I can think of a mind as a collection of rooms haphazardly built over time. Ancient, some of these rooms, and no fault of mine. Many half forgotten, left to ruin. Others not quite complete. Still more on drawing boards. The thing that is you or I, can move from one room to another. We can be present in any one of them. There are kitchens, there are dormitories, there are sitting rooms, there are dark rooms where the light is poor, there are bright rooms where sun shines, and some rooms too difficult to recall.
If I sit in one room, I can become easily distracted by another. And too, I can
cross the corridor find rooms that are purgatory, where the colors are wrong,
the table upside down, and something unpleasant under the carpet, but I have no
vacuum cleaner and no hands to return the table to its place, repaint the walls,
wipe cobwebs from the window. Then if I look out of the window I can see eyes
staring back at me. Which is why curtains are quite useful.