By Andrew Riutta
Just last week I made love to the actress and activist Susan Sarandon for what seemed like most of an entire evening. Of course, it was only a dream. And although I believe most men (and some women) would agree that she is certainly attractive enough to warrant such a dream, it is not something I have ever dwelled upon.
So why the dream then? Lewis Sawaquat, an elder of the Grand Traverse Band of Odawa and Chippewa Indians, and an enthusiast of many of the world's ancient symbols and traditions, is someone who may have the answer - or at least an approximation of one.
Even hunched over the two canes he walks upon, Sawaquat is a large man, and yet is somehow able to make his way through the tiny house in Peshawbeston that both he and his wife have lived in for the last fifteen years, which is overrun by a variety of spiritual and cultural artifacts and baubles.
"Though on the surface it may seem I'm a cynic at times, deep down inside I am hopelessly naïve and in love with humanity," Sawaquat offered as an early overview of himself, while alternating between sips of Diet Coke and black coffee.
Born February 16, 1935, in Harbor Springs, Michigan, Lewis Sawaquat, then Lewis Johnson - the government's appointed last name - like many Native American children at that time was forced to attend Catholic boarding school, and to cut his ties with his native roots and culture.
"If traditions were taught, if the language was spoken, it was late at night in a darkened house," Sawaquat said on what would also turn out to be a dark, dark night.
No matter, Sawaquat found himself to be deeply captivated by the mysteries of being alive, which included the symbology inherent in dreams.
"My grandmother was big-time medicine woman who had the capability of defying many of the laws of experiential reality," Sawaquat said as he rocked back and forth in his chair.
While still a teenager, Sawaquat began to look into other beliefs and customs, reading books such as The Prophet, Khalil Gibran, and The Black Pullet, an anonymous work from the 18th century that introduced its readers to magical talismans, as well as insights into the Hebrew Kabbalah.
Sawaquat said that while many of his fellow natives seemed to accept the role of being "lesser than" within the larger Anglo culture, he would not allow himself to succumb to these types of notions.
"My personal ambitions were not going to be compromised by the society in which I lived," Sawaquat said.
However, duty would call him, and in 1953 Sawaquat was sent to fight for one year in the Korean War.
"I was aghast at what human beings will do to one another," he said. "I was only 17 years old but emotionally I had become an adult many times over."
Sawaquat stayed in the Army as a special operations surveyor until 1956, and eventually he would enroll in the University of Chicago as an English major.
"I enjoyed Chicago a lot," he said. "There seemed to be a communal feeling, both on and off the campus."
Years later, Sawaquat would settle down in Indianapolis, Indiana, where he worked as a surveyor for the federal government by day, and a cultural/spiritual guide by night, teaching others about the history and practice of "the occult," a term he used to describe supernatural beliefs and phenomena.
"I was privileged to assist in so many psychological births," he said.
Yet in 1979, Sawaquat moved from Indianapolis back to northern Michigan, and was hired by the U.S. Soil and Conservation Department as a surveyor.
"In Indianapolis I was beginning to feel like a tin god, and so I thought I would move back home, at least close to it, and try to re-establish some of my roots," he said.
Lake Leelanau, to be exact.
It was then that Sawaquat decided he would try his hand at hunting and fishing for the first time.
"I had lived in the city for so long that I guess it was my way of trying to fulfill my idea of what I thought an Indian did in his spare time," Sawaquat said. "I would go out in the woods and lean against a tree with my gun, but then spend most of the day just reading poetry."
In 1986 Sawaquat won the prestigious National Essay of the Year award for a memoir he had written titled, "For my Indian daughter," which was originally published in Newsweek, and would later be included in several anthologies alongside writers such as Martin Luther King Jr. and Maya Angelou.
As in previous years, Sawaquat continued to immerse himself in the world of dreams and their mythological potentialities.
"Worldy experience helps in the explanation of a dream, though not necessarily the understanding of it," Sawaquat said. "It can be a natural ability or developed, but in either case it has to do with exceeding the sociological norms."
In fact, even the poet and novelist Jim Harrison, who lived just down the road from Sawaquat at the time, once came to have a dream of his symbolically appraised.
"He came over with a gift of tobacco and some shells from the Gulf that were special to him," Sawaquat said. "Then we sat down and exchanged a few life stories."
Sawaquat also noted that the found Harrison to be quite the opposite of how much of the world still perceives him to be.
"He was very spiritually directed and unassuming. He told me that he viewed himself as a ‘town crier' more than anything," Sawaquat said.
The dream for which Sawaquat offered insight was the same dream that inspired Harrison to write his first novel, "Wolf."
The day finally came when Sawaquat felt it was time to retire, an in 1990, he followed through with that commitment he had made to himself. But less than one year later, Sawaquat was given an offer by the Grand Traverse Band to fill the position of "cultural traditionalist," an offer that he gladly accepted.
In his new capacity, Sawaquat interacted with people from the tribe on a daily basis, and would often spend several hours a day just translating their dreams into understandable components.
"Interpreting dreams means to actively participate in the questions," he said. "In this sense, dreams become a mythology of everyday life."
Even as such, Sawaquat admitted that for many, dreams are often pathological, and serve as little more than a review of their lives.
I suspect that my dream falls under this category.
Eventually, Sawaquat retired permanently, and finally began to find the time to devote himself wholly to the countless books on his shelf, which even include The Holy Bible.
"My muscles have deteriorated, my teeth are gone, and my hair is thin. Perhaps thinking will be the last bastion to go," Sawaquat said.
But not yet.
Sawaquat continues to provide commentary and insight for the many who are curious about their dreams.
"The phone never seems to stop ringing," he said.
And I for one hope it never does.
Andrew Riutta is an NMC student, published poet, husband and father.
