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Listening to the Satsang on Sahaja Express (meeting with Zenji) tears flowed and a prayer arose in the heart:
Wash my eyes clean, of "me".
And then this poem came.
Grace brought me to Mooji Baba's feet five years ago. The outward life as a mother, a surgeon, goes on as it is meant to, inside, I Am, joyfully, an ice cube melting in the warm waters of Satsang.
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