In the place between wakefulness and dreams come

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In parallel, brain lesion studies, functional imaging, and neurophysiology have advanced our knowledge of the neural basis of dreaming. It is now possible to start integrating these two strands of research in order to address some fundamental questions that dreams pose for cognitive neuroscience: how conscious experiences in sleep relate to underlying brain activity; why the dreamer is largely disconnected from the environment; and whether dreaming is more closely related to mental imagery or to perception.

Contemporary dream research Although dreams have fascinated us since the dawn of time, their rigorous, scientific study is a recent development[ 1 — 4 ] Supplementary Fig. The study of dreams is a formidable task, because dream consciousness is only accessible via report rather than direct observation Box 1 and because it is difficult to manipulate dream content experimentally, whether by exposure to stimuli before[ 6 , 7 ] or during sleep[ 7 , 8 ].

Therefore, it is difficult to predict the contents of specific dreams[ 9 ], and most modern dream research tries to relate neuronal activity retrospectively to dream form rather than dream content, i. Yet, as we shall see, encouraging progress has been made in relating the phenomenology of dreams to underlying brain activity, and to studies of brain damage and development.

BOX 1Can reports be trusted to accurately convey internal experiences in sleep? When I came to a file marked "Lustful Thoughts", I felt a chill run through my body. I pulled the file out only an inch, not willing to test its size, and drew out a card. I shuddered at its detailed content. I felt sick to think that such a moment had been recorded. An almost animal rage broke on me. One thought dominated my mind: "No one must ever see these cards!

No one must ever see this room! I have to destroy them! Its size didn't matter now. I had to empty it and burn the cards. But as I took it at one end and began pounding it on the floor, I could not dislodge a single card. I became desperate and pulled out a card, only to find it as strong as steel when I tried to tear it. Defeated and utterly helpless, I returned the file to its slot. Leaning my forehead against the wall, I let out a long, self- pitying sigh.

And then I saw it. The handle was brighter than those around it, newer, almost unused. I pulled on its handle and a small box not more than three inches long fell into my hands. I could count the cards it contained on one hand. And then the tears came. I began to weep. Sobs so deep that the hurt started in my stomach and shook through me.

I fell on my knees and cried. I cried out of shame, from the overwhelming shame of it all. The rows of file shelves swirled in my tear-filled eyes. No one must ever, ever know of this room. I must lock it up and hide the key.

But then as I pushed away the tears, I saw Him. No, please not Him. Not here. Oh, anyone but Jesus. I watched helplessly as He began to open the files and read the cards. I couldn't bear to watch His response. And in the moments I could bring myself to look at His face, I saw a sorrow deeper than my own.

He seemed to intuitively go to the worst boxes. Why did He have to read every one? Finally, He turned and looked at me from across the room. He looked at me with pity in His eyes. But this was a pity that didn't anger me.

I dropped my head, covered my face with my hands and began to cry again.