I have seen the masses gather below the altar decorated with LED lights, cables, Dolby speakers, and musical instruments. I have seen men and women push, shove, punch, and kick others to purposefully pack like sardines in a suicide mission to be in the front. To worship their gods of music. I’ve seen the hazy smoke gather above the pilgrims. Smoke created by the communion shared among the people. Green communion named Pineapple Express, Super Lemon Haze, and Panama Gold. I’ve seen the music played on the altar. I’ve seen the rulers of Emo, Punk, Ska, and Alternative. I’ve seen their worshipers jump in delight when their rock idles were on the alter creating tunes of anger, sadness, fear, and love. I’ve seen worshipers enter the pit to prove themselves, while other worshipers climbed on bodies to ride waves of hands, which thrust them up into the sky. I’ve seen the rock gods cry and shriek with flexible tongues. Parishioners raised their cups of mead in approval. After the pilgrimage of worship, I still hear echoes and sounds of the prayers raised to the heavens that night, and people still wear relics bearing the names of their idles: Morrissey, Taking Back Sunday, Cage the Elephant, and Saves the Day.