Goa. Here in this chemical capitol, the birthplace of trance, in our sarongs and rasta-hats, flopflops and dreadlocks, we flock to the beach. The DJ as our shepherd, we ride the crest of these musical waves. The driving force, borne on the beat, is one part impulse, one part religion. In this electric demi-urge, in our euphoric epiphany, we are reborn as dancers, swaying on the pounding tide of noise. I look up through palm leaves and see the stars screaming down at me. I move, and Orion moves with me. Chained to the rhythm, we're locked together in this cosmic dance, spanning galaxies; transcending time; transcending space. This is light-speed. This is Goa trance.
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