“It is wrong to think that the task of physics is to say how nature is. Physics concerns only what we can say about nature” – Niels Bohr
There is nothing you can see that isn’t shown. – The Beatles 
Of the multitude of things that we can say of it, first and foremost: Consciousness is narrative. In other words – it is a telling. Whereby (in the manner of speaking) one could even say – what it “is”, is what it does – simply because without it, one would not be able to “say” anything at all. And as the telling is its “hallmark” – being somehow true to form – it is through reflexive acts of self-aware perception – that this self-referring narrative (we call consciousness ) – is only but a tale that’s someway told; and conversely as “it is” – as with being to becoming – both are some-how true at any single time.. Unless we blithely overlook it – the truth is (none could argue): It is the mean of every means; with its capacity to describe, it is the consequential thing by which all things can be spoken of. It is the universal arbiter of that metric we call language – the measure of our kind – which clothes its very nakedness in the fashion of the day by apportioning the void in ways that we see “fit”…
Such that while referring to “itself” (as so it’s wont to do) – what’s so curios for “us all” (about this consciousness of ours ) may perhaps be simply this: As you’d take the bit of time to some-way think about it – to the “mind’s eye” (which is the image that is conjured in our mind) – this so-called “telling of a tale” (that’s someway told) – “looks” something like a picture in a story of a journey… In other words – as it is pictured in our mind’s imagination – conscious “ness” is a storied journey. And to the mind’s “I” – being conscious – is a lot like being in a moving vehicle, with “us” as a passenger; a panorama thats replete with an observer in the frame – with a land-scape and horizon – in a constantly unfolding yet ever-present kind of moving “motion picture”.
While on the other hand – as the vessel of our consciousness, one could even say that from the mind’s eye (view) unto its own “naked” vantage (being somehow like our picture – in its mirror ): As it travels through its landscape (so that it might move toward its “horizon”) – what is seen to be “the world” may in fact be little more than but its momentary portrait; so that like a picture in the story of a journey – it would be little more than a moment-to-moment snapshot or a shifting point of view… One that “makes” its time – referring to itself (that is). Being “all at once” (while seeming “as it were”) little more than a series of moving pictures – viewed from a kind of stage.

Were one to even further make the point: By appearing to itself in such a manneristic way – “appearing” to be a projection of its own imagination (being some “thing” like a mirror, that is); from the mind’s eye view (and its own peculiar vantage), this continuum we call consciousness appears to frame a snapshot of its twist and turning path. Which somehow means it’s “framed” in such a way – as if (it was) a telling of our story, were nothing but a portrait – of a momentary picture of its journey (which also means – it’s only just a tale that’s someway told )… So as you’d take the bit of time we’d need “to picture it”: With(in) the coursing of our mind’s “imagin-ation” – it might seem somehow all at once – something like the story of a wheel upon an axis. Such that “relatively” speaking (being always relative to itself, that is), like the tale that is told – it is always looking outward from a certain inner point – while it’s ever looking-in from some periphery.. So being “in” and “of” “itself” (as the whole does to its part) – because it’s shaped the way it is – by “appearing” to itself in such a way (like the journey of a wheel upon its axis ) – and as the “vessel” of our consciousness: Being somehow for the moment with a “certain point” of view – picturing the world upon its momentary course – would be a “snapshot” of the circle (that’s its “path”).

And should you find that ‘bit’ of time one needs to think about it (consciousness – that is): In its kind of odd/peculiar way (in a sort of “fashion” of its “own”) – it somehow paints the picture – of “a portrait” – of its journey… A strange and curios trip. As if (it was) we’re traveling down “that road” – as through some riddle in a plot-line – chasing our own very “tale” ; it would appear to be “pursuing” its very own narrative. While doing it in such a way – that like a “you” or “me” – it makes a reference to itself.
So welcome back my friends to the show that never ends... Welcome to the Labyrinth.
Without its ever-ending story – there is no “tail” to be told… 

Theseus and the Minotaur, Edward Burne-Jones 1861