Mind, meet brain? Howwayya?
Gustave Courbet on a tough morning.
I live in a little room called my mind, a warm and homey place. Sure it gets a little messy now and then, and I feel like cleaning out the mess, but then it’s my mind, and don’t you criticize what you can’t understand. Right? I’m alone in my mind, I think, except when I look in the mirror in the morning and see a stranger with wild hair and bloodshot eyes. Looks just like some of my friends on their off days.
Chemicals. I’ve got to put some chemicals in my brain. Walk to the kitchen, open the cabinet, grab a Taster’s Choice packet, pour it in a cup. Add water. Drink.
Aaahhh. I’m waking up.
Better brush my hair, look normal. There. Are those grey hairs on that stranger? Never mind, I can cover that up. There.
Shazzam! Yow! Is that one cool lookin’ dude or what? Hooo eee!
What do I do now?
More caffeine.
There.
How’s my brain today? I never see my brain. Like a long-lost relative. Why don’t you come to see me any more?
Howdy brain. Wake up! Have some molecules.
All I know is the little room of my mind. I don’t even know me.
Time to sleep.
Zonk.
Bernard Baars, PhD
