Whatever the story. This day is sort of a remembrance and celebration of events that supposedly happened long ago. Who knows if it was the real story, and if it really happened at all? I think it's best to think of it all as some grand poetic metaphor. Some little baby was born somewhere. And a new consciousness sprang into the world. It happens every day. Actually probably every minute of everyday. That's how we continue to add to the billions of beings with consciousness to the planet.
And this little baby was "special," and "different," just like every other one. And then this little baby grew up and had a life. And then as an adult that life ended. That unique consciousness disappeared from the planet. Or at least that's how it seems to those on the planet. And this too happens all the time, every hour of every day.
So yes, the world begins and ends every moment. So I guess we can celebrate that. It's kind of a bittersweet thing. And where does that consciousness go? Does it vanish? Does it accumulate? Or transform? I guess we decide to think of it any way that appeals to us.
And if we tell the story, and repeat it, in that way it lives. It's the same for all of us. That's the story, our story too.