Edwin Setiadi

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My days were filled with lectures, classes, interviews and reunions with old friends. Beneath a hollow smile and a life of ceaseless activity, a stream of black brooding polluted the inner river of bliss which for so many years had meandered under the sands of all my perceptions. “Where has that divine sage gone?” I cried silently from the depths of a tormented spirit. No answer came.
Autobiography of a Yogi
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