- [Announcer] The following program is available with audio description and closed captions.

(calming music) (chilled relaxing music) (chilled relaxing music continues) - [Narrator] Doors, upon doors, upon doors.

This endless gallery of entrances and exits.

We are intertwined.

Nothing is lost.

Worlds upon worlds upon worlds.

You and I. Dancing atoms.

Your spine.

My hand.

Nothing is lost.

Only changed.

The Great Entanglement.

They say gravity is weak, but galaxies bow to it.

(soft music) (soft music continues) (mysterious music) Everything thrums with life.

Your body.

This stone.

These trembling oaks waltzing with the curvy, overdressed cumulus across the perfect dome of the living sky.

This coneflower.

That weed.

The unnumbered ranks of crickets.

The string section of these dusky hollows.

(insects chirping) (soft music) Is that stone alive?

Ask it.

Put your ear to it between the moss and the lichen.

It speaks of deep time.

(eerie soft music) (eerie soft music continues) (soft music) Listen as it tells you about its birth as a star, a supernova, its millennia as a seabed.

The great sweeping, freezing, burning upheaval into the mountain.

And then the slow, so slow, settling, breaking off, softening, and rounding that brought it here to your feet.

(rock clacking) (footsteps crunching) (relaxing music) (relaxing music continues) (relaxing music continues) (relaxing music continues) (relaxing music continues) (relaxing music continues) (relaxing music continues) Everything thrums with life.

These straight-spined poplars, plumb as God's fenceposts Breathing in your breath, Breathing out the air you breathe, breathing in your breath.

And you, lithe as a river spirit, you, unnamed Earth deity, standing as you are, your sumptuous self, holding soil black as coffee in one hand.

Clear water in the other.

Amber honey, warm in the sun, pouring down your body.

You are ripe with living, with blood, with desire, with calm and bellowing, breaking and mending.

Oh, Christ, oh gods, oh arhats and bodhisattvas, bears, foxes, beetles, and centipedes, how I love living.

(mysterious calming music) (mysterious calming music continues) (mysterious calming music continues) This is the gospel.

This is the dharma.

This is the poem we whisper in the night.

Everything thrums with life.

Deep in caves, white blind fish process between rock walls like silent monks, off to attend an evensong that has never been heard.

Only felt, since there were first two atoms to rub together, long before our core's spark was lit, or the moon hung in the sky.

And the fish know it, deep in their Somnolent, black cloisters down with little else but crystals and coal and gold.

Bacteria and slime who feed on poison gas and darkness.

Place your ear on this stone.

Everything thrums with life.

(serene soft music) (serene soft music continues) (serene soft music continues) (serene soft music continues) (serene soft music continues) (serene soft music continues) (serene soft music continues) (serene soft music continues) (serene soft music continues) (serene soft music continues) (serene soft music continues) (serene soft music continues) (serene soft music continues) (serene soft music continues) (serene soft music continues) (serene soft music continues) (serene soft music continues) (serene soft music continues) (serene soft music continues) (serene soft music continues) (serene soft music continues) (serene soft music continues) (serene soft music continues) (serene soft music continues) (serene soft music continues) (serene soft music continues) (insects chirping) (gentle piano music) (insects chirping) (gentle piano music) (insects chirping) (footsteps crunching) - [Narrator 2] In the golden houses of the sun, there are no shadows.

On the Sea of Tranquility, white as bone, there are no storms.

I spring from the cradle of the earth, born thing, mammal, imperfect, impermanent, crushed and remade and crushed again by the galaxy's wheel.

Every moment, the dead embrace the living.

Every moment, the living flee the dead.

Every moment is dawn on some planet somewhere.

Every moment is nightfall.

As you wait for the god of death to weigh your heart against a feather, remember: the meek shall inherit the earth.

(soft serene music) (soft serene music continues) (soft serene music continues) (soft serene music continues) (soft serene music continues) (soft serene music continues) (soft mysterious music) (soft mysterious music continues) (soft mysterious music continues) (soft mysterious music continues) (soft mysterious music continues) (soft mysterious music continues) (soft mysterious music continues) (soft mysterious music continues) (soft mysterious music continues) (soft serene music) (soft serene music continues) (soft mysterious music) (soft mysterious music continues) (soft mysterious music continues) (soft mysterious music continues) (soft mysterious music continues) (soft mysterious music continues) (soft mysterious music continues) (soft mysterious music continues) (soft mysterious music continues) (soft mysterious music continues) (soft mysterious music continues) (soft mysterious music continues) (soft mysterious music continues) (soft mysterious music continues) (soft mysterious music continues) (soft mysterious music continues) (soft mysterious music continues) (soft mysterious music continues) (soft mysterious music continues) (soft serene music continues) (soft serene music continues) (soft serene music continues) (soft serene music continues) (soft serene music continues) (soft serene music continues) (soft serene music continues) (soft serene music continues) (insects chirping) (insects chirping) (insects chirping) (waves crashing) (waves crashing) (waves crashing) (waves crashing) (waves crashing) (waves crashing) (waves crashing) (waves crashing) (waves crashing) - [Narrator 3] We, the queens and kings, the unsexed regents of these Punchdrunk provinces, small fiefs, We are congregation and sacrifice.

We, the carriers of extra pounds, We who just don't look quite right.

We middle managers, third shifters, Flowers frozen half-bloom.

Daughters of fists, of noise.

Only sons selecting caskets.

Orphaned parents at the wells of Dextroamphetamine, escitalopram.

While presidents, bankers, preachers, pickpockets of all stripes fill their ledgers with our red ink, hot as shell casings.

Still, we dance.

If in the margins.

Our careening céilí, a joy-drunk reel of date nights and skinned elbows.

The ICU at 4:30 a.m.

Dawn campsites, August Perseids, parties without ice.

We will embrace the tree-veined caul of this burned sky.

We will be children, mittens and all, and hold out our tongues for wafers of snow.

We will kiss a new year as we would a blooming cheek.

Drink it like hot, bitter coffee.

Like pink champagne.

Hold one another in cupped hands.

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