Children of the light

So they loaded their van and drove the long and straight road to La Ville Lumière flanked by a copper red sun sinking on their left and a silver full moon on their right side, rising. That night at the art deco theatre of crystal chandeliers, velvet plunging fabrics and bulky balconies, they beamed out their signals of pure white light over the growling hypnotic waves of guitar and electronics.

As the heat mounted, Mirror Moon - turning ever-slowly tempting like balancing Ipanema hips - picked up an unswerving stream of light. Reflections of stars sparkled, and for a split-second another dimension cracked through.

Ecstatic waves rippled over the dancing bodies.

Then silence.

With stardust still dripping from the tips of their fingers, the Children of the Light now knew they were on to something.