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The Goldstone Diaries

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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

Excerpt from The Goldstone Diaries
by Donato Cianci

The Goldstone Diaries



Edmund Arthur Goldstone
“Loyal Eagle”

b. 6,15,1841, St. John, New Brunswick
d.6,1,1910, near Winnipeg, Manitoba.

“Love’s not an answer
Love is the way”

by Donato Cianci

© Donato Cianci, Nov. 1997, Feb. 2012 all rights reserved
two red birds publishing
51 James st. Peterborough ON Canada

Canadian Cataloguing in Publication Data

Cianci, Donato, 1935-
The Goldstone Diaries: a handbook on loving

ISBN 0-9699177-1-6

1. Psychology, loving 2. Relationships 3. Self-help
4. Photo-poetry 5. Poetry
I. Title. II. Title: Handbook on Loving

© Donato Cianci 1997 2012
Photos and design, printing and binding, by Donato Cianci
This is a handmade product by the artist/writer and his Macintosh.
Reproduction, distribution, or use of material in this book may be done only with the permission of the publisher,

Two Red Birds Publishing,
RR1 Owen Sound Ontario Canada N4K 5N3

First Printing November 1997



This book “The EAGLE” is dedicated to Basha Mayo without whose inspiration of fire and passion in my life for the past four years, the book would neither have been conceived nor written.


My heartfelt thanks to Carl Jung and those brave souls who delve in these quarries, and to my friends on the Red Road, all those who keep the fire.


click to jump to SAGA of the Eagle excerpt

For a Moon-scared Child p. 11
My Journey p. 12
Dancing p. 13
Small Boy p. 15
I Love You p. 17
Why Lovers Groan p. 19
I Want p. 21
Loneliness p. 22
Wolf, Hummer p. 25
Why Not? p. 26
Fish Market p. 27
Happenings p. 28
Enjoy Time p. 29
Uni-verse of Dance p. 31
My Lady Margaret, Forest Ritual p. 33
What Is This? p. 35
Man Alone p. 36
Rock Climbing By Night p. 37
Realities p. 39
Living With Dragon p. 41
No Body p. 43
Doing Together p. 45
Lady Death p. 47
Death Encounter p. 48
Death Meet p. 49
Rivers p. 54
Wild River p. 55
Daily Life p. 57
Eros or Cupid p. 58
Dolphin, Hawk and He p. 59
Merlin p. 60
Mercurius Again, My God! p. 61
Merlin Comes Again p. 62
Teachings andLearnings p. 63
Listen p. 65
For Her p. 66
Quiet p. 67
The Dragon Comet p. 68
You Are the One back cover
Prologue p. 7
Introduction p. 9

For a Moon scared child

One night when I was small child, the Moon rose huge and red outside my bedroom window then came right into the room with me. I remember being terrified. I have remained disquieted by that image. I think the event presaged some fear of the pure feminine energy that I seem powerless to resist. Writing this, I have calmed these fears.

Sometimes she bathes us in her silver glow
Sometimes children fear her red with lust

But maybe she’s a magic bowl
Holding us in total trust

I think now the moon had come to see
What lovely manner of child this be

She came to give a forever promise
She’d be faithful to me, her dear Adonis

If I’d but decorate her bowl
With scenes I’d copied from my Soul.


My Journey

This is my journey
I don’t name it a tourney
More like sailing along
Alone right or wrong
Dodging, discovering,
Using the weather
Seeking one verse or another
For my life’s daily song
Seeking the scenes I’d paint
On Her royal bowl
The scenes I can toll
From the depths of my soul
This is my journey
It’s where I belong



It’s the same
The same round
Since I first tried it
Dancing at school
Unknown her side of it
Awkward my side of it
Some kind of blocks on the floor
I must step around
Not be a fool
Not be a bore
Sweating, knowing I might be
Repugnant so thick in my body

Yet longing yes longing
To find us belonging
Each other, her delightful
Sweet body filling my sight full
My arms full, and trembling
All me dissembling
Wholly desiring to be
Of love’s dis-ease free


Small Boy

We could go watch the bears
And have an ice-cream
We could see elephants real
Not just in dream
We could go find a trout
In a bubbling stream
We could just face the mountain
Let out a shout
Listen and listen
To the echoes unseen

You won’t be allowed to win
But you have to fight anyhow
All of it is what men do


I Love You

In my lifetime I’ve heard those words
times and again
Many people have said to me
I love you
I usually thrill to them
Want to respond in some joyous way
Come then let us be loving together!
Times when I’ve not wanted these words said
Times they seem aimed at control
Or placating
Times they seem a trap
Keep me believing
I’m still precious
Men too have said this to me
I shy away
Afraid to show the depth
Of my sudden passion
The woman I love
The one I always love
To whom I never tire of speaking these words
That woman may seek a new lover
Oh how I long to be that one!
Since it is just my nature
To be constant
How wonderful also to be
Totally familiar, totally strange.

I didn’t know it then, but this was my wake-up call from my unconscious. I wrote this three weeks before the big shock declaration from my sweetie that we were no longer to be physical lovers. Reading it now, months later what I get is that the important words are “how I long to be that one”. The pain and fear I have associated with “that woman may seek a new lover” is transmuted into the longing for spiritual expression which is my poetry, which is my life force, and which will likely, hopefully, never leave me.



Why Lovers Groan

I am Merlin, so I foresee
That stealing her little bird from me
Is not just gaining ecstasy
The price will be known
When the bird is flown
Only then will they know why lovers groan.

A man was walking down a county road
Carrying a camera, farms with light bestowed
A woman leaned ‘gainst a garden gate
In seconds he stopped and turned, to greet his fate
She offered him a snow grey dove
He looked long at her, held out his hand
Took that little bird and pressed
It swift and hard into his breast
Voila! Her bird has made another nest.

Soon they were dancing the erotic dance
Kali’s dance, the dance of the dying love, romance
Soon they were furiously sounding
Each other’s flesh, sweating juicy pounding
Soon they reached the lover’s koan
Ending every paean with heart-wrenching groan

Laughing days and passionate nights flew by
Then it became that time, our Soul knows why
The time they must ‘til now deny
The time to say last night’s was the final cry
Yes, he always comes in the morning
To say last night was your final adorning
Within this particular state of bliss
You always feel it like death’s kiss
The day the bird has flown
Her nest ripped out, replaced with new bone.

Eagles’ nests get stronger with time as the eagles add “new bones”. Looking back at the 62 year history of my life, I see that every shocking, painful, anxiety and fear-ridden dissolution of a close personal relationship with a loving person has added “new bone”, new fibre, to my heart, to my capacity for and experience of greater love and the variety of loving.


I Want

I want to fish fly streams
Read all my new dreams
Reframe what’s now past
Make it mean something at last

Besides a heart sorry
And visions of lust
Her and our story
All coming to dust

She at last has a husband
Their loving is grand
And I have a twin sister
My anima she

We’ll both be the listener
As our story is told
Great love from the hand
Of the Goddess so bold

Who burned me like fire
Cleansing the land

A lot of my poetry now starts by naming some condition of emotional satisfaction that I want and, as I write, I find a solution, a way to feel ok. The gap I felt between “have” and “want” has been narrowed, usually in a way I didn’t anticipate, usually in a way that leaves me feeling expanded, happier with myself.



Wanting her with whom I rhymed
Scared being in my mind
Without sweet she to come home to
Thinking I’ve no dear to roam to
Making pictures of alone
She’s not here my bed’s a stone
Teeth gnawing on a meatless bone
How will I dance
Without my lover
Without something of romance?
Oh how I miss my other!

And if I have a project though
Some work when done I will bestow
A blessing on our sacred ground
A place for love to come around?
Right away this thought calms me
With work to do I’ll not be lonely
For She, who for my work adores me
Hugs me, thrills me, all ways restores me!

I notice, looking back, that when my lover leaves I do a project, going into work to allay my grief, maybe as part of my grieving. To now, this has happened quite unconsciously. Later I’m truly grateful, the work seems in hindsight more important than the loss that precipitated it.



Wolf you are
The fearless teacher
Of our daily life
The preacher
Lead us on
The way to go
Take us show us
What to know
Wolf you walk
The earth as singer
So you gift us
Joy to bring her.


Little hummer bird of colour
Twice you’ve come
Made me discover
When I’m feeling fear and lonesome
Your words and body moving fast
Smudge me, cleanse me, fill me up
The joy you know of from the past
Fills my future drinking cup
Now that future day is near
Like you I drink and let go fear
The joy you told of is right here!


Why not enjoy today?
Today we’re going swimming
We’re going to play
Cream of loving skimming
Off sunshine pools by the sea
With fizzy wine
And blankets and happy eyes
Carpe Diem! Mercurius cries
Be the dolphins erotic passage
Sun warming thankfully
Kneading our bodies in erotic massage
So your hands enliven me
Wandering firm intentionally
Over all my yearning surface
And if the sun is masked then
Together we’ll be that sunshine
Be delectation and delight
Never mind the weather
Never mind the chaos
Never mind the forecasts dire
Never mind the flight
Of leaving birds
Today we’ll make love deep
Then sleep by our campfire
Let our dreaming songs be heard.


Fish Market

What is it
About going to market
To buy some fresh fish?
Saturday morning, no work to mark it
Peaceful, and softly erotic we wake
Love equally, quietly, slowly, make
Then build hard to release
In our moaning, not too loudly
Night’s silence might cease

We have coffee, maybe toast
Maybe take a moment
To gaze at each other
Knowing we could boast
About having such a lover!

When we get to the market
Lots of people about
The fresh fish lady we find
We’re at the end of her line
Her line draws us forward
Just as it once did the fish

‘til later we meet
We’re ready to eat
From a wonderful dish
The fish prepared for us
And we’ve prepared too
Our plates being full
As ever we’d wish
To find ourselves a lover
Often together all three
The fish and we
Enjoying and giving each other
Our best company.

This is that state of utter bliss in romantic love that actually can be extended to encompass all my journeying, all my encounters with the magic of life and living. I must get past the idea that, when a lover leaves or my love for another dies, the anxiety I feel can only be assuaged by another such love!



Some happenings on this road are looming
Some wayside sudden flowers blooming
Marking sources, fountains, hills, and fields
The place where all-souls can be healed
Sound of waters sound of drumming
Nests of leaves of life repeating
Words like respect
Words like terror
Floating on the streams
Their tidings bearer
Placid tides returns and leaving
Winter Fall Spring Summers grieving
All in all so nothing’s single
Yet in the Goddess woven cloth your skin
The sage burnt scent of love does mingle
All what my hands my soul can hold within.

end of poems excerpt next is the SAGA of the Eagle excerpt

SAGA of The Eagle excerpt
click to return to top
The SAGA of “The EAGLE”

(Edmund Arthur Goldstone, Loyal Eagle)

He came into this world
As we all do of course
Pushed out, struggled out, by a mother
Torn between joy and remorse

A man’s world of disease
Yet with hope for heart’s ease

A woman’s world of pondering
Occasional dancing
Attempts at romancing
Maybe one thought of wandering

The young boy was bullied
His manhood was sullied
By gross acts with his penis
Turning away from the Venus

He’s smart, the old farmer said
Tell him once and he’s got it
Every kind of new knowledge
He eagerly sought it

He always knew answers
To most of their questions
But never an answer
To the shame and the lust

Never the answer
To dust speaking to dust
Or how make a living
When himself he’d not trust. ....p 16


His father then told him
Be like me a physician
A fine job and moral
Your life would just fit in
With never a quarrel.

Oh Father I’ll do it
For I’ve your kind of grit
But about blood I wonder
How will I handle
A foot torn asunder?

His young love and he
Were studying hard
She at her music
He the unbespoke Bard

Then like a stab at his heart self
He this did discover
A woman wanting to leave
Her mother
Will easily make believe
She loves any other.

She fell for and married
His friend the surveyor
The break in his breast
Seemed of Eros the slayer.

The loss of her body
Seemed the loss of her loving

For their God still unharried
Was the rock-solid purveyor
Of the Laws about love
Engraved on the Tablets
Of Heaven above ....p 20


Too young to want wisdom
Too young to know best
He never did see it
As his “treasure chest”.

He makes the grade
Somehow through jealousy’s pain
It’s his fabulous brain
That comes to his aid.

In exams he’s the tops
In a prize-winning spree
In medicine and anatomy
The first of his land
To get such a hand

But blood spouting all over
He cannot abide
With nowhere to hide
He must be a rover

Gold on the Labrador
Here is the open door
He leaps at the chance
To get away and away
From the doctoring dance.

Now 50 years later
A man named Hubbard
Trekked that Labrador waste
But he was no lover

Of the grandfathers’ lore
Our desire’s enough
We needn’t learn any more
He said, let’s go explore! ....p 24


ignoring a dream
Sent to save him
By a Nauscapi Indian
He died of starvation
Got a posthumous ovation

But not Edmund the EAGLE!
He joined the Innu
Practiced and tautened
His wilderness sinew
Learned to live like a seagull
Off the land, a white eagle!

Up on the Labrador
All is a sandy shore
The moss/lichen’s deep
Soft under your feet

Fall down anywhere
Drift off to sleep
Fire trees everywhere
Caribou, grouse and bear

The streams full of fish
Even the lichen’s a dish
You get by the handful
Whenever you wish.

Hills rise from the green
Forest like whales seen
From afar

The closer you are
The more they’re like some
Calm places for prayer
Or shade from the sun ....p 30


Long ago she dreamed people
Today they dream of her
Living their nights as her lover
Their days deeds to discover.

The smell of smoked leather
The rank smell of earth
The smell of woman
Who’s just given birth

The meat smell, yes, eat
Some of that afterbirth.

I’m filled up with splendour
Passion so free
Eagle soars, river plunges
Oh surrender, surrender
In wild revery!

I call Great-Grandfather Edmund the EAGLE
Edmund Arthur Goldstone the first
Those Native brothers he’d made
Called him “Loyal EAGLE”
When they saw how he stayed

Learned the language of drumming
The language of trees
Of caribou running
Sacred tones of a people
Who'd never heard of a steeple

He became known as a Dreamer
One of the best in the tribe
With his dreams he redeemed her
The goddess who’d died

But the woman he’d married
Twenty years by her side
Only once had she carried
Their child and he died. .... p 34


Tough and bitter she was
An enemy bride
From dawning to dawning
She cursed at his pride

In anguish and sadness
He left her, left that life
The Red Road of Spirit
For the white life of strife

From this on he’d wander
Where most whites didn’t go
Land of the Spirit Guides
With the Innu or no

They’d changed him forever
He’s grateful it’s so

Well the next woman who found him
Wooed him lightly and calmly
Always wanting to win
No others, she said
More than one is a sin

With passion unrivaled
They coupled like bridalled
Spent three years dancing
Around one pole as if twinned

Sure enough then his fate entered
On stage a new man
Took his Eros so tender
Left him with no plan.

Long ago a friend taught him
To lose his fear of the water
Saying sit on the bottom
And try to breathe in ....p 40


Now in this crisis
Of abandonment grim
He sat on the bottom
For weeks breathing in

End of excerpt from the SAGA of the Eagle,
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