Well, I haven't lied and I do not feel the same thing you do, or at least what I think you mean. As I mentioned to AlBell, if I have my eyes open and am focusing on an object, I feel as if my "attention" (Yay! Reference to OP!) is centered behind my eyes about 3 inches back into my head. If I close my eyes and listen carefully, I feel as if my "attention" is somewhere just inside the back of my skull between my ears. When I do something active, I am most aware of my core, and all my actions seem to flow from there.
I honestly do not feel a location for this sensation if I just sit still and do nothing or something neutral like breath control meditation. ...
This "locus of awareness" sidetrack got me thinking about Helen Keller's education, described in
The Story of My Life. She does have some dim memories before losing her sight and hearing, a sense of being enveloped in silence and darkness now, where one gets the impression she is living very much at the border of her body, as it touches her surroundings.
After she brings her some flowers, Miss Sullivan signs, "I love Helen"...
"What is love?" I asked.
She drew me closer to her and said, "It is here," pointing to my heart, whose beats I was conscious of for the first time. Her words puzzled me very much because I did not then understand anything unless I touched it.
So Miss Sullivan is giving her a locus of awareness for love, about her heart, but Helen hasn't the abstraction to understand it.
Later, Helen is stumped by a mistake she's made stringing beads...
...I concentrated my attention on the lesson and tried to think how I should have arranged the beads. Miss Sullivan touched my forehead and spelled with decided emphasis, "Think."
In a flash I knew that the word was the name of the process that was going on in my head. This was my first conscious perception of an abstract idea.
Now that Helen has a locus for awareness of thought, and abstraction, she returns to her earlier question about love; which Miss Sullivan is able to convey:
"You cannot touch the clouds, you know; but you feel the rain and know how glad the flowers and the thirsty earth are to have it after a hot day. You cannot touch love either; but you feel the sweetness that it pours into everything. Without love you would not be happy or want to play."
The beautiful truth burst upon my mind–I felt that there were invisible lines stretched between my spirit and the spirits of others.
For Helen, "love" now has a locus in the heart which as "spirit" connects her to others.
The interesting point to me is that even with only dimly-remembered senses of sight and hearing -- the eyes and ears tending to make the head the natural locus for cognitive awareness -- it is still immediately obvious to Helen that thought is something "going on in my head"; while it is natural for her teacher to locate emotional awareness, "love", for her in her beating heart. Some of this is power of suggestion -- but is all of it? Would Helen have understood if Miss Sullivan had pointed to her neck as the locus of thought and shins for love, or navel and elbows, etc.?
It may be that it's more natural to locate thinking in the head, emotion in the heart, etal., than elsewhere, though these locations are just general tendencies; that the locus of awareness is mobile, bound up in what we're doing and how, but within limits, bound by the body's own activity in response.