Little red eggplant. I used to like to think about the potential meaningless of of how we live by thinking of it as a dream that isn't remembered in the least. That is, suppose you had a dream last night, and you know that you dreamt something, but you can't remember what it was about. Then if our consciousness is created by our brain, then when we die and our brains get messed up, our experience stops, and at that point the details from this life are as distant as the unremembered dream. There are good reasons to believe that the existence of a brain in good working order has a lot to do with the existence of consciousness, since it's difficult to damage the brain a lot without influencing the conscious experience. But there's not much reason to beleive that the brain is the mind.

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