Thud! And the air rushes out of my lungs. Guy’s shoulder hit me square in my right side ribs, head on. And I’m off my feet, sailing through the air as I gain the momentum to disengage contact with this asshole.
He is an asshole, 250 pound guy goes the wrong way in a circle pit. Maybe he was just breaking the rules because it’s more punk rock. That’s what punk shows are for right? Chaos and anarchy. It’s our thing. What kind of punk doesn’t break the rules?
Then again... Anarchism is based on society that doesn’t need central leadership because it’s citizens all adhere to the same rules and beliefs and help each other grow. So I feel it’s completely acceptable for everyone here to be subject to the rules of moshing. If it’s a circle it goes counter clockwise, you never go out of your way to hurt someone, and if someone falls you guard them from trampling and pick them up. Simple shit really, and all pretty reasonable I’d say.
Crack! My elbow strikes the hardwood floor of the Filmore as I try to catch myself, then the rest of the weight is caught by my back. Fuck that hurt. But above me I see guys closing in to guard me and I reach up for their help. See? Simple rules. As they pull me up I’m gratified to see another huge guy confronting the dumbass that hit me. And I didn’t see him the rest of the night either. Works for me I guess.
My cohorts pull me beyond the edge of the mosh pit and I lean on my knees gasping to regain the breath I lost. Man. That. Was. Awesome! A strange response I know but let me explain.
This, is therapy. Punk shows, surrounded by young anarchists, violently moshing to fast power chords. It’s the best therapy in the world. I’ve tried them all, aroma therapy, yoga, even the kind where you talk to a shrink. They all have their benefits I admit, it helps with certain things at certain times. But this, this is something special.
If you’re like me you thought Fight Club was one of the greatest movies ever. if you’re even more like me, you liked the book even more. And I tried that too. Fighting is a therapy, physically, and psychologically. But in real life the only dudes you can bare knuckle box for fun are more messed up than you are. Punk shows, and the moshing offers the same thing, but in a more enlightened state. So much in fact I can call myself a pacifist.
I can say this because I don’t fight anyone anymore, at least not physically. Moshing isn’t fighting. It’s surrendering yourself to the chaos around you, and trusting that your brothers and sisters in the pit will save you when it knocks you on your ass. Literally. It’s about relinquishing fear, and adopting brotherhood, and for a sweet blissful evening surrendering the worries of your life to a chaos of flailing bodies, screaming in tongues. This is why at the end of the night, with bloodshot eyes, a golfball swollen elbow, and a bruise on my ribs that makes it hurt to breathe, I feel healed.
Battered to the brink of death by the chaos, I am reborn, with scars of courage, badges of honor. And I couldn’t feel more alive.