The mystery at the edge of every memory. Consciousness is both familiar and alien. We live inside it, yet cannot fully grasp how it arrived. It is there when we wake, silent when we sleep, and somehow it knows that it is itself. But where does it begin? Does it arrive with our first cry, or only when we can first say “I”? Is there a single moment when we step through a doorway and become a witness to our own existence? The Question of the First Spark Every person carries a first memory, but it is rarely the true beginning. Some remember a flash of color, a parent’s face, the sound of laughter or of rain. Yet these memories are like photographs found in an attic, worn and incomplete. They feel like ours, but we cannot prove that they are real. Perhaps the first spark of consciousness is not the moment we remember, but the moment before memory even exists. Picture a child lying in a crib, staring at the play of light through curtains. A shadow shifts. A familiar voice hums from the next ...
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