It is difficult to talk about self because, unlike words, it is not divided up into neat separate relative parcels. All we can do is make maps, and bear in the mind that the map is not the terrain. Maps are tools, and so gain their truth not just from how accurate they are, but from job they are designed to do, and how they are used to do it.
  
There are many maps of self - from ancient philosophical to modern psychological attempts to describe the elements of self and systemetise them. For now let us use a simple system that fits with as many of them as possible, and which fits our experience: Let’s say that there are four basic elements to self - body (matter), mind (thought), viscera (vibe or emotion) and energy (activity) - but not worry too much about how accurate our map is - instead, lets use it go somewhere new...
  
The first thing to note about self is that it is finite. If there is something infinite in our experience, its not the self, which is clearly limited by matter and energy.
  
And because there is only so much matter and energy to go round, an increase of one part of self means a decrease of another; more matter means less sensitivity, increased perception in one sense means a decrease in the acuity of the others, and so on. There is always a trade off. This leads to different selves having different specialities and weaknesses.
  
One self may be, for example, more energetic or vivacious than average, a better host, or a more confident actor, its eyes might be particularly sharp and sensitive and its tongue and nose less so - and so on.
  
What makes one self different from another is what makes a yew different from an oak; it is a kind of swelling; which we call character or temperament.
  
So self is composed of interrelated parts, each performing separate functions in order to carry out some kind of task. In other words, its a machine. But if it is a machine; who or what is operating it?
  
One possibility is that the self is operating itself; in which case its prime directive will be grow, survive and not die. This is the only message a machine can give itself. Total sacrifice, or pure altruism, is impossible. The only sacrifice that makes rational or instinctive sense for self-in-charge is for itself - or for some aspect of itself; for its emotions, its genes or its beliefs.
  
Self--in-charge then is committed to not die. What this means in normal life is that self-in-charge is committed to experiencing itself - what it likes, what it wants, what it thinks and how it feels - and to avoiding the experience of not-self - what it does not like, does not want or does not feel.
  
This seems obvious perhaps - but the consequences are catastrophic.
  
For self is not static. It grows; and how it grows is determined by where attention flows. Whether its the muscles of the little finger or the part of the brain receptive to colour or the visual-spatial acuity, self grows where attention flows.
  
So if self is deciding where attention flows, its going to flow away from any state or experience that jeopardises its prime directive to survive as it is. Self will avoid what "I don’t like", what "I am not good at", what "I don’t feel like" and so forth - and it will crave the opposite - my particular talents, tastes and strengths.
  
Naturally there is nothing wrong with having tastes and aversions, which arise or pass with the moment; but when self decides what to do and not do, they become fixed and rigid. Fleeting tastes and aversions become permanent fears and addictions - which I dimly register as a constant background feeling of insecurity, awkwardness, anxiety and restlessness, and which I seek to blot out with thought, stimulation, activity and drama.
  
The result, then, of self informing itself is fear and addiction, and the result of fear and addiction is that the self is warped by self-directed attention patterns. Its capacity to perceive, act, feel or imagine becomes increasingly restricted until it is only able to feel a few limited emotions, perform a few specialised tasks and communicate with very similar selves.

The warped self doesn’t realise that its experience is so limited, because it cannot conceive of non-self.
  
Sooner or later though, whether conceived of or not, non-self makes its apocalyptic appearance.
  
Non-self is anything which cannot be imagined, cannot be done, cannot be felt, isn’t liked, isn’t believed or isn’t perceived; nature, for example, love, silence, space, death, darkness, spectacular generosity, genius and the wide-present moment.
  
Self thinks and feels it understands these things; but as soon as they appear self gets uncomfortable. First of all bored, dismissive, confused or superficially intellectually interested, followed by agitated, angry, depressed or openly scornful, followed by all the horrors of the world, before, finally, all hell breaks loose.
  
Self will do whatever it can to keep non-self out of its life, and it will do it unconsciously. Which brings us to the final question, the one which self finds most unpleasant - or stupid - of all.
  
What is consciousness?
  
Or in other words, what is it that is conscious of self? What is it that is reading these words, or thinking about them? What is it that sees and feels and acts? What is it that is behind the flow of attention?
  
The answer is insanely obvious. It is not-self. Consciousness is not-self.
  
In other words, I am not my self.
  
With not-self directing attention, attention flows to where it needs to go. When nature, love, silence and the present moment are in charge, self grows naturally, beautifully, calmly and appropriately. It remains with its own unique sensitivities and strengths, but it does not grow conditioned by them; past crises have not markered off inner territory and I am free to go where I am not, which allows the tree of me to grow naturally, forming a balanced structure that is able to communicate with unlike others, and able to respond to unusual situations.

And that concludes our sketch. Note though that the self exists in time. It cannot, therefore, be completely expressed by a two dimensional map or static theory. The most accurate map of self also changes through time.
  
A map of self that changes through time is called a story.