The moment you wake from a dream is the moment you remember most.
From there it only fades — a little light, a little movement, a few minutes, and whole dreams vanish.
What if you didn’t have to move? No light, no reaching for the phone, no Siri. You stay still, eyes closed, inside the dream you just woke from — reliving its images and sensations. You speak it into the dark, and slip back to sleep, trusting that in the morning it’s there. In the morning everything is waiting, like an inbox from the night: each dream its own entry, audio paired with transcript.
This is the gentlest way we know to capture dreams — and the richest. Telling a dream while you’re still inside it, eyes closed, reaches details that are gone by morning. And the telling does something else: it puts you in deeper contact with your dreams. Night after night, this adds up — more dreams remembered, more vividly.
Dreamtime was purpose-built for that moment of maximum recall — and for what must stay undisturbed around it: your sleep, and the dreaming itself. You start a session when you go to bed. Dreamtime quietly listens through the night; when you wake and speak — a whisper is enough — it captures your voice, separates it into dreams, and transcribes each one, all on your phone. Then it gets out of the way.
A month in, you have a journal; ten years in, an archive — every dream searchable by word, by meaning, by date, your voice still in each one.
A few principles shape how it’s built.
Privacy. Dreams are deeply personal, so Dreamtime is built so they never pass through anyone else’s hands — no transcription service, no AI provider, no server of ours. Recording, transcription, search — all of it happens on your phone. Nothing is tracked, and nothing trains a model. If you turn on iCloud sync, your dreams move between your own devices, encrypted; we are not in that path. This isn’t a promise — it’s how the app is built. The details are in our privacy policy.
Fidelity. Dreamtime captures your telling untouched. No auto-titles, no cleanup, no summaries, no interpretation, no scores — nothing stands between you and your dream. The transcript is kept the way a photographer keeps a RAW file: the unprocessed original, faithful to the source, open to whatever you do with it later.
Presence. We automate what should be effortless — capture, voice-to-text transcription, backup — and leave to you what should stay yours. Tidying a transcript, naming a dream, sitting with an image: that isn’t friction we failed to remove. That work keeps you close to the material — it’s the difference between keeping a journal and just collecting recordings.
Openness. A record is the first step; the work happens in your practice, wherever that lives. Dreamtime fits in either direction. Export any dream — text, Markdown, audio — into whatever you use: your journal, your notes, an AI assistant if that’s part of how you work with dreams. Or drop a link to a dream into your notes, and one tap brings you back to read it or listen. Dreamtime can sit at the center of your practice, or simply feed it.
Durability. A dream journal is a decades-long document. Dreamtime stores everything in open, standard formats — plain text, JSON, M4A audio — that any computer will still read in thirty years, and exporting your whole archive takes one action. No lock-in. What you capture should outlast any single app, ours included.