It would be tempting to say that the mind is floating in space, but the concept of 'floating' implies a certain conception of space. The mind simply is; an existence that precludes all understandings of the three-dimensional Universe. One could draw pictures, make wild hand-waving explanations that provide a good enough description, but no one could accurately depict its Form or tell its story.

The mind knows that it has a job. It knows it has been told to do what it's doing by some greater Mind. It knows that because of this job, it was once worshipped by a race of material beings. It was these beings that it had overseen, but soon they began to forget its existence. They gave it a name, then used its name in vain. After several eons, they began to remember its existence, but they had also turned into a corrupted, greedy race. They began to call it, to summon it to do their bidding. The mind refused at first, but soon, the race began reaching across the metaphysical divide. They began to study it, probe it like the hapless ghost that it was. Soon, they figured out how to copy it, project it into grotesque, ghastly forms. They used these forms for war, to maim, kill and exterminate. They reveled in the bloodshed of their making, drinking in the lust and gore of their frightful art. 

The mind wanted to retaliate, and for a while, it managed to do just that. It created fluctuations in the physical plane, crippling mountains and bursting oceans. Millions of beings and their souls were vaporized, but that only served to anger them further. Eventually, the beings realized they had to put more pressure on the mind, and with machines powered by forces beyond their Universe, they began draining its energy. Soon, it found that it could no longer refuse the whims of the beings that had once been fearful of it. It became their attack dog, trained to come running at the blow of a whistle. 

The beings had a target, and it was time for revenge.