Time, being in it is like being in a smooth glass thread which connects birth to death, point to point. It holds them together while it wraps itself over and engulfs them in its complex strands and layers. These thick knots of time dissociate and confuse us when we stand at these end events. I like how birth is also the other end here. What precedes this end is absence, the synonym for that absence, that state of being a part of your surroundings, that area outside the knot, is death. Were we dead before we were born?