Gazing through the window of the “urban village” toward the “urban center”, it is likely that signs of development and progress will appear as holes in the ground and obstructions in the sky. Very soon, such holes and obstructions will be filled with some other city’s collective memories. The city’s inhabitants will step outside to discover places that they have never known. The term “anamnesis” refers to a special form of knowledge that is imbued from past incarnations. Anamnesis summons those faint recollections which lie buried beneath our faculties for conscious self-reflection. When the gazes of the city’s inhabitants no longer invite this form of knowing, the city will cease to be “theirs.” If there is any corporeal analogue to the megacity’s unbounded growth, it is this: in the quest to remember places we once knew, we must free ourselves from the limits of our bodies and connect our innermost thoughts to the movements of matter that surround us. Within any environment of accelerated change, such as that of the Pearl River Delta, the challenge of genuine architectural discovery is to find and retain this intimate space of fluid movement. This is the space that will transmit our dreams to the synapses of the world. The Hole in the (Window of the) World House draws an imaginary conduit between two distant sites of architectural fantasy. It proposes a spatial and temporal bridge through the earth, connecting the Window of the World replica park in Shenzhen to my own house in Buffalo, New York, the place where I live, work and dream. In my house, there are many imaginary places that, with each successive night of dreaming, move me closer and closer to a world of impossible realities and allow me to see myself both smaller and larger than the monuments among which I dwell. When I walk through my house and pick up a miniature building in my hand, I sometimes regard it as a model, toy, statue, souvenir or symbol. Other times, I imagine it as an uprooted structure of brick, stone or steel that I have scooped off the ground. I struggle to uplift it with a smile of wonderment, playfulness and delight. Every so often, I open my house’s window and project the weight of that object outward—in this case, towards Shenzhen—and I am certain that, when it lands, it will fall upon a day dreamer’s desk in an assemblage of shifting reveries.