my tour, I kept the Zhuan Falun in my pocket, reading even a few sentences whenever possible. Those brief moments grounded me amid the chaos.
It was during this time that the dreams began. Before waking, I would see vivid images of the battlefield—troops preparing for the day, helicopters ready for deployment, villages with people in the streets, rivers with locals fishing. I saw civilians’ faces filled with fear. I often saw the same routes we would travel later that day. These visions helped me navigate safely through each mission.
Between 2006 and 2012, I completed three deployments, each lasting 12 to 16 months. Despite hundreds of missions and repeated brushes with death, I returned each time without major injury except for concussions from explosions. And miraculously, I never had to shoot anyone. For that, I have always felt deeply blessed.
While overseas combat was tough, coming home proved to be an even greater challenge. After my first assignment in Iraq, I returned to Texas only to be met with a devastating blow: my wife had filed for divorce, taken our baby boy, and left with a large portion of my compensation. I couldn’t help but connect this moment to what my mother did to us. It felt like déjà vu in the worst possible way.
Suddenly broke and without a place to call home, I went back to Iraq and threw myself completely into my duty. At that point, even the thought of dying in combat was easier than confronting the pain waiting for me at home.
In 2011, during the final withdrawal of U.S. troops from Iraq, my battalion commander called me in and said, “Manygoats, we need to move ten thousand soldiers to Kuwait. You will take the lead vehicle across the desert, and they will follow you.” His trust in me was unmistakable, and I vowed not to let him down. I was among the last Americans to leave Iraq, and that assignment remains one of the greatest honors of my military career.
When I finally completed my last deployment in 2012, my body and mind began to unravel. Memory loss, trembling hands, nightmares, and pain overwhelmed me. After extensive testing, the Army diagnosed me with PTSD and traumatic brain injury, and I was medically discharged.