Flights of fancy might make it seem complex, that it ought rightly to be complex, but there is no excuse for the desultory and inconsequential form of these musings other than its utter simplicity. Why else tire out the mind than to attempt to knock out the persistent error that makes it a result rather than the origin of origins. Self is just the mind's idiom for what is, which can't be pointed to because it is everywhere and everything. Of course you could be barking up the wrong tree, but it's all you've got, so onward on your crooked way!