Memory, Dream, & Longing: A Soft Collision (#313)
- RIck LeCouteur
- Apr 27
- 3 min read

A memory, a dream, and a longing.
At first glance, they seem like separate phenomena, each belonging to its own corner of the mind.
But look closer, and you will find that they are threads woven from the same fabric: experience, imagination, and desire.
They differ in texture and tone, yet often overlap, feeding into one another in ways that blur the boundaries between what is, what was, and what might be.
Memory is anchored in the past.
Memory is the mind’s attempt to preserve reality, even as it fades or mutates over time.
A memory has roots. It clings to specific sights, sounds, and emotions experienced firsthand.
Yet memory is not a photograph; it is a living, shifting thing.
We polish some memories until they gleam, and let others decay into faint impressions.
Sometimes, memories take on a dreamlike quality themselves, softened by nostalgia or sharpened by regret.
Dreams are creatures of the night and of the unconscious.
Dreams are untethered from the laws of time and logic.
A dream may borrow fragments of memories - a familiar face, a place once visited - but rearranges them into strange new constellations.
Dreams allow for possibilities that reality forbids.
Dreams are a playground for hopes, fears, and unresolved emotions, often revealing truths we cannot articulate when awake.
Longing exists in the realm of desire, poised between memory and dream.
Longing looks backward toward memories of what once was, and forward toward dreams of what might still be.
Longing is shaped by what we have known and what we have imagined.
Longing is the ache of something absent: a loved one lost, a future not yet realized, a home we have left behind or never truly found.
Longing tugs at the heart, keeping us suspended between the comfort of familiarity and the restless pursuit of something beyond reach.
Similarities emerge clearly: all three are intensely emotional, deeply personal, and often unreliable.
They alter over time, influenced by new experiences, shifting moods, and the quiet work of the subconscious. Memory, dream, and longing all serve to keep us connected - to ourselves, to others, to the past, and to the imagined future.
Yet the differences matter too.
Memory records (however imperfectly); dream invents; longing yearns.
Memory is rooted in what was, dream dances with what could be, and longing aches for what is missing.
Memory reassures us that we have lived; dream reminds us we are still alive; longing propels us to seek, to hope, to change.
Together, they form a restless trinity, each one echoing the others and each one necessary to the human spirit.
Rick’s Commentary
Without memory, we would lose our foundation.
Without dreams, we would cease to reach.
Without longing, we would no longer feel the gap between the two.
Examples of longing are:
Longing for a place: A person may long for the familiar comforts of their home or childhood, even if they have moved away.
Longing for a person: A person may long for a lost love, a deceased loved one, or a friend who is far away.
Longing for a feeling: A person may long for the feeling of being loved, accepted, or understood.
Longing for a state of being: A person may long for a sense of peace, purpose, or fulfillment.
Longing is the vital, beautiful gap that keeps us moving forward.
It seems to me we can never give up longing and wishing while we are thoroughly
alive. There are certain things we feel to be beautiful and good, and we must hunger
after them.
George Eliot
(George Eliot, the pen name of Mary Ann Evans, was a prominent English novelist and journalist of the 19th century. Known for her profound insights into human nature and society, she wrote critically acclaimed works such as Middlemarch and Silas Marner. She chose to write under a pen name, as she felt women writers were not taken seriously).
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