It’s the very last thing, isn’t it, we feel grateful for: having happened. You know, you needn’t have happened. You needn’t have happened. But you did happen. - DOUGLAS HARDING

Nothing brings focus to the finicky nature of time like having a newborn. Time is all we think about. Like ouroboros, it eats itself up. All these moments, slip by. Lost in the river of life. Watching it at five in the morning while feeding a two month old, cuts deep.

Mike Mills made a delightful little movie, cmon-cmon about being a parent. He weaves the story with collaborations with writers and storytellers. One of those collaborations is Star Child by Claire A. Nivola.

There is a glint of the lament Borges protagonist shouts out in his short story, witness

What will die with me the day I die? What pathetic or frail image will be lost to the world?

To visit planet earth, you will have to be born as a human child.

At first you will have to learn to use your new body. To move your arms and legs. To pull yourself upright. You will learn to walk, and run. To use your hands. To make sounds and form words.

Slowly you will learn to take care of yourself.

Here it is still and peaceful. But there, the colours, sensations and sounds will wash over you constantly. You will see so many living things – plants and animals beyond imagining.

Here it is always the same. But there, everything is in motion. Everything is always changing.

You will be plunged into the earth's river of time.

There will be so much for you to learn. And, so much for you to feel first-reformed. Pleasure and fear. Joy and disappointment. Sadness and wonder.

In your confusion and delight you will forget where you came from. You will grow up, travel and work.

Perhaps you will have children or grandchildren of your own.

Over the years you will try to make sense of that happy, sad, full, empty, always shifting life you are in.

And, when the time comes to return to your star, it maybe hard to say goodbye to that strangely beautiful world.