Consciousness is like a spectrum from 0 to 1 shaped like a bell curve that never seems to reach its ends or top. It exists only in the infinitesimal stable island we call self in the vibration we call the universe. It is like God, one, and infinitely detailed, except it seems to have a specific and limited number of parts and obviously the parts are real, the simplifications and deductions made by the fact that the nervous system is just a tiny part of the universe and must therefore form a mirror of the universe not within itself, a blood circuit, a skeleton, muscles, bears, monkeys, a skin bag, all walking around at the mall, thinking about themselves and the universe from their perspective, worms crawling around in magic light, the guts and bacteria that are not of the same DNA produce that is also found in the two temporally shifting topias or carbon fires we call parents where the original cell of you comes from. You can pick any of these definition-metaphors (words with definitions; isn’t this really a tautology?), because they’re all local maxima on the bell curve of our consciousness – like fractals, infinite.
It’s hard to understand this so we make guesstimates. I guesstimate that we are skeletons walking around on artificial ground made of millions-year-old ancestors; and that we are slabs of muscles glued fast to the silicon frame work, with the teeth and the skull; and we are the nerves that sense the universe outside ourselves and we are bears that claw at fruits with furry arms and chew the DNA produce and the billions of amino acid molecules splitting the incoming molecules apart; but this life, as we say, is not on an atomic level. The protons, neutrons and electrons are too stable to be split as easily as molecules, even big ones, like DNA, with billions of protons in each single molecule. Life, or consciousness, in its rôle in this french deconstructivist tragedíe[sic?], is a big part of reality, but alas, not the entirety, not the whole 1 of the spectrum that contains within its definition every single detail of everything (like the word everything, although, its just a linguistic artifice put together by only the idea of there being things in the universe, which of course could also be a philosophical stand-point, but even so a rather obvious and simple truth whereas the ultimate truth needs to be both infinitely singular and infinitely everything at the same time). I.e. one word that means everything, but that’s stupid because then it says nothing. It’s a logical impossibility to achieve such a truth and I guesstimate that the reason for this is the nature of all the things – like the skeletons, beetles, monkeys, the cells and lineage and culture and nails and water that is us, the localized zone of constant vibration, of constant change – as the water flows from my pee hole.