We don’t take time to dream anymore. The rare person who does rarely takes enough time to do so.
Dreaming is essential. Oh sure, it is easier to equate such a need with the artistic types, but we all need to dream. Even more so, the non-artistic types should find it even more essential as they are not naturally prone to it.
In the monotony of life, in the rip and tear of momentary living, our dreams are torn from us. If not torn from us, damaged. If not damaged, obscured.
Time spent dreaming reclaims, repairs, and re-sights our dreams.
In that sense, dreaming is much like any kind of exercise. Unless we are physically exerting ourselves, our muscles begin to atrophy. So too will our dreams if they are neglected.
As much as morality and philosophy/theology and literature, dreams are what make us human. We dream of lives better than we have. We dream of places that do not exist except in our minds. We dream of love and hope and peace.
It is not, of course, enough to dream idly, in the stoned ramparts of our mind. But if we do not dream there, all of our actions to realize our dreams become mechanized motion. For those strong enough to continue, the ends will be long-dead before they are found by the means. And for those of who us who are not so disciplined, dreaming catalyzes us, throwing coal in the engine for us to chug along with black plumes of hope rising far above.