Not Subject To Change

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.

 All these things affect my soul in a way that they will never affect anyone else’s. While the different subjects may touch others’ souls, they do not move their spirits in the same way. This is what makes it my identity. The fact that architecture, music, words, and true beauty are embedded in the essence and fibers of my soul, makes my identity an “architecture-music-words-true-beauty-lover.” This will never change. The things I find my identity in are subject to change, but my soul is not. 

Closing Thoughts

I'm about to reach the finish line of an extreme segment of my life. Thoughts of redefinition, purpose, planning, and identity have been constantly filling my mind. What comes next is a mystery. What I do with who I am is a secret slowly unraveling like a roll of ribbon taking me further and further away from what I knew and closer and closer to something I want to know. The future is calling to me as I walk blindly toward it like looking into a summer setting sun. The future is bright and I'm not sure what to see in it, but I like what I see. I don't know who I am going to be but I know who I am now. Do I need to be different? Sure, there are things I would change. Who wouldn't? But who do I want to become? Who have I become? There is so much about identity that fluctuates, and yet there is also something about human identity that is solid and forever true. The fallenness of mankind gives us a good base layer. Unfortunately, this makes everyone have the identity of evil. But one has to wonder if this is true? Theologically, yes. Man is innately evil. Rousseau and Dryden would disagree and is there merit to this? I think we would all like to believe that there is hope in the hearts and minds of the beings we are to spend the rest of our known lives with, but truly, the fault of mankind is not in his heart, but in his soul. If we cannot fix the soul, there is no reason to try and fix the heart. The heart calls for the emotion, the stomach for passion, and the mind for reason, but the soul is an altogether different entity. The soul calls for justice, virtue, goodness, and truth. These things cannot be felt. They cannot be passioned. They cannot be reasoned. To find justice, virtue, goodness, and truth is the eternal quest of the human aura. If this is our identity, why do we try to change? Why do we search for pleasure? Is there something innately painful in searching for what is truly beautiful? Will we ever find it?