The concept of a whole person is an enigma that evolves within a culture . Often it is not a transitive concept and can only be conjuncted within it's social setting . In fact the realities of social fragmentation make most all concepts of a whole person universally inapplicable .

Literature is often a good tool for developing an understanding of a culture and it's inclinations . In a cultures folk tales , plays , and fictions you find authors making a deliberate attempt to portray the basic dramas of their society .

Greek myths are a vivid example of this ; they are literally frought with characterizations . In their development these multitudes of characters weave into an elaborate tapestry that depicts the developing Greek moral ethic . The intricasies of the analogous content are brought across in a multitude of forms . Names were very important and a major force in clarifying the concepts being presented . The multitudes of characters portray a multifaceted understanding of the human psyche . The chauvinistic banality of their culture and it's gods is graphically depicted against the backdrop of their developing ethics .

It is difficult for a modern man to construct a vision of a whole person from a strictly ancient Greek point of view . The obvious anachronisms envolved make such an attempt partially ludicrous . Contrarily the bulk of their characterization paints a vivid picture of their primative social state .

Of course while the Greeks were muddling through the multicolored quagmire of human frailty many societies where learning to master the powers they had developed through centuries of strict adherence to religious and social mores . The development of their socially biased realities make many Greek nuances seem decadent anachronism . Rather than deitizing their baser natures as the Greeks had thay had learned to master them and turned to new paths to clarity . Spiritual pragmatism and lack of comunication nullified the social attributes of many of these extrapolations on positive orientation .

Jung preaches that man has an innate need to assimilate all external sensory perceptions . I find this untrue . In fact I find it self abortive . Human beings have a complexity factor that is individual and must be protected from overload ; man's moral ethic is a tender and deludable feeling directed by empathy . In the hectic world of modern mass media this tender individuality can become dwarfed by the percieved need to obtain social acceptance . Whole civilizations have become deluded by the flow of their complexities into an outright denial of their moral ethics .

I find this partially estranged condition prominent throughout social history . Children are brought up to respond to a vast realm of presupposed social ideologies and are not allowed to venerate themselves until much of their conscious matrix has been established . This of course makes self evasion an easily attainable goal . Sometimes politically speaking the actual goal . The mind satiated by it's social framwork is the ideal tool for a socialistic or tyrannical government .

To me the value of social history lies not in it's application as much as it's illumination . All the fragmented pockets of human coalescence should instill an understanding of man's posibility factors . Man's inability to supersede his developing anachronism may well be the cause of his annihilation .

Modern man has learned how to use tact in instilling the acceptable social mores . Solviet psychiatrists have spent years on perfecting these social sublimations ; children learn how to make their personalities conform to the accepted mean . I think that the true nature of a well rounded being lies in an ability to reject the fragmental nature of these instilled mores and develop a more universally acceptable social orientation . Does the son of a ku klux **** member have to hate blacks ? The obvious answer is no ; contrarily socially acceptable orientation is a product of environment . This is the pitfall of man's evolution as a race ; his inability to rise above the quandary of his immediate surroundings with all of their overwhelming complexities and demands to become a cognizant and empathetic being . There in lie the keys to his future .

This does not necessarily define the well rounded person . A well rounded person must be able to cope with his immediate surroundings withoutan abject denial of his empathetic being .

I believe well roundedness lies in thoughtful orientation and a well centered understanding of self . One need not be socially active as long as they are thoughtfully cognizant . Obey the golden rule ; you can not allow your objective orientation to supersede your subjective empathy . You can't allow yourself to be thwarted or overcome by your peers into being something they might want to make you because temptation may overwhelm them and you will become a transient tool in their succession .

The abstract of your young mind
Has painted you into false conclusions
Tilting on highs and lows
Of denial and delusion
Having taken a bet to far
You know not what you say or do
Misguidedly triggering a..."forest of a tale"
Brought you under a misconstrue spell
It has you on a floating scale
In high def echo, in a state of confusion
I want the one I know best
Before he takes one more wrong mistep
Into the wilderness journey
That will fall dark into a hole
Locks them in
Make sure it's the choice you want to travel down
Cause it's a long lost lonely road
Where the traveling will limit your lens
Into a forest you'll go
And never come out again

Come Back Out Of The Forest
Into the posibility of...Hope


(upwc) by: Zenobia Lee/LadyZ710

Took you for a walk
Stroll through the park
with thoughts of romantic talk
i thought of all the posibility
how you might start to really see me
i could picture your happy face
looking into my eyes
a loving gaze
the ultimate prize
that's how it was suppose to be
but it happened quite differently
you see it was just a fantacy
cause you didnt smile once
you kept your distance
had a straight face
even walked at seperate pace
there were fire works
what a suprise
but you didnt even look
and as you walked away
i caught another case
of that heartbreaking cold
it was probalby my fault
my hopes were too bold
you had a good hand
so i look at mine and fold
your hand i will never hold

I listened to my stubby heels echoing light clicks and clacks

on the ***** pavement,

a sound far better than the the laughter and chatter of the previously escaped classroom.

I mozied along the empty campus, feeling warmed by the bits of fog that clung to the air

and moss trees towering from pine needles in a very still way

that if not for the fog's gentle swaying I would have assumed the world to have stopped.

I liked it that way best.

When things are still and quiet and full of posibility

but you choose not to reign in that possibility because you love the freshly chilled air,

air so fresh it makes you want to fill your lungs with it

and take a To-Go bag as well.

Sometimes I sit and look out,

silently hoping that if I sit there long enough I too,

will become quite still and fresh fog might cling to me

and someone else might admire me as part of a still world,

like a picture in a golden frame.

eyelids, as thin fold
of skin against the rain,
the consequence
the posibility
I shove this progress,
making space and making time.
I just want to lose
all this will energy just
so they admit me
to a hospital break
and I want to fake
everything. . .
God why can't you
make all this easy
for me?

and to my Mom
who seemed to
forgot what
living is supposed to
be,
you're dragging me
in the same ending,
I hope she knows.

and to my real Father
who never figured
things out,
I'm happy that
I got your ideals and
that you get me in my
current situation.

how many remaining days
are there before I lose
all this and become
a shadow
of what I used to be?
I wasn't great, never better
but around these days
I don't feel much
and as I am writing
this pitiful poem
I can feel the urge in my
hands to break something
in order to let
everyone know that something
is wrong but no,
people never know
I have been fooled of
this fantasy so many times
that it made me
burn bridges, including
long ones.

losing sleep,
restless I come at it again,
I'll force my way
all throughout the day,
earn the money
while I slowly turn
into stone,
losing myself
and drifting away,
****, I am drifting away. .

tomorrow
another blank slate,
thin fold of skin
against what tomorrow
brings
no rhymes
problems in the daylight
and mostly at night

only living
without being
truly alive,
I come as a poet
with problems at night.

we said our goodbyes
and it reminded me
of the very firt time
in that lake
that smile
that firt "I want you to be with me"
flaming trouthness
-that's it, that's what it was-
once a hope
now a close door
always a pleasure
meeting you
and been gone.
I'm sorry our bridge broke
you were the reallest posibility I ever wanted to own