|The Goldstone Diaries|
|A Handbook on Loving|
|includes the SAGA in verse of Edmund Arthur Goldstone, a true Canadian hero of the 1800's|
|72 pages, 24 colour illustrations, textured paper, a beautiful book to hold and look at, Pub. 1997|
|Price: $14.99 Can. or US plus $5.00 shipping, no tax, or as ebook for $2.99, see link below.
|A Handbook in poetry and prose of life lessons in being in love|
|These diaries, which I call the posthumous work|
of Edmund Arthur Goldstone, written through me,
are meant to be read as if he were on stage acting the poetry of his life,
while his story is told by the narrator, the old bard, declaiming the saga of
"The EAGLE", Edmund Arthur Goldstone, Loyal Eagle,
BORN June 15, 1841 St. John, New Brunswick,
DIED June 1, 1910, near Winnipeg, Manitoba.
Son, physician in training, gold prospector, unbespoke bard, spirit guide, scout,
and lover who cried.
This Saga is somewhat parallel to my own life, lived 100 years later.
Although EAGLE, my great-grandfather, was a man who, I believe,
never realized the true creative spirit within him, and who died an unrequited lover,
he gave me the great gift, through my mother, of a natural instinct to discover
and pursue the Red Road of North American Native Spirituality.
Often, where I don't consciously know his story, I have described elements of my own.
Writing about him, following his path from New Brunswick across the Labrador,
I have been gifted with great healing to my own spirit as the story unfolded.
It is as if he speaks to me, as a wise grandfather would.
His words comfort, cleanse, and empower my fearful child within.
Donato Aug 23 1997
In this book, the SAGA is printed on the left pages, beginning on page 14,
while the thoughts and poetry Edmund might have spoken are printed on the right
and some of the left pages.
To read a long excerpt from The Goldstone Diaries, and perhaps buy the entire book as an ebook for $2.99Can. or US, click here
|one of the poems...|
Sometimes a man is so frozen up
So heart-clutched and foot-staggered
He knows only to call himself a man
Because someone did yesterday.
Yet if he can carry his wounded heart
Out under the night sky
Into the field of silver
He might slowly begin to dance there
Being all alone
Alone under all the vast universe of starlight
The eyes of spectral deer
He would know at last his name
Know that alone is all there is
It is enough.