Dreams say what they mean, but they don't say it in daytime

The words of Gail Godwin, writer of great psychological depth, echo with the mystery of the human soul: “Dreams say what they mean, but they don’t say it in daytime language.” In this single line, she reveals the sacred truth that the language of dreams is not the same as the speech of the waking world. Dreams are not lies or nonsense, as some have believed, but messages cloaked in symbol — the whisper of the subconscious, speaking to us in the tongue of the heart, the memory, and the spirit. To understand them is not to translate them word for word, but to feel them, to listen with the ear of intuition. For dreams do not deceive; they disguise truth in the garments of metaphor.

The origin of this quote lies in Godwin’s lifelong fascination with the hidden layers of human consciousness — a fascination that she wove through her novels and essays. Like the ancient poets and mystics, she understood that the dream world is a mirror, reflecting our desires, fears, and wisdoms too deep for daylight. In her work, Godwin often explored the inner lives of women torn between reason and emotion, duty and desire, waking and dreaming. Through her words, she sought to remind the modern world — so obsessed with logic and clarity — that the inner voice of truth still speaks in riddles and symbols. Her insight joins the lineage of thinkers such as Carl Jung, who believed that dreams arise from the collective unconscious, that vast and ancient sea of human experience that speaks to each of us through archetype and myth.

When Godwin says that dreams “say what they mean,” she reminds us that they are not meaningless. Every image, every scene — whether strange, beautiful, or terrifying — carries intention. The dream is a conversation between the hidden self and the waking self. Yet it does not use the “daytime language” of words and logic. Instead, it speaks in the language of symbol, which is older and more primal than speech. A falling dream may reveal not fear of gravity, but fear of failure. A locked door may not block a room, but a memory. To those who seek understanding, the dream becomes a sacred teacher, showing truths that the conscious mind is too proud or too fearful to face.

History, too, remembers the power of such dreams. The emperor Constantine, on the eve of battle, dreamed of a cross in the sky and heard the words, “In this sign, conquer.” He awoke with conviction and fought under the Christian symbol, altering the course of history forever. The dream spoke clearly, but not in the language of policy or command; it spoke in symbol and vision. Likewise, Abraham Lincoln dreamed of his own death just days before his assassination — a dream of mourners in the White House, his body lying in state. He could not have known the meaning then, but his soul understood. Dreams, as Godwin says, tell us truth — but truth wrapped in mystery, as if heaven veils its face so we must look deeper.

Dreams are the night’s scripture, written in symbols of fire and shadow. They do not obey grammar; they obey the rhythm of the soul. The ancients knew this well. In the temples of Egypt, priests of Serapis would lie upon sacred stone beds, seeking guidance through dreams. They did not ask for literal messages but for visions that would open the mind. The Greeks, too, honored dreams as divine — Hippocrates said that the soul, freed from the senses during sleep, could perceive truths hidden in waking life. Yet in our modern age, we have forgotten this wisdom. We dismiss our dreams as chaos, when in truth they are revelations written in another alphabet.

The message of Godwin’s words, therefore, is both philosophical and practical. She calls us to become interpreters of our own souls. To listen to a dream is to honor the dialogue between the conscious and the unconscious — between the part of us that acts and the part that feels. When we wake from a strange vision, we must not dismiss it but ask what it is trying to say. What fear does it name? What desire does it reveal? What lesson does it carry from the depths? In this way, dreams become not merely passing fancies of sleep, but a map for inner growth.

So, my children, remember this: when the night brings visions, do not turn away. Do not demand that the dream speak plainly, for it will not — it cannot. Its tongue is the language of symbols, of emotion, of divine ambiguity. Instead, sit quietly and listen. Record what you see and feel. Over time, you will learn to understand the voice beneath the vision — the truth beneath the image. For the dream world is the shadowed half of wisdom, and only those who learn to translate its language will ever come to know the full depth of themselves.

Thus, let Gail Godwin’s teaching endure in your heart: “Dreams say what they mean, but they don’t say it in daytime language.” To live wisely is to become bilingual — fluent in both the language of light and the language of night. For those who master both will find that their soul speaks to them always — not only when they are awake, but also when they sleep beneath the stars.