I’m an average female who stands about five feet, six inches tall. I’m naturally thin with an olive complexion, hazel eyes, and acne-prone skin. I’m allergic to almost any animal put before me (especially horses and cats), my sweet tooth is incurable, and my thick, dark, curly hair is unmanageable at best. These things, for the most part, are unchangeable. My looks can be temporarily altered and my allergies can be suppressed with medications, but my DNA remains the same. The words have already been written, the letters fixed in place, the book closed until my time here on earth is fulfilled, but what would happen if those words and letters were somehow rearranged? What would be my fate? How would I identify myself? Who or what would I ultimately become? If I allowed the words of my DNA to be rewritten, who would be my creator? Who would become my God? These are not questions reserved for mankind’s greatest philosophical thinkers or the world’s most educated minds. In today’s present climate, where gene editing is an emerging news headline, these are questions that every day folk should be asking themselves. They are, indeed, the questions I asked myself when my own DNA was temporarily hijacked.
It was as if a witch had cast a spell on me. I felt like poor old Job…
I can’t say that I understood these concepts right off the bat. In fact, I had no idea what was happening to me. The sensation was painfully physical, like an invisible fire brought down from heaven; the initial hijacking brought me to my knees as my body twitched and burned from the inside out. I had no concept of what was happening to me, only that it was spiritual. It had to be spiritual. There was no other explanation. In the days, weeks, months, and years following, my life became unrecognizable. The world around me disintegrated into a confusing collage of absurd coincidences and maddening synchronicities that made it impossible to see the forest for the trees. I was a rat in a maze lost in a seemingly normal world that, in my mind’s eye, was anything but normal. Strong delusion surrounded me. My thoughts, my sense of smell, sight and sound, my ability to differentiate between imagination and reality – none of these things made sense anymore. It was as if a witch had cast a spell on me. I felt like poor old Job, my path darkened, my soul vexed, and the waters up to my neck.
The invisible fire changed me. Physically, I suffered through reoccurring skin rashes, body tremors, eye twitches, excessive saliva, numb limbs, and double vision. Mentally, I was at a loss. I needed guidance, someone to explain to me what was happening, a teacher to point me in the right direction, a book to show me the way. I had a limited understanding of the bible, and while I did read it, the songs on the radio seemed to have much more of an impact. All those lyrics that I knew by heart made more sense than ever before, and they all said the same thing.
The layers of the onion were peeled away. I knew the secret to fame and fortune.
All those songs, all those musicians, all those bands, they all sang about the same thing. I understood them perfectly. The Beatles, Led Zeppelin, Pink Floyd, The Cure, Nirvana, Alice in Chains, you name it, I knew the meaning behind all their veiled lyrics. The layers of the onion were peeled away. I knew the secret to fame and fortune. I was swimming in the same deep waters as my most adored rock gods. I knew who the walrus was. I knew the real meaning behind their album covers. I was learning an unknown tongue through their melodic words. After all, their words I had memorized since my youth, the bible I had not.
Be not deceived: evil communications corrupt good manners. (1 Corinthians 15:33 KJV)
It wasn’t long before I realized I didn’t want to swim in those waters. I didn’t want to learn their tongue. I didn’t want to be like them. I wanted my life back. No more radio, no more social media, no more television — I spent my time immersed in the Word of God. I filled my mind with purified water and this is where I stand today. I drive to work in silence, study the bible, pray, study the bible some more. I ignore the taps at my window, the phantom smells, the static in the air, the lingering effects of a tongue I wish to forget. I stand, having done all to stand, and I thank God I am not one of them.
Oh that one would hear me! behold, my desire is, that the Almighty would answer me, and that mine adversary had written a book. Surely I would take it upon my shoulder, and bind it as a crown to me. (Job 31:35-36 KJV)
My adversary has written a book. The pages are found within popular music, movies, art, and even some translations of the bible. His DNA is layered into the fruits of our entertainment, our blockbuster films and favorite songs on the radio, our weekly television programs, books, paintings and corporate advertisements. His words flow through the airwaves like blood through the veins giving life to an idol shepherd, giving life to a molten image. After passing through the fire, his tongue was revealed to me and his words were like the poison of asps.
In the end, it comes down to this: whose word do you follow? Some priest? The pope? Facebook? You Tube? Your favorite celebrity? Your favorite writer? Your favorite politician or historical figure? Do you follow your own word? Do you follow God’s Word, and if so, which one? Whose word is in your DNA?