During junior high I used to have auditory hallucinations that made me hear the screams of aborted fetuses.
What did these screams sound like? At the time I would’ve only been able to say they were painful to listen to, but after growing up and conquering the screams, I can absolutely say the screams are much more than pain.
So, again, what did the screams sound like? Well, half a year ago there was a span of about a month where I’d improvise at the piano and things didn’t sound the same. My ear had become numb to tone and musical notes started to sound like sterilized mathematical frequencies instead. I would become full of rage and hopelessness as I pounded away at the piano; I started doing turbulent, frantic improvisations in hopes that, by grace of probability, at least one note would slip through unsterilized and I’d be reacquainted with the holy warmth of music once again. But that merciful holy note never arrived for me during that month. But now, when I listen to my recordings from that time, the turbulent piano sounds beautiful to me no matter what.
And that is what those screams sounded like.
So how did I ever master the screams back in junior high? I first had to master the rage and hopelessness that got sucked into my heart when I heard those screams.
My rage was never directed at women who had abortions. Instead, it was directed at Satan for being out there, somewhere, convincing so many women that abortion was their only option. It also pissed me off that since 1973, one out of every three potential African-Americans in this country have been aborted. Despite this awful fact, liberals still always contended that they were all so open-minded and progressive while conservatives were all racist. It drove me crazy.
So, again, how did I master the screams back in junior high? I realized that abortion comes down to two primary things: self-rejection and rejection of a gift from God. In that respect, it is no different than any other sin or act of human frailty. Then I realized that just because a person might reject love does not mean that love does not get to light up the world.
Even if a person rejects their child and the child never gets to see the light of day, the child gets to light up our day anyway.
After I had this series of realizations, the screams transformed into color and music. The color and music that I now hear expresses the explosion of individuality within every abortion. And remember, explosion is by far the most efficient form of creation.
Don’t believe me? Just ask the Big Bang.
Suddenly, I had peace.
I encourage everyone to hear the angelic voices of aborted children in the wind, in the ruckus found on crowded city streets, and in all chaotic harmony of this magnificent planet and universe. There might be no systematic end to abortion in sight, but the eternal end of abortion can be heard through the music of life. I was lucky enough to get a chance to live and spread light, and for that, I have peace and company from the unborn. But they spread light better than I can even dream.