“Syaikha, we know not our passion. How shall we know our passion?” a young woman with long wavy brown hair asked. The other young people were nodding; they seemed to be happy that she asked.
Nasheva gazed at the teenager. Her eyes reflected infinite compassion, and a peaceful countenance was radiating from her face. She replied,
O young soul of Zanaida,
Whatever it is that thrums your heart and invites your soul to dance, it is your passion
Whatever it is that makes your mind laugh in joy, it is your passion
But no one can whisper to your soul what your passion is, if it is not you who whispers it to the Soul of Life
Near the lake, when you sit in the cool shade of the fig trees and caress the beauty of the bushes, listen and gaze.
Listen to the whispers of the wind; that is the voice of eternity.
Gaze at the flowing river; that is the face of eternity.
You shall hear your heart speaking.
It is your heart that tells you what invites your soul to dance and what makes your mind laugh in joy.
It is your heart that awakens your soul in the morning to blow the feathers of your dreams.
Such is the secret of one’s passion.