Sehnsucht: “the inconsolable longing in the human heart for we know not what”; a yearning for a far, familiar, non-earthly land one can identify as one’s home Paradoxical worlds hover in thresholds. Many exquisite experiences exist only in spaces of potential—the fantasy of imagining the action of touch, an embellished conceptualization of an exotic location, magic without learning its mechanism. Cara Krebs conceives imagination, perception, desire, and visceral reactions as means of moving a person through place Displacement is the heart of fantasy.


The Dream Home of Cara as a Child

When I try to remember the ideal society my younger self imagined I can visualize the world, not the people. The only important thing I felt about other people was that they should not be able to mess up my stuff. I imagined vaguely that there would be a harmonious society in a beautiful, clean world. Humans would be integrated into the environment almost imperceptibly.

I have always imagined living in a house that looked like the one next door to my grandparents. Anyone allowed on my property would be exceptionally respectful. Their presence would not disrupt the beauty visually or audibly. My home would be surrounded by dense forest to give it the appearance of isolation. To access society and multiple climates easily with minimal environmental alteration abundant teleportation tubes would replace cars and planes. My home could then be preserved perfectly, visited only by trustworthy, respectful friends and family.

Creating as many places to swim as possible was a priority. Young Cara would have been fiercely selective with who would be allowed in the water, barring anyone who might pee in the pools. Most sacred and beautiful of all the water features would be a secret jungle lagoon with crystal-clear water. Rays of sun would filter through a break in the thick palm trees onto the warm, glassy water. No one ever but I would be allowed in the secret lagoon.

Large, exotic pets like tigers and bobcats would roam the backyard. Not far would be a pasture of mostly Arabian horses so in-tune with me that I could ride them without bridles or saddles. East has always been my favorite direction. If one journeyed all the way to the end of east I imagined the land would end at steep cliffs to the sea. Not far from home would be the edge of east. The blinding light of a sunrise would be sparkling on the water.

In early evening near the cliffs a field of long grass would ripple in the warm, rising wind. Charged with the energy of a building storm, the sky would dim. That would be the setting for the most romantic scene of my childhood imagination. A person whose form I never imagined would be lying a few inches away from me. He would roll over and we would hug as the grass billowed around us.