Bruce Lee on Self Regulation Versus External Regulation



Bruce Lee the philosopher brought us some insightful comments on self-actualization. Now he’s back with more goodness.

InBruce Lee: Artist of Life, Lee talks about the curative power of awareness.

The important thing to remember and to understand is that awareness, per se – by itself and of itself – can be curative. Because with full awareness you become aware of this organismic self-regulation; you can let the organism take over without interfering, without interrupting; we can rely on the wisdom of the organism. And the contrast to this is the whole pathology of self-manipulation, environmental control, and so on, which interferes with this subtle organismic self-control.

Our manipulation of ourselves is usually dignified by the word “conscience,” which is nothing but a fantasy, a projection onto the parents. The “road to hell is paved with good intentions,” and any intention towards idealistic change will achieve the…

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Oldie but goldie, Poetry

Every time I close my eyes to sleep,

The monsters in my head begin to creep.

No longer do I have any pleasant dreams,

Only dying people and their ugly screams.

Sometimes I wake up crying,

Sometimes I see myself dying,

Sometimes I can’t sleep for nights,

Each night, itself, is trying.

Every thing is normal, now to me

The things unusual before.

Sometimes I wonder how to get

The peace I had before.

Everything comes in bits and pieces.

Sometimes my heart simply ceases,

When I put it all together,

And iron out its creases.

I get what people call ‘premonitions’

Guilty of seeing everything is my confession.

Weaker and powerless I feel, each time.

Everlasting torture is my condition.

I am on the verge of breaking down.

I need someone to help me out

Of the misery I am in, when I dream.

Lying still peacefully. In dreams I shout.


Oldie but goldie, Poetry

Bind me in chains

If your love ever remains,

If your heart is in flames,

If your soul never refrains.

Let the chains be steal,

Binding my hearts spinning wheel;

Binding me down to this earth;

Binding my soul in mirth.

Let the chains be gold,

Amorous thoughts to unfold;

Golden bonds, hearts, to hold;

Souls talk of things untold.

Let the chains never be lies,

If innocence shines in your eyes;

If forever faith never dies;

Let me shine in your eyes.

The Golden Mosque of Old Lahore

History, Lahore

The Golden Moque, commonly known as Sunheri Masjid, is located in the centre of Old City of Lahore, Pakistan. It was built in 1753 by Nawab Syed Bhikari Khan son of Raushan-ud-Daula Turrabaz Khan, deputy governor of Lahore during the reign of Muhammad Shah. It is situated in the old Kashmiri Bazaar along the Royal Road leading from Dehli Gate to the Lahore Fort.

The mosque is famous for its three brass domes and is popular with tourists from across the globe.

You can view photos of The Golden Mosque of Lahore here.



The only complaint I have

Is against myself.

There is no point complaining

To anyone if they can’t fix it.

No point in wasting words

That bounce off the walls

And back at your ears,

In an empty chamber

That has bars for windows.

There is no one who can

Fix my longstanding complaint,

Except One.

And He doesn’t seem much concerned

About it.

Maybe, He has too much

On His mind.

So, he chooses neither to reject it

Nor to accept it

And therefore, fix it.

He leaves me in a limbo of a life,

Quite conveniently for Him.

If it can be called a life;

Neither swimming nor drowning,

Neither burning nor extinguished,

Neither resplendent green nor bone parched dry,

Neither shining at noon, nor setting at dusk,

Just gray and ashen and alone,

Painfully alone.


Oldie but goldie, Poetry

I have never been

This alone in my life!

So forgive me

For not sharing your enthusiasm

When you discuss that clear blue

Sky up above,

Or the roses in spring,

Or the birds that sing

In the cage in your house,

Because I am thinking about

The dark corner of my cell,

Hiding those leggy spiders.

Forgive me for

Not sharing your enthusiasm

Because I can’t smile like

The lovers sharing lovely

Chit-chat on their cell-phones,

Staring at each other

Across the expanse of social

Boundaries and norms, yet

One in harmonious joy.

I have bars in my windows,

Chains around my feet,

Of words, Not mine!

Of thoughts, Not mine!

Of norms, Not mine!

Of desire, Not mine!

Of will, Not mine!

Of hope, Cursed Hope!

Murderous Hope, Not mine!

So forgive me for

Not sharing your enthusiasm.

I have a life, you may not

Care to share.




The Fool.

Oldie but goldie, Poetry

A man of Words,

A man of Lost Dreams,

A man chasing an Illusion,

A man Lost in Delusion.

A man Honest with

His own self Only.

A man Passionate to the World,

But Lonely.

A man in Love with

Images in Thin Air.

A man of Thoughts

Which Leave him in Despair.

A man of Hope,

A man of joy,

A man of Passion,

A man of Imagination,

A man of Vision,

A man of Immortal Vision

Which leads Humanity

Into War…

Into Peace…

Into Elation…

Or Unbridled Jubilation…

At his Grave Tomb

When his Body Exists no more,

When his Skin and Bone

Are as Fine As Dust,

Ground by the Weight of the Sins

Committed in the Name

Of his Vision…

His Dream…

His Philosophy…

His Immortal Name.

He is the Hero to Generations,

To Saints,

To more Heroes,

And yet, more.

Humanity is in Debt

To his Immortal Genius,

To his Blind Devotion,

When his Flesh and Hair

Have been Consumed by the Worms

Of Human Ambition,

While his Soulless Body

Was weighted by pounds of Earth

Which Embraced him,

As it Hid all…

The Sinners…

The Saints…

The Brave…

The Prudent…

The Secretive…

The Seditious…

The Rapacious…

The Deceived…

The Wise…

The Sublime…

The Human…

The Divine…

The Mad.


As Humanity Reveled,

He Starved.

As She Scorned him,

He praised Her Beauty.

As She Shunned him,

He remained Faithful.

As She bestowed Her Blessings

Upon the Unworthy,

He praised Her Justice.

As She slowly Devoured him,

He sang hymns to Her Immortality.

As he lay drawing his Last

Gasps of Air, Scented by Her Fragrance,

He professed his Love for Her.

She reviled him as a Heretic…

A Madman…

A Drunkard…

A Fool.


Then, he was no more

For her to Revile…

To Mock…

To Hound…

To Torment…

To Betray…

To Deceive…

To Damn to a Purgatory

Of wretched Human Existence.

She did not desist

In Her Hatred for him.

His Body is Dust

Mingled with the Dust

Of other Such Men

Mingled with the Dust

Of yet more Dust

Mingled with Dust.

Only Dust

To be Trampled

Under Her feet

Which regard none.

Yet, in his Scattered State,

His State of Non-existence,

He fueled Passions.

He Inspired Revolutions.

He Spurred Ambitions.

He served his Mistress.

He served Her Loyally,

Even in Death.

He heeds his Beloved

Even when he is no more.

His Immortal Love

For Her Lives on.

As She acknowledges

His Devotion to Her,

He is no more

To show his Gratitude

For Her Generosity,

To Sing hymns

To Her Immortal Beauty,

To be at Her Beck and Call,

To Cloak Her flaws

In Silken Threads of Words,

To be a Slave to Love…

She acknowledges

His Devotion, Only.

Not his Adoration for her…

Not his Immensely Blind

Faith in Her…

Not in his Humanity.

For Her, he was

Just Another suitor

Vying for Her Hand.

Another Villain

Aiming to make a Trophy,

For his mantle, out of Her.

Another Jester to amuse.

Another Slave to Satiate

Her fickle moods.

He was all the said,

Yet, much more.


He was a Fool.

A man of Words,

A man of Lost Dreams,

A man chasing Illusions,

A man Lost in Delusion.

A man honest with

His own Self only.

A man Passionate to the World,

But Lonely.

A man in Love with

Images in Thin Air.

A man of Thoughts,

Which Leave him in Despair.

A man of Hope,

A man of Joy,

A man of Passion,

A man of Vision.

A man of Immortal Vision

Of being Loved by Her…

His beloved Humanity.

A Fool.