image: gray's anatomy
left orbicularis oculi seen from behind
You open your eyelids, and you see blue sky. You close your eyelids, and you see the back side of your eyelids. The blue sky is still there, but with the curtains drawn, you can't see it.
Eyelids appear brown when seen from the inside, so dark they're almost black. When your eyes are closed it's like looking at a dark brown sky. It's like looking at a light blue sky then looking at a dark brown sky as the eyelids open and close. Blue sky, brown sky, blue sky, brown sky.
If you're thinking about a question, it often helps to close your eyelids and venture into the land of the brown sky. Sometimes you squint even when the thing you're looking for is in your mind. An answer in the mind is like a thimble in the dark. Squint and you might see the rim of it reflect moonlight.
You cock your head upward and to the side as if to remove from your field of vision any semblance of the blue sky in front of you. You squint off sideways into space. Somehow squinting the eyes and furrowing the brow draws open the curtain of an inner eyelid, activating a search party for thimbles in the night. You rotate your head in every direction like an antenna repositioning itself in search of a crisper signal.
Or you can call off the search party and just stare off into space. I once saw a chauffeur eating a long sandwich in England. Standing near his limousine, hunched slightly forward, he slowly tunneled the sandwich into his grinding mouth. Eyes wide open, he was staring at blue sky, deep in brown sky, in another world. His mouth was in a hurry but his eyes were on vacation.