Listening to the Night: Dreamwork as Inner Dialogue
Dreams are the oldest language we speak.
Before science, before words, before we had clocks to divide day from night, we had dreams.
Even now, in our age of productivity apps and CBT worksheets, dreams still slip in through the cracks. We wake up remembering a flooded basement, an ex-lover’s face, a train we missed, a strange bird that said our name.
Why do we dream? What do dreams mean?
Modern psychology mostly shrugs when posed with these questions. Theories abound, but consensus? Not so much. And personally, I’m not convinced dreams exist to serve some tidy evolutionary function.
Instead, I take a cue from C. G. Jung, who believed that dreams are messages from the unconscious to the conscious self—metaphors, symbols, archetypes, all stitched together in a story that only you can decipher.
In Jung’s view, a dream’s value isn’t about decoding it with some universal guidebook. It’s about asking:
Does it help you live more honestly? More wholly? More well?
If a dream stirs something true—if it helps you recognize a pattern, name a longing, or feel less alone—it’s done its work.
Want to try working with dreams? Here's how to begin:
Keep a notebook by your bed. The second you wake up, jot down anything you remember. Fragments count. Nonsense counts.
Return to it later in the day. Read what you wrote. Sit with it. Ask what stands out—what image lingers?
Journal with curiosity. Focus less on “what it means” and more on what it evokes. What feelings arise? What memories or symbols feel familiar?
This practice is deceptively simple. Over time, it opens up a kind of dialogue with yourself—one that doesn't rely on rational thought, but something deeper, older, more symbolic.
If you’re in therapy, discussing dreams can be a rich addition to your sessions. Bring them in. Let them speak. Some of the most transformative insights I’ve witnessed in therapy started with a dream.