The Lady With No Name
I chanced upon a figure as enigmatic as the desert landscape itself. Her name: Lady With No Name, a free-spirit of thoughts, wandering the deserts of existence with a grace that belied the weight of wisdom she carried. Our meeting was a random anomaly with a side of normalcy, a collision of Joshuas With Trees, Yuccas and Valleys, Twenties With Nine, Palms and Springs, and Copper Mountains.
A venerable matron of the desert, she was carrying a conversation with another book dweller, aptly named: Polish the Pony Tailer from Chicago the Desert Wailer. Then she spurred the following wisdom to him:
"What happens to you, happens for you."
I couldn't help but capture the "troambic resonwaves" of her poetic statement. For its utterance unfurled layers of meaning, as if each word were a seed that took root in the fertile ground of contemplation. This was no mere aphorism but a key to untold dimensions of understanding, a bridge between the seen and the unseen, the spoken and the silent.