Writing away at my desk, I reach my hand up to turn on a lamp, and down to open a drawer to take out a pen. Extending my arm forward, I brush my fingers against a small, strange figurine given to me by my sister as a good-luck charm, while reaching behind I can pat the black cat snuggling into my back. Right leads to the research notes for my article, left to my pile of 'must-do' items (bills and correspondence). Up, down, forward, back, right, left: I pilot myself in a personal cosmos of three-dimensional space, the axes of this world invisibly pressed upon me by the rectilinear structure of my office, defined, like most Western architecture, by three conjoining right angles.