The spill of life

December 12, 2007

Joel Akin

 It is the spill which is the be in me. Of course that sounds like nonsense. So let me put it to you in a way that makes sense. If the spill is the be then the be is me. If I am a spill or a toxic spill then I am in you as well or you are in me. Of course what if all of us were toxic and all of us were so toxic none of us could be well?

 The value of this is in the be. For if we have no value then why talk to you about a rapture? If I am toxic and cannot be touched then maybe the unclean bit is because of life. And life was the be which got stung by evil. So the be in me got to be like sin.

 That sounds like fun but what if fun was the be? What if sin wanted all of us to suffer? So what if each time I spoke with you sin came and took out the joy? What if the joy of life was in the be? And so each time I prayed he bit off that part and threw it to the sea? I would eventually help if I lived long enough. Only with each bite he also threw his little bit of evil. Thus the e at the end of the bit.

 Now it gets worse but perhaps it gets better. Only God knows and God keeps his bit pure. So who then is the we of life? Why even try if its predestined to go sins way?

 Now predestined sounds bad but what if sin sees himself as the victor? Not once but every single time? How long does it take for a man to pray without ceasing? I pray and I win in me but the be isn’t me. The be is the we of wishes and the wishes is to win. Something.

 Lets talk about prophecy. If I prophecy and the thing fails scripture says to take that prophet and stone him. If God tells me I’m not a prophet and I speak what sounds like prophecy who then stones the non-prophet? Don’t you think its strange that most Christians are part of the non-prophet  system? We don’t give much heed to words but think of how God guides us into the spreeching of life? I know I’m a non-profit person but I also knew I was not a prophet either. And so if I’m not a prophet how then do I grace pages with writings? Why even try to talk with God about life? What if God says ‘You are going to be blessed?” What then does the value of it be if I’m not a prophet?

 To answer we have to select a key. One is called harmony and the other off chord. That is the discord or dis of the chord.

 To dis a chord is to see it is not working. So here is the thought for I really want to hear God speak.

What if God could and did speak in music? What if I were meant to rake in big bucks with it? How then do I go about recording it? If I run short of breath it makes the music kind of weird. And if I can’t find a way of recording on the net then I have to buy the equipment.

So who then wants discord in their music? Most of us like it with harmony. We like it sound perfect. We want it so perfect we can’t find flaws in it.

Then if I come out with discord in the body they cast me off. No one comes to visit. No one sees me. No one cares.

Yet what if God does? What if God still cares? We think “Only God could love him” and so I become the prophet without a voice. And thus the voice I had becomes the effort to strain it. So when I strain my voice it comes out with effort. Effort is when I go to a drive through and compete with the nature of life. It becomes a strain which no one can understand.

This value then is to see who is in control. If I go to the drive in and try to store up sound for the voice box it can’t keep me up into it because of the hoarse nature in me. If I see the person I can write to them my menu or desire. Of course it requires they have what I desire.

All this is part of the chord. Chord is when I tie on something so weird no one knows what it is. It is the sea of time or the sea of lift or the sea of something weird. Of course the sea is like a season of time in that I write weird when I lose track of thought.

Now if there is a point it is the chord. I desire to sound right. I want people to like me. I want people to hear me. Yet when I go to them I sound off. I talk of things that are obscure. They sound out of sense for the time we live in. And so the chord is broken inside. I find it is broken so hard I can’t speak. I am the hoarse with no name walking into the desert without true nature of life.

Who then can take what I give? No one. I am no into life except in prayer. Those in Heaven strain to hear what I say. They know I try and I weep and I cry. Yet it becomes the horse of men. For if I speak with tongues of men or of angels yet have no sense what then is me or my value?

To answer this is to see. For if I can find a way out of this mess it is to be. To be is to see in me the progress I am making. The progress is to see and to see is to be. Only I sound like I’m in a trance where I am writing in some unknown tongue. So what value does that have for you?

You are the key to me in a way because if you read this you are with me at least in the word I write. You are praying perhaps or wondering if I am making any sense.

Yet the value of chord and discord is to let go. And since I am asked to pray letting go means to let go. And to let go is to let go of things I want to do.

That in itself is the value of prayer. I go into prayer believing it is the value of prayer with God. If I cannot hear it is me or value but not God who is off in the sense of not hearing clearly. So I then am a discord or in a value of discord. And the valley is when I try to write with hope there will be value to you.

The value in life is the key to it in me. I am the value of things. I am the value of hope. I am the value to the men who will read this one day. They will see it in the space of time when I was in battle. Battle so deep it went down to the soul. When the soul wrote it back up it went out to the little people. They read it and said “That is me”. For no one heard them. No one saw them. No one. They wanted to be heard. They wanted to be life eternal. Yet with hope.

So the value you see is the value I carry. I put it down as the base and function. When the tree sits in judgment it does so with hope. Not of carrying a horse but of life on the limb watching the world go by. Especially the parade where occasionally they throw you a treat. Not a stick.

Of course the hope of a treat is the base of life. Not as a dog for few sit on a limb. So with hope I ask “What is the treat?”

And the man who takes life to the sea and puts it into the bee says “Honey.” And that is the treat of life.