Storm come, wanderer ring gone. Stone found. Wanderer returns.

I connect with Bloomingdale's: Christmas 2006 design.

obliterate \uh-BLIT-uh-rayt\ verb 1 a : to remove utterly from recognition or memory *b : to remove from existence : destroy utterly all trace, indication, or significance of c : to cause to disappear (as a bodily part or a scar) or collapse (as a duct conveying body fluid) 2 : to make undecipherable or imperceptible by obscuring or wearing away 3 : to deface (a postage or revenue stamp) especially with a set of ink lines so as to invalidate for reuse : cancelKnow? Far from being removed from...

I begin working with Yves Saint Laurent.

My office in the city is across from Madison Park. Winterbound, trees are bare and as the chill moves in formally, the skyscrapers are caught in mist. It reminds me of the illuminations of Raymond Hood, the 30s, his drawings of skyscrapers of enormous height, struck by spotlights from below. The mist rolls into the city, and the towers drift into nothingness, steam flowing off like lit clouds. Love that.

Morning has come. I sit, in meditation this morning Outside, cool winds running And I look off, to the distant Range of waters, that Shimmer in the moonlight Coming down, through The clouds, that move Like shadows. As I silence, my self, The waters continue Their whispering. And they are saying Stay clear, in the ripple Of the day, in time. In time with them, I'm thinking, like my Heart, beating slow Like the rhythm of The waves, churning In their gestured grasp Of the shoreline That is rocky...

In Faith. Isn't it about the rippling, that reaches out From that one pebble, leaf -- or a casting of sand? Patterned in a rhythm, the watch full, Seer. Sprinkling like a constellation of circled echos That is the time of your searching: listening and Looking for those places of resonance, that Sound of calling that only some can hear: and know. You stand there, culling the little fires The voices, the rings of the human chains: those connected Communing communities communicate -- And they...

I've been painting red crows on stones. The I see the inverse. Now I've got my bearings right...

I've left the Wanderer stone there, at the water. And arranged other stones, each ruled with a quartzite thread, as a wrapping, beneath the waves. Hold me, once I'm gone.

I've got this grouping of stones that I've arranged near my house, and the point of them is to remind me of different things. It's a gathering place. A contemplative apex. One, my brother Matt, who passed at the beginning of this millennium. Two, in reference to my connection with him, wandering. It's all about being in the world, being out there. Wandering is about exploring, finding, having a compass setting at 360 -- but you know the wisdom of your way. Go forth. At this cairn there was a...