A place inside a tent

When the self searches for the self, it finds that it was the self searching. When the self searches for love, it finds that it is love. Nothing more or less.
So life is as you find it to be. So what is the self? A fiction. When you get right down to it there's no self: there's a breath, a wave, an undulation of the whole. A place inside a tent.  
What is there? Each imagined self imagining its separateness, and to that extent being separate, but that passes. In the end there's a circle, and you are right back where you started: Not being separate. Yet wasn't this whole helter-skelter thing something quite amazing. Mhmm, there goes life.