What is reality? What is existence? Though I am aware that there is a universe, a tangible existence in which I am the actor and the observer, how certain am I that what I perceive really exists? Our sensory perceptions are ultimately limited by the filters of our sensory systems. And it is clear that there are things we are unable to perceive. The electromagnetic spectrum outside of visual light for instance, the gravitational field of the Earth that makes the compass turn. Powerful forces govern this universe, yet they are inert, unthinking powers. What of the most interesting force in the universe? Can we consider consciousness something that exists on an elemental level?
All objects have properties that are used by conscious entities to describe how they are perceived, how they can be interacted with, and how they can interact with other existing objects.
Most conceptions of reality either focus on the plane of physical elements, with tiny dots of intelligence traversing vectors of temporal direction, or place these singularities at the focus of reality, with the physical taking form around them. These two paradigms can be considered the Objective Focus Worldview, and the Subjective Focus Worldview, respectively.
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Regarding the temporal nature of reality, it is evident and quite conceivable that there are effectively an infinite set of possible alternative realities based on any number slight choice variations.
Had I for instance, chosen to study physics instead of cognitive science, I could have easily been somewhere completely different than I am now. Perhaps I would have met a wonderful girl in physics who I would eventually get married to, or perhaps I would have become so stressed as to commit suicide at the end of second year, having never met the friends that have so far convinced me that continued existence is a worthwhile endeavour.
It is psychologically unwise to dwell on such possibilities, as they are infinite and I have only a finite length of living left to contemplate the life I have, yet there is a sort of temptation to seek the idealized perfect, even if only in imagining it.
Perhaps, that which we can imagine, in some sense is the act of creation, an instantaneous giving form of possibilities. It would be wonderful and horrific to believe that everything we imagine comes true in some plane of existence somewhere.
Alas, such creations exist in whatever element the mind is made of, without the physical representation, the concreteness of the world that limits it to within the realm of probabilities.