Do you think it's more important to be compassionate or fair?

 This is a long comment, but here it is.  The question about justice can be seen demonstrated in the story below about ADADARHOH.   You will see that it is not really all about what is fair, or just, but about what is good and what forgiveness can bring about.  

This is from Ken Carey's book, “The Return of the Bird Tribe”    
and it is one called “The Peacemaker” talking in the story of his work to bring peace to warring tribes of Indians and form a confederation. 

This address below is a web site where you can read this entire book .  I have several of the books that I have loved so much that I just typed them up completely and have them on files on my computer.  A freind from the UK found that I had done this and ask to have them sent to him so that he could zip them, and put them into a library.  Lots of good books are in this, enough to keep a person reading and reading for a long time. 

www.sonichenge.com/library/index.htm

Will allow you to download the zip file.

username is sonicreader
password is hedgehog

(I know this is a long comment but it is a good read that will uplift the heart)

 

ADADARHOH

I remained all of the new moon among the Mohawk nation. They had now accepted me as one of their own. As I had hoped, the Flint People proved the first to agree to join a confederacy of tribes, provided I could secure the willingness of the other Iroquois nations. Curiously, Hiawatha was more interested than any other in my mission. Late into the evenings, long after the others had retired, he and I would remain to converse around the fire. As the weeks passed, we came to share a common vision.

When the time arrived for my departure, Hiawatha asked if he could accompany me. He made excuse for his former behavior by saying that he had fallen into a deep and black despair because his wife and children had been devoured by a monster-like human being called Adadahoh, who was the terror of the whole region in which he roamed like a wild beast. According to Hiawatha, Adadahoh was not the many-headed serpent that some believed, but he was just as vile: a wicked sorcerer of twisted body and mind who ate human flesh and hunted men as if they were animals.

Though reports on the nature and appearance of Adadarhoh did not often agree, and Hiawatha himself had never seen him, tales of Adadarhoh-or Tadodaho as some called him-had been told as far away as the Lake of the Michigan. Not a warrior from any of the nations that inhabited the northeastern forest would dare to journey into the dangerous vale where this twisted demon was believed to reside.

Since my work with the Mohawks was for the time complete and the region in which Adadarhoh roamed was in the general direction of the Oneidas, whom I next intended to visit, Hiawatha and I set out together on the journey, planning on our way to pay the murderer a call. The Mohawks thought it foolish to intentionally seek out Adadarhoh. Still, they respected us both and wished us well. They assumed that if we were not killed in the encounter, then we would surely kill Adadarhoh, for the presence of his evil was a menace to all the people thereabouts.

However, there is a spark of the Great Spirit in every creature that draws breath. Without mentioning the reputed snake-haired demon by name, I spoke with Hiawatha on the journey to Adadahoh's vale of those times when strong and certain communication is able to accomplish more than the crudity of violence.

“When you simply destroy that which you cannot understand,” told him, “it will come back to you again and again and again, each new form worse than the previous. But if once you can understand what motivates your enemy, you can often help him discover superior ways of accomplishing his deeper purposes.”

“But you will never get such as him to listen to you!” exclaimed Hiawatha, knowing full well what I implied. “All he understands is the tomahawk. He is not a creature with whom you can speak logically. He understands only violence. That is the only language he knows, the language he speaks to every man, woman and child that crosses his path. I would do away with him, Deganawida, not for revenge-for you have helped me soothe those self-defeating fires-but for love. I would do away with Adadarhoh to free others from falling into the same fate that he wreaked so thoughtlessly upon my family.”

And so we talked during our journey toward the vale in which this monster lived. And we made a plan. I proposed that I feign some sickness or affliction and try to secure the help of this Adadarhoh murderer, while Hiawatha watched us from a distance, his bow strung and ready to fire. My contention was that if this man had even the smallest spark of goodness in him, he would come to my aid and give me a basis for further communication. If not, if he turned on me, I would let Hiawatha have his way.

What happened proved better than either of us could have planned.

As I lay calling for help from behind a fallen tree, not far from the coals of Adadarhoh's last camp, the dreaded curse of the region came limping toward me with only the vile look of murder on his face. He approached cautiously at first, but when he saw me lying on the ground, pleading for a drink of water, he relaxed his manner. He looked carefully at the craftsmanship of my buckskin vest and leggings, which were, thanks to the Mohawks, newly made and of the very finest quality. Then, without a moment's hesitation, he raised his tomahawk for the kill.

But Hiawatha surpassed my expectations. For instead of shooting him, he leapt upon Adadarhoh from behind and knocked the weapon from his grizzled hand. In the same moment, I rolled, threw Adadarhoh off balance, then drove upon him, pinned him to the ground, and held him twisting, writhing and spitting curses. In less time that it takes to tell it, Hiawatha, a true marvel in action, quickly bound his hands and feet. Before he knew what had come upon him, Adadarhoh sat at our mercy, disarmed, propped against the base of a tree. In a taut bow, Hiawatha held an arrow trained upon his heart.

It was then for the first time that we truly saw this man whom all the tribes despised. His body was crooked and twisted, deformed from some hideous disease. Yet, his muscles, if somewhat grotesque, were nevertheless enormous. He exuded a strength in no way diminished but somehow increased by his deformity.

Though Hiawatha might have felt both emotions, there was evident not a trace of either anger or compassion as he spoke. “Adadarhoh,” he said, speaking slowly and clearly so that the word quivered with a power not unlike the power of his taut bow. “Listen well, Adadarhoh, for I have you where your life is no longer your own.”

And then, in grim detail, Hiawatha gave an account of the discovery of his murdered family. Throughout Hiawathas's narrative, Adadarhoh's countenance remained hard and set. He was no doubt certain at the end of this lecture he would feel that arrow penetrate his chest. But when Hiawatha finished recounting these events that had happened to his most loved ones, he suddenly threw his bow off into the bushes, disgusted with violence and all its spiteful forms. Savagely, holding the arrow in both his hands, he confronted the deformity tied to the base of the tree. With every muscle in his body taut, he held the arrow only inches away from the hateful face.

And then Hiawatha did a wonderful thing. He looked Adadarhoh in the eye and said, “I will forgive you and spare your life, but I ask that you do one thing for me in return. Listen to my friend, Deganawida. Consider what he has to say.”

With that he snapped the arrow in two and lay its broken pieces upon the ground in front of the astonished Adadarhoh. Hiawatha turned to me then and asked me to speak. But my heart was too full. I shook my head and motioned for him to continue.

Then for the first time, from the lips of another, I heard my own teachings. Once again Hiawatha amazed me. He spoke beautifully, poetically, eloquently of the brotherhood of all creatures, four-footed, two-footed, winged. He spoke of the sacredness of human life, the joys of human friendship, the benefits that come to those who live together in peace and harmony and cooperation.

With eloquence far greater than I had ever achieved, and with a passion I recognized as springing from the same source as my own, Hiawatha spoke to that twisted ruin who had once been a man. And when he spoke of the benefits of a peaceful heart, I could feel peace flowing out from his own heart in great, soothing waves. I believe Hiawatha could have moved even the stones to sing when he told of the joy that fills the peaceful hearts of those who love the Great Spirit and live in accordance with nature's laws.

At first Adadarhoh listened in disbelief, looking for some kind of trap; but Hiawatha read his thoughts and seemed to address his questions and doubts even before they were spoken. As I watched, I realized that Hiawatha was a master as discerning the subtle meaning behind the slight twitches in Adadarhoh's face and the occasional movement of his eyes.

As Hiawatha told the story of my falling into the gorge, the countenance of Adadarhoh began to change. A dim comprehension grew behind his expression. For the first time, Adadarhoh spoke. His words were broken and halting. His face wore a puzzled look. He questioned Hiawatha regarding the location of the tree, for it had been a landmark thereabouts to those who hunted in the region, and apparently Adadarhoh had at least once stalked from it branches. When he began to grasp the fact that this tree had fallen with me in it into the gorge, that I had cut it off myself in order to communicate something important to the Mohawks, that I had survived the fall and that the entire Mohawk nation now regarded me as a sacred being, Adadarhoh looked in my direction with new respect.

In his broken manner of speaking, he questioned me about my tumble into the gorge and the details of my survival. He was amazed that anyone could have survived such a fall. His speech was not always easy to understand. He used a word that neither of us were familiar with, but that we gradually understood to be his term for justice. Apparently even in the system of his confused and twisted values, Adadarhoh had some dim comprehension of right and wrong. At last we realized that he was speaking of the justice of my surviving such a fall because of the strength and nobility of my intentions. He then gestured to himself and said plainly, and this time we understood, that in justice one with a heart as wretched as his own should not be permitted to live. He repented for the wickedness of his life and begged that Hiawatha should kill him then and there.

Hearing this request, I saw the flash of Hiawatha's long knife, as, without hesitation, he leapt at Adadarhoh and answered him not by killing him, but by swiftly cutting him free.

During the stunned silence that followed, as the three of us sat together in equal freedom, the expressions that passed over the bewildered face of the astonished Adadarhoh were awesome to behold.

Some minutes passed.

There was a humor in the air. A sense of brotherhood. A sense of all three of us at one time or another having experienced a certain darkness of the soul. Picking up Adadarhoh's tomahawk from the ground where it had fallen in the struggle that now seemed so long ago, Hiawatha spoke of his own recent transformation from anger and hatred to his present commitment to aiding me in my mission. As Hiawatha told his story, he made it seem as if such a transformation was quite a natural thing, as if it were no surprising thing, really, that one who so recently had been full of the violent passions of the warrior would now with equal passion devote himself to this great and noble cause of peace.

This was the first of many times that I heard Hiawatha speak in this way. It had its effect on Adadarhoh. In the months and years to come, I was to see it have its effect on others. There was naturalness, not only in Hiawathas's person and in the form of his expression, but in the whole manner in which he conveyed his story.

Adadarhoh was slowly nodding his head in agreement as Hiawatha handed his tomahawk back to him saying, “We grant you your freedom, brother. Just assure us that you will not use this weapon against us or against any of the Iroquois peoples whom you will soon have reason to call your friends as I now call you, my friend.”

Adadarhoh reached for the weapon. “Friend,” he said meaningfully, looking first at Hiawatha and then at the tomahawk-as for a moment the two of them held it together. “Friend,” he repeated. “I could never use this weapon on a…friend.”

When Adadarhoh spoke the word friend, he spoke it slowly, as if it caused pain. Or stirred some ancient wound. Hiawatha withdrew his hand.

In the broken speech of Adadarhoh that followed came the story of his childhood deformity, the ridicule of the other children, his subsequent plunge into evil and banishment from his people Adadarhoh spoke of these things, as though he were himself just remembering them for the first time after many long years. He ended his tale by gently lifting the tomahawk that Hiawatha had returned. Looking me and Hiawatha in the eyes, he told us again and with obvious sincerity that he could never use such a weapon against friends. By now we knew the truth: Hiawatha and I were the first human friends the man had ever known.

We stayed with Adadarhoh in his vale as spring warmed slowly into summer. I can recall the passage of no season before or since that I have more fully enjoyed. During the days, we would hunt and fish, at times together, at other times alone. In the evenings, around the fire, I would teach Hiawatha the songs that were the history of our people. As Hiawatha and I sang these songs together, songs of the Bird Tribes, songs born on the winds of eternal spirit, songs our ancestors had sung for tens of thousands of years before warrior values entered the hearts of our people, Adadarhoh was visibly changed. He began to sit up more straightly and to think more clearly. He felt, as we did, the healing presence of the Winged Ones. As Hiawatha and I sang, often late into the night, we would sometimes see in the moonlight swirling, luminous currents flowing from winged figures that appeared around Aadarhoh while he slept. Sometimes we would hear the gentle strains of a fine and subtle singing that seemed to direct the glowing swirls with melodies not unlike our own. We knew that the Great Spirit was healing Adadarhoh's body. Words and example had already healed his understanding.

He did indeed, as it turned out, have an affinity for serpents, as one evening Hiawatha and I returned from a hunting excursion to discover his body virtually covered with writhing black snakes-no less than four of the friendly creatures entwined in his shoulder-length tangle of hair. It was an awesome sight to see them straighten their bodies in surprise at our approach, flickering their tongues and staring at us with tiny, intent eyes. Apparently, the snakes had provided the lonely soul with his only source of companionship during his years of exile.

When it was time for us to leave Adadarhoh to continue our journey to the summer encampment of the People of the Standing Stones, who by now had heard of our coming and were expecting us, Adadarhoh was a new man. Healed and strengthened, looking younger and stronger, he walked with us to the edge of the vale.

Before we took our leave, he held our hands together in his own and shook them saying, “I will go back to my own people, to the Onondaga who once drove me out. I will tell them what has occurred here and speak to them of what you have shown me. I will tell them of this great light, of this wisdom you teach. I will tell them that two sacred beings will come among them in the not too distant future speaking of peace and singing the songs and words of the winged power tribes that all revere. When you come, I assure you; they will welcome you and listen. You are my friends, you two. You are my first friends. I thank you.”

We left Adadarhoh, hiking leisurely through a forest now sprouting the full growth of summer, speaking with one another as we walked of all that we had seen: of Adadarhoh, and especially of his people, the Onondaga, the fierce and stubborn People of the Hills. We were not to see Adadarhoh again for nearly three years. By the time we were at last to find ourselves among his people we would have already secured the agreement of two other tribes besides the Mohawk-the Oneidas and the Cayugas.

Though many tales could be told of what transpired during our journeys as we lived and worked among the People of the Standing Stones and the People of the Swamps, it was the conversion of Adadarhoh's people, the Onondagas, that was both our most difficult and most significant encounter among the five nations. Despite the growing strength of our reputation and the welcome that was extended to us due to Adadarhoh's testimony, the fiercely independent Onondaga proved to be the most headstrong of all the tribes, the most resistant to our teachings. They were ever polite in their listening; but being rugged people of the hills, they were slow to let mere words change the traditions of recent generations. Gradually between Hiawatha's tale of my fall into the gorge and Adadarhoh's inspired (and much repeated) reference to “an older tradition that harkened back a hundred generations,” we helped the Onondaga see their more recent traditions in perspective. Eventually they came over to our way of thinking and agreed to join the proposed league of nations.

During our work to bring the Onondaga into the confederacy, Adadarhoh proved essential. Without him it is doubtful the stubborn People of the Hills would have ever become the fourth nation to give their commitment to the Great Peace.

Apparently, Adadarhoh's central position throughout our negotiations and the high regard in which Hiawatha and myself evidently held him elevated him as well in the eyes of his own people. We were not surprised to hear some months later that he had been elected chief of the Onondaga. Eventually, he was elevated to a prominent position on the supreme council of the League of Iroquois Nations itself. This position he filled with honor and distinction throughout the remainder of his days. Though he was never noted for his eloquence, Adadarhoh's sincerity and genuineness of heart were unsurpassed. He possessed a keen and discerning insight into the motivations of men. More than once, his perception saved the confederacy from dangers others had not seen.

Well said……I have so much to talk about from the things I have read and I am someone who can talk the horns off of a billy goat……So be prepared….youve challenged me to put more out there.

WE are the story tellers and we can make the stories be anything we want….anything.  Lack of knowing this has caused us to buy into other people's stories and sometimes others like to tell horror stories….which we see played out and creating a kind of reality none of us really like….not even the ones who originate the horror stories.   Lets all learn to be better story tellers for it is our ticket home, I think.   Hurricanes of goodness indeed.