“You,” Grand argues, “are like a cloud: something that persists over long periods, while simultaneously being in flux. Matter flows from place to place and momentarily comes together to be you. Whatever you are, therefore, you are not the stuff of which you are made.”

Eh. I agree with the basic idea, but the way it’s worded here still seems to imply some sort of mysterious, immaterial essence. “You” are a combination of the stuff of which you are made, the form it takes, and the time and place in which it exists, how’s that?