Moshpit
I like to rage. Thrown in is the only way I can begin anything, saving any kind of thought process for the aftermath, once I have collected all evidence and emotion of said life event. To immerse myself is to be in the midst of a moshpit, constantly in motion and bound to any possibility of angle and velocity, pushed into immediate and inevitable floods of either floors, ceilings or other squishy, warm bodies.
Chalked full with enthusiasm are the people I choose to surround myself with. What is great about those in the moshpit is that there is no time for complaint, only satisfaction from the courageous leap to live within the chaos, uncontrolled by time but ultimately ending; here I await the reminder of life. Soon after enduring the joyous suffocation of minds and bodies in complete synchronization, I am recharged to then dream of what otherworldly adventure I venture to lose myself in next.
We all live our lives on differing, individualistic terms. The thought of immersing myself in the anatomical study of the human brain in order to then hopefully discover the tangible network of neurological systems that allow me to, for example, write, is remarkable to dream of, but unrealistic toward my own individual reluctance of real-time blood in counterpart with life preservation. I think I will stick to trying to reach others poetically rather than cutting open their life-sustaining organs; also in this position, I know I would be disappointed not to see my patient's thoughts and feelings float overhead their exposed pink vitality.
Why I feel as though I die as soon as my feelings take over any situation is due to the fact that once what was has vanished, my tie to the past no longer becomes valuable to the person I will undoubtedly hurt each time I see the thin skin that thought she could be all that she ever dreamed. It is an empty feeling waiting for my life to begin and an even scarier feeling knowing that by the time seven years have gone by, I will be untouched, unscarred and still naively unbelieving to the horrors of the real world.
My moshpit stops time. I can begin to observe the real world around me once I immerse myself as a small fraction of it, creating my own escape with each craze I encounter in those around me and allowing myself to mold into the person others need me to be once reality begins again. I want to learn how to help in the most efficient way so we can all have more time to do what it is we feel called to satisfy our appetite. I live my life for my next meal, my hunger lying in my own individualistic need to satisfy the souls of others. Flowing and ebbing is just another version of moshing!
I live my life on my own terms, which always begins with the physiological need for safety, mine in numbers and people alike. I am the opposite of claustrophobic and love to experience the warmth from the thousands of worlds I sense as I lose myself to the loving crowd, screaming spirits allowed to be their authentic animalistic selves for a moment. Rock on my homies!
