I will never be found

I have never been found.
Some people believe that I am just a set of nerve cells, or some other bodily set of things.
Other people believe that we have souls.
Still other might believe that I am dream in their imagination.
But no one can pin point my exact location.
They can know which part of me is necessary for me to speak, to perceive visual objects.  If they take away certain of my brain I will not be able to do certain things.
Animals have been experimented, widely, and we know all sorts of things about brain functioning. If it were not for the Nazis loosing the war I'm sure they'd be plenty of subhumans to make even more experiments. As it is, we restricted the set of conscious beings to which we are prepared to inflict unimaginable suffering.

Humanity... oh well...

Other people say it is possible to find me. It is like finding the "court" in the physical building. It's a mix-up they say. One thing is the building, another is the logical entity. It cannot be found in the building for it is an entirely different thing.

However, these people are speaking about the person Pedro. Whereas I'm speaking about the consciousness Pedro. The person Pedro, who has plenty of attributes, could eventually be re-enacted in some other point and time in the universe. Perhaps someone who had studied me very well could make an indistinguishable replica of me. So the person Pedro can be cloned, replicated, destroyed in many ways, rebuilt in many ways, combined and recombined an innumerable amount of times.

But I am aware, I am conscious, and that eye of the mind, the I of the mind, does not seem to change much through my personality changes. The act of will, the freedom I feel inside, may be annihilated by strong impulses, desires or simple "hormonal unbalances". But whenever it exists it is kind of a "light", an inner light, so much spoke of in less knowledgeable kinds of literature. And this does not seem to change.

Where does creativity come from? Where do thoughts come from? Where does love come from? And that immense sense of beauty when we look at the universe around us?

Of course, there are billions of well-thought out explanations about the mechanisms that brought us to what we are. But I am not speaking about that.

I am speaking about consciousness itself, which, as far as I know, no one was able to properly define (quite contrary to England's courts).

Perhaps it is here. Perhaps it is somewhere in my brain. Perhaps.

Syd Barret once wrote

"It's awfully considerate of you to think of me here 
And I'm most obliged to you for making it clear 
That I'm not here"

Well, I never got to that point. I don't know if "I'm here" or not. I'm not even sure about what that would mean. Perhaps it means we are free to travel anywhere, as long as we don't feel trapped, an indissociable part, in this world. Perhaps it is just a metaphor for "don't believe and you will see the immense abilities of the psychedelic mind".

Whatever it means, however, I would like to add to it a further piece of gibberish: Perhaps I don't belong here, but, since I am, in fact, here, perhaps I am really somewhere between nowhere and everywhere, and, "therefore" (had this made any sense) I AM also here.