Dreams are anything but that simple. Some seem to span a whole nighttime of sleep; others feel like only seconds, in real time. We generally know the difference between good dreams and bad ones though. The bad dreams leave us feeling pretty disoriented and shaken when we awaken from them, from fear, guilt, or our loss of control—if we can recollect them at all. The good ones make us want to either remain in bed and not wake up, or rise with greater peace, resolve, strength, and vigor than usual. So for the people who seldom or never remember their dreams, I feel both a sense of sadness and a certain pathos. They really don’t know what they are missing. Yet they will awaken every day, maybe in more sour or happy spirits, influenced by what dreams have impressed upon their minds, and not know exactly why they feel the way they do. I’ve learned from such kinds of exchanges with people that example is better than theory. Sometimes I’ll read a poem or a story to them that came to me in a dream. If I have the chance, sometimes I’ll sing them a song that I wrote in a dream and played once I woke up. I’m often faced with several questions from them, the first being, “And you dreamed that?”