Identity is found in location. I am an American. Identity is
found in family. I am a daughter, a sister, a granddaughter, a niece, and a
cousin. Identity is found in activity. I am a fencer, a singer, and – hopefully
– a future architect. Identity is found in beliefs. I am a Christian. Identity
is found in many things, but where
does it exist in us? Where is it found in the person seeking identity? Is it
found in the soul or the mind? The heart or the stomach? Passion or fleeting
obsession? My identity is different than the person I share a moment with in
the elevator. It is found in an ever-changing flow of thoughts and encounters,
and it is something set into motion that I may or may not ever be able to
affect. It is something held by the Fates measuring, measuring, measuring until
the thread reaches its end. Identity is found in many things but it exists in
the soul.
Once the
home of identity is established, I have to ask myself what makes up my soul.
This question has plagued the human mind since the dawn of time. Even the
ancient Egyptians believed man to have a soul that was weighable after death.
Though they had decided upon its existence, they did not know of what it was
composed. As a high school graduate, I can adequately explain how different organs
of the body are composed and what their purpose is, but the soul has no
composition. It has no place. The soul is the essence of the person. It is the identity; not just where the
identity is found.
The things that make up one’s
identity are those things which make the soul quiver, leap, soar, and still.
Architecture makes my spirit soar. It is the essence of design that is in
everything. Nature reflects it, buildings either reveal or reject it, and
everyday objects omit its essence. Music and singing make my soul leap. The
simple notes plucked on a guitar make me want to dance, and singing lifts my
mind into a euphoric world of simple loveliness. Words make my spirit shake and
quiver, whether they are words to a song, a novel, a movie or play script, or even
spoken words. The ability of the human tongue is captivating. All of these
things make my soul move, but beauty – true beauty – makes my soul still. True
beauty is the thing that makes my breath spill from my lungs. It calls for me
to sit and take in its intoxicating scent. It can be anything, but true beauty
is the thing that quiets my soul and makes time, space, and life stop.
