I am a stream of consciousness. That stream is a set of slivers connected, not across time, but as a series. I'm a subset of the superset of possible permutations.
My set of slivers has certain attributes. Their centres of consciousness connect to such an extent that they identify as each other. (They are really, really close, in other words.) They are focused - or they focus - upon my physical body (although that body has no boundaries; it extends throughout the universe that I find myself occupying). The slivers are linked linearly so that each perceives itself a certain 'distance' from each other. (The greater the distance, the greater the interval.) This knowledge of other, analogous to the inverse square electrical attraction/repulsion between charged particles, is what memory is about.
Each sliver senses other slivers in one direction only. It is unaware of the slivers in the other direction. Therefore, I possess a memory of my so-called past, but I don't have a memory of the future. I exist altogether, at once. There's the illusion that I live in time, but that's all that it is - an illusion.
My consciousness has depth. It has its own nature. The degree - and maybe direction - to which my consciousness is able to focus defines my nature, species, intelligence, and who knows what else.
I see myself navigate through a cloud of largely transparent possible next-instant ghostly holograms that indicate my next possible moves. All stories that include me are laid out before me.
Consider a centre of consciousness self-identifying across a set of slivers.