Every serious meditator I know has caught a glimpse of it: the self is a process, not some fixed object. Neuroscientists pick up on it too, in their own lines of data. "You never step into the same river twice." But we hold tight to our name, our steady sense of identity. What ties me to that teenage version of myself? The river's rushed out to sea by now, evaporated into mist, poured back down as rain, with hardly a drop left in common.