An Ancient Bird hops down the song-lines that furrow the brow of the desert, tapping his beak the path that only he can see clearly. Every click of the crooked bone raises a puff of dust, a few notes, and a few memories. A shiver ruffles his sun-worn feathers and the joy of remembrance fills him with surprise, as always...

A thousand years from now, the sun sets for the billionth time on the Nevada desert. The Ancient Bird bears witness, standing on a single gnarled leg. As the warmth of the day ebbs away, he turns his sand-scarred beak to the Ancient Mountain and croaks mischievously, "Do you remember, friend?" The wind sighs down the slopes, whispering a fond memory... when giants roamed a land where birds were still magical and humans believed in destiny. The bird's unblinking eye hardens at the memory of injustice. But the Mountain's warm breath whispers a comforting word. Remember... Remember the glow of the day when a hundred souls fused to deposit a generous gift on the desert floor; a gift that bloomed into a cactus flower, the beauty of which touched the world. Remember the radiance of the flower blossoming in the desert. Remember the mystery.

Mystère is the story of the universe - a rich voyage from the dawn of time to the end of the millennium. Mystère is also man’s journey from infancy to adulthood - his desire to understand the cosmos, his search for answers and his ultimate discovery that life itself is a mystery.

Mystère is a celebration of life. From the genesis of the first life forms to the rise of human civilizations, from the infinitesimally microscopic to the infinitely vast, from the most majestic to the most terrifying, from the most fragile to the most powerful, the driving force has always been the vital spark of life, throbbing, struggling, reproducing, and weaving through death and rebirth.

Mystère is a voyage to the very heart of life where past, present and future merge, and all our emotions converge. Mystère is the enigma of time, the bearer of hopes and dreams but also of tragedy. It is above all the remembrance of time past, memories of life unfolding, following its course and ultimately surviving against all odds.

You may call it art. You may call it theatre.

We call it Mystère.