• About
  • Blog
  • Published Work

Lydia Erickson

Lydia Erickson

Monthly Archives: April 2016

Matrioska

25 Monday Apr 2016

Posted by Lydia Erickson in Uncategorized

≈ 1 Comment

We get our power in odd places.

In A House on Mango Street

she said she felt all her past selves

jangling around inside of her

layers like an onion or one of those

Russian dolls, what do they call them?

I feel them here, too, unwanted presences

myself at nineteen, too tense with nerves

to eat on a date

Eighteen, prostrated on the dirty carpet

of my dorm room, begging God

please, don’t let me feel this way forever

seventeen, dread like lightning

when I saw the school rise before me

the years of suicides like sacrifices

to my father’s corpse

the fat years, where men and children

screamed at me in passing

moved away from me in the halls,

and the time before that

when I was truly a child

Will Itself,

legendary in my stubbornness.

The years bring good things, of course

nineteen, giggling on my friend’s floor,

a microwaved dinner sitting between us

writing awards, one in college,

one in middle school,

eighteen, meeting my best friend,

vodka, Gatoraide, and video games

seventeen, seventeen, must have…

sixteen, fifteen, fourteen, sushi with friends

and lunch in the halls

and middle school friends who ate with me

in the park, who were as strange as I was

or better, stranger

and poems taped onto my teacher’s walls

that I had written, even in elementary school

and love like the sky, taken for granted

in the time when I was Will Itself,

Hanuman in the cradle.

I can hear them still, a thousand ancient shames,

prides, and pent-up, pressed-down desires

curl inside me, not Russian dolls but

the monstrous unfed fetuses of being

I have never had regrets; I never do. For when have I

acted unkindly? For when have I

done wrong? A word, here and there, but never–

but perhaps regret is the miscarriage of these shames, and I, immune

will bear them forever? Wondering always

if the hidden

must be the real

and if so

which of these motley dolls

am I?

Dependence

24 Sunday Apr 2016

Posted by Lydia Erickson in Uncategorized

≈ Comments Off on Dependence

“On into the void he flies, unafraid. There is nothing in mere absence that can cow him. Or loneliness. Or the lack of maps and charts. For he is his own path. And he sees by his own light. We watch him from a great distance. From a vantage point no less subjective, no less absolute. And so it’s hard to tell whether he imposes himself on the emptiness, or becomes it.” — Mike Carey, LUCIFER

“You are what your creators and experiences have made you, like every other being in this universe. Accept that and be done; I tire of your whining.” — N. K. Jemisin, THE HUNDRED THOUSAND KINGDOMS

There’s a part in my favorite series where the new god of the universe, Elaine Belloc, asks the devil for advice. He refuses, instantly, and tells her to trust her instincts. He says, “Be absolute. If mercy’s your aim, be relentless in your mercy. Be yourself until you bleed.”

There’s something romantic about how pragmatic the Lucifer of Mike Carey’s series is. Yes, he uses people like tools and discards them, but among all the characters of the series, only he never lies; only he is consistent; only he is absolute. His elegance and composure are nigh untouchable, and in the dark world the comics portray, the audience can only envy him that.

I do not want to be like Lucifer. He hurts people more than he needs to, and while he may be, in this series, a creature of pure will, I cannot be. He is a sociopath, and an exaggeration of an ideal — individualism stretched to such excess that the individual requires its own, separate universe to be truly satisfied.

On the other hand, he’s brilliant, stubborn, elegant, untouchable, and gets what he wants. One of the other angels may be the archetypal artist, but Lucifer is his greatest subject. He is the epitome of action, the trickster disrupter. He is irresistibly and inimitably unique, and interestingly enough based on another of my favorites, David Bowie.

When Lucifer leaves the universe, he says goodbye to Mazikeen, his lover and right-hand-woman, last, and tells her he wants to go into the void alone. He gives her his power, as a “union” between them. She rewards him with a scar to remember her by, saying that he can’t leave everything behind, and that if he erases that scar it’ll only prove him a coward.

He keeps the scar, of course. Pride.

On the other side of the spectrum, The Hundred Thousand Kingdoms, by N.K. Jemisin, features a god of chaos so formless that when presented with a new person, he will change to reflect them. For the first part of the book, our heroine views Nahadoth’s face as a succession of faces, constantly shifting under her eyes, until finally it settles on the face she will find irresistible, a face summoned by her own fears and desires. Who he is from day to day changes completely based on who is in his presence — he may be tender or vengeful or both within only a few minutes, all depending on the thoughts of the people that surround him. His character recalled to mind a quote I’d seen on my seventh grade classroom wall, “Choose your friends wisely, because you will become them.”

Later in the novel, when our heroine complains to Nahadoth that she has so little choice in her own life, he tells her that she can’t determine what she is any more than he can. Like him, all she can do is choose who will shape her.

I wonder, often, to what extent we should compromise with other people. Should we walk through the world as impervious and absolute as islands? Or should we, like redwoods, rely not on the depth of our roots in the earth, but on the other roots that intertwine with ours to hold us up?

Everyone’s got an opinion. Season One: Thor says you can change your fate, but you can’t do it alone. Luis McMaster Bujold argues that all wealth is biological.

I suppose if there’s any kind of consensus it’s that first, we need other people, but they have to be the right people, and ready to give us what we need from them. We’re humans, and we need traveling companions, but only those that pull their own weight. Nothing against everyday compassion, of course — but a bulwark of love against the world is a different thing. I know people who show compassion, again and again, to people who hurt them, because they believe it’s the right way to live. My issue with this isn’t the compassion shown, but the fact that they continue to keep them in their lives. Compassion should be shown to everyone, but connection isn’t a right but a privilege.

My second point would be that there’s a great deal of difference in caring about another person, and caring about what other people think. With regards to the latter, I’d say we could all learn to pick and choose a bit better, whether among people or advice.

Alright, practically, I think the way to live with others is this: take the best care of yourself possible, and do it well. Make enough to not only live but be comfortable. Care for your body, your mind, and your heart. Dress in a way you enjoy. Travel, and when you are home, make your home the one you’ve wished for. You will meet companions, and the right companions will be the ones who make you more like the self you want to be. They will be brave, compassionate, curious, and loyal. If they hurt you or lie to you or bring you down, then part from them gently but firmly. If you do change course because of what another has suggested, do it only because they pointed out a better way to where you wanted to go, never because you think that is the way you should be going. Only you get to decide where you should be going.

And yes, I lean towards the independent side, and those of you planning lives with another or planning to have children will probably err more towards the side of compromise. But in an ideal world, for me, the greatest romance isn’t moving towards another person, but choosing to take the journey together — I’m quoting someone, but I can’t remember who.

In summary: Trust yourself; be absolute; be yourself until you bleed; and be careful when choosing those who may shape you.

The Atheist’s Prayer

24 Sunday Apr 2016

Posted by Lydia Erickson in Uncategorized

≈ Leave a comment

 

Like an expectant mother in her daughter’s room

I await myself.

 

And while there are many things

one can leave to God

(The Universe, Chance, the Cosmic Shebang)

the weather and distant wars

the subtle shift of foreign moons

 

And many still that one must

leave to God

your life, your heart

My making must

and will be

my own

 

And if it is true – that we cannot

choose what we become

that Circumstance and Situation and

the Clockwork Universe

play such great a part as to make

free will, personality, the self

a delusion,

then I will choose the eyes that

shape me

and I will choose the lies that

make me

and if ever there is one to break me

my shards will be my own

my own.

 

Published here.

Subscribe

  • Entries (RSS)
  • Comments (RSS)

Archives

  • November 2020
  • June 2020
  • November 2019
  • April 2018
  • March 2018
  • January 2018
  • November 2017
  • October 2017
  • September 2017
  • August 2017
  • July 2017
  • May 2017
  • March 2017
  • February 2017
  • January 2017
  • December 2016
  • November 2016
  • September 2016
  • August 2016
  • July 2016
  • June 2016
  • May 2016
  • April 2016
  • March 2016
  • February 2016
  • January 2016
  • November 2015
  • October 2015
  • September 2015
  • July 2015
  • June 2015
  • May 2015
  • April 2015
  • March 2015
  • February 2015
  • January 2015
  • December 2014

Categories

  • Blog
  • Fear
  • Poems in Progress
  • Poetry
  • Stories in Progress
  • Uncategorized
  • Writing

Meta

  • Register
  • Log in

Blog at WordPress.com.

Privacy & Cookies: This site uses cookies. By continuing to use this website, you agree to their use.
To find out more, including how to control cookies, see here: Cookie Policy