Dream research is a wonderful field. All you do is sleep for a

“Dream research is a wonderful field. All you do is sleep for a living.” Thus spoke Stephen LaBerge, pioneer of the science of lucid dreaming, a man who dedicated his life to unlocking the mysteries of the sleeping mind. His words carry the lightness of humor, but beneath the jest lies a profound truth: in the stillness of sleep, in the silent landscapes of the dream, there lies a realm as vast and mysterious as the stars above. To study it is not mere idleness—it is to voyage inward, to explore the hidden kingdoms of the soul.

The origin of this saying lies in LaBerge’s own journey. Trained as a psychophysiologist, he dared to enter the frontier of dream research at a time when many dismissed it as fantasy. He developed methods to prove that lucid dreams—dreams in which one knows one is dreaming—were not only real but measurable. Through eye movements signaled from within dreams, he bridged the chasm between the sleeping world and waking science. What began as “sleeping for a living” became a lifelong quest: to show that within the nightly visions of men and women lies a profound key to consciousness itself.

Think of the ancients who also revered the dream. For the Greeks, dreams were messages from the gods; for the Egyptians, dreams were prophecies; for the Indigenous peoples of the Americas, dreams were visions guiding the tribe. Even in those times, dreams were seen as more than idle wanderings—they were doorways to truth, guidance, and meaning. LaBerge’s work gave modern form to this ancient reverence, showing that the dream world could be studied with rigor, not only with mysticism. In this way, he stands as heir to both the shaman and the scientist.

A powerful illustration of this truth can be seen in the life of Dmitri Mendeleev, the creator of the periodic table. It is said that he struggled for months to organize the elements, yet the final vision came to him in a dream. He awoke with the structure clear in his mind, the order revealed as if by the unconscious itself. Here we see that dreams are not idle phantoms; they are workshops of the mind, where thoughts continue their labor even in slumber. LaBerge’s humor—“sleep for a living”—conceals the grandeur of this truth: that sleep itself can be a form of labor, of discovery, of creation.

Yet LaBerge’s words also remind us of balance. For many treat dreams as nothing, dismissing them as random noise. Others fall into superstition, treating every dream as prophecy. The wisdom lies between: to honor the dream as a part of the human spirit, to study it with both wonder and discipline, to see in it a mirror of our waking lives. In this balance, the science of dreams becomes a noble field, where rest and research meet.

The ancients taught that to know oneself is the highest knowledge. Dreams, then, are teachers. They unveil fears we bury, desires we hide, truths we resist. To walk in LaBerge’s path is not only to study dreams as phenomena, but to embrace them as guides. What greater irony than that while our bodies sleep, our spirits may awaken? His jesting words conceal a heroic labor: the turning of sleep into a window upon the mysteries of consciousness.

So, O listener, take this lesson: do not scorn your dreams. Record them, reflect on them, seek to know the truths they whisper. They may reveal the wounds of the heart, the spark of creativity, or the path yet unseen. Live not as one who sleeps blindly, but as one who sleeps with purpose, and even in rest you will be laboring toward wisdom. For as Stephen LaBerge has taught, to sleep is not only to rest—it is to dream, to discover, and perhaps even to live twice in a single day.