From the Wikipedia: Dreams.

The Wikipedia defines a dream as “a succession of thoughts, images, sounds or emotions which the mind experiences during sleep.”

No one is entirely sure why we dream. People theorize that we dream when we convert short-term memories to long-term ones, or maybe when we eliminate useless memories from our subconscious. Some say dreams are our way of sorting out the emotions we repress, others say dreams are a method of understanding or elucidating the emotions that are difficult to express rationally. Some maintain that dreams help us connect conscious thoughts, others claim they help us dissociate our irrational selves from reality.

We know for sure that we do dream, and we even know at what point in our sleep it happens — every night during R.E.M. sleep, even if we don’t remember it at all. No one is certain what part or parts of the brain initiate dreams. A couple of people had decent theories, but all they wound up with when they tried to test them were a bunch of dead monkeys.

The Wikipedia, and, I suppose, humanity, knows frighteningly little about dreams, considering how often they happen. They can be silly or sexual, stressful or happy. Some think dreams should be analyzed psychologically to root out their meanings, others argue they are themselves a method of internal, personal psychoanalysis.

When you think about it, though, dreams are incredible. Somehow, in sleep, we create a series of images, conversations, actions and decisions that can seem so damn real they’re almost cinematic. That’s nuts. It’s mind-boggling that we even have that capacity, especially since it serves no obvious evolutionary purpose.

I suppose I should say that I create those things. I can’t speak for you. Part of the problem with studying dreams is that we can never experience another person’s dream, so we can’t be sure what a dream is like for anyone else, kind of like colors and pain. I’ve recapped some of my stranger or more interesting dreams to people and had them tell me I was lying, and that nobody has dreams so silly or so weird or whatever.

Well I did, bub. Sorry if your dreams are lame.

A couple of months ago, for the first time in my life, I had a dream so funny I actually laughed myself awake. The details are so odd that I won’t explain them all here, but it culminated in some sort of goat-buffalo hybrid headbutting a pain-in-the-ass teenager down a mountain, and the comedic timing was impeccable. The next day I wished I could consciously come up with and film a situation so hilarious, since it would certainly make me a Hollywood legend.

I have some pretty mundane dreams, too, of course. A week ago I dreamed the Mets traded for Kevin Millwood.

My dog — the late, great T. Captain Dog — used to dream all the time. He’d enjoy what seemed to be happy dreams, based on the various thrilling dog noises he’d make throughout, but also what seemed like anxiety dreams, which were both pathetic and hilarious at the same time. What could be stressing you out, Captain? You just lay about all day, living the easiest life conceivable. Did you imagine that one day the food bowl just wasn’t there? That the local squirrels finally ganged up and started chasing you back?

I bring up dreams today because I’m still thinking about last night’s Lost finale. That show always struck me as dreamlike: Hey, we’re lost on an island, and there’s some black smoke that keeps killing people, oh and also there are other people here living in a quaint little village, and they won’t let us leave the island, and also almost everyone here is really hot.

And just like most dreams, the show failed to come to a satisfying, definitive conclusion. But I guess — as with dreams — the various plot holes, unexplained mysteries and unclear connections in the show don’t necessarily make the insights gained or emotions explored any less real.