Murdered because of a trivial dispute between two trivial and worthless German thugs.

The following meditation on autumn was written by Bruno Schulz (July 12, 1892 – November 19, 1942). His tragic story can be found on Wikipedia. He was an author of stories, a lost novel, and poetry, a Catholic, of Jewish parentage, whose 'patron', the German-Austrian thug Felix Landau, murdered the Jewish dentist of another German thug,  Karl Günther, who, in revenge, murdered Bruno Schulz.

The autumn would not end. Like soap bubbles, days rose ever more beautiful and etherial, and each of them seemed so perfect that every moment of its duration was like a miracle extended beyond measure and almost painful. In the stillness of those deep and beautiful days, the consistence of leaves changed imperceptibly, until one day all the trees stood in the straw fire of completely demateralsed leaves, in a light redness like a coating of coloured confetti, magnificent peacocks and phoenixes; the slightest move or flutter would cause them to shed the splendour of their plumage - the light, moulted,superfluous leafy feathers.

Bruno Schulz: A Second Autumn”, from The Street of Crocodiles and Other Stories, transl. Celina Wieniewska. 

Jesień, jesień, aleksandryjska epoka roku, gromadząca w swych ogromnych bibliotekach jałową mądrość 365 dni obiegu słonecznego. O, te poranki starcze, żółte jak pergamin, słodkie od mądrości jak późne wieczory! Te przedpołudnia uśmiechnięte chytrze jak mądre palimpsesty, wielowarstwowe jak stare pożółkłe księgi! Ach, dzień jesienny, ten stary filut-bibliotekarz, łażący w spełzłym szlafroku po drabinach i kosztujący z konfitur wszystkich wieków i kultur! Każdy krajobraz jest mu jak wstęp do starego romansu. Jakże się świetnie bawi, wypuszczając bohaterów dawnych powieści na spacer pod to zadymione i miodne niebo, w tę mętną i smutną, późną słodycz światła! Jakich nowych przygód dozna Donkiszot w Soplicowie? Jak ułoży się życie Robinsonowi po powrocie do rodzinnego Bolechowa?

9

W duszne, nieruchome wieczory, złote od zórz, odczytywał nam ojciec wyjątki ze swego manuskryptu. Porywający lot idei pozwalał mu chwilami zapomnieć o groźnej obecności Adeli.

10

Przyszły ciepłe wiatry mołdawskie, nadciągnęła ta ogromna żółta monotonia, to słodkie, jałowe wianie z południa. Jesień nie chciała się skończyć. Jak bańki mydlane wstawały dni coraz piękniejsze i eteryczniejsze i każdy wydawał się tak do ostatnich granic wyszlachetniony, że każda chwila trwania była cudem przedłużonym nad miarę i niemal bolesnym.

11

W ciszy tych dni głębokich i pięknych zmieniała się niepostrzeżenie materia listowia, aż pewnego dnia stały drzewa w słomianym ogniu całkiem zdematerializowanych liści, w krasie lekkiej jak wykwit plewy, jak nalot kolorowych confetti — wspaniałe pawie i feniksy, które wstrząsnąć się tylko muszą i zatrzepotać, ażeby strącić to świetne, lżejsze od bibułki, wylinione i niepotrzebne już pierze.

— Bruno Schulz, “A Second Autumn”, from The Street of Crocodiles and Other Stories

Our Lord Is Present In A Very Special Way - Does That Mean Not Really?

When Christ explained the Eucharist
Many followers fled.
The Truth was unacceptable
“Too hard! Too hard!” they said.
Our Bishops are of subtler stuff
They nuance things instead.

We once believed - I still believe -
That bread becomes our God
That wine becomes the Blood He shed
Is this so very odd?
Aquinas gave us words to clothe
Belief, but now we nod

Assent at clerics who recoil
From such crude credal vigour
And think they’d better water down
Aquinas’s divisive rigour
“Our Lord is present in a very
Special way,” they figure.

From fudge and nuance and half lies
And German exegesis
They sound-byte forth a statement that
Has as its central thesis
Whatever is acceptable
Whatever your belief is.

Like slippery salesmen they predict
The punter’s predilection.
Street cred is what it’s all about
Not Nicene Creed conviction.
“Our faiths are custom-made," they smirk
"Just choose from our selection.

"Don’t like Hell? Don’t fret, dear sir,
It’s a discontinued line.
No Purgatory? a wise choice,
Heaven ok? That’s fine!
And now, how would you like to pay,
Up front or down the line?"

Dies Irae - Bergoglio it ain't.

Dies Irae/Day of Wrath

   DIES irae, dies illa,

   solvet saeculum in favilla,

   teste David cum Sibylla.

   Day of wrath and doom impending,

   David’s word with Sibyl’s blending,

   Heaven and earth in ashes ending.

   Quantus tremor est futurus,

   quando iudex est venturus,

   cuncta stricte discussurus!

   O what fear man’s bosom rendeth,

   When from heaven the Judge descendeth,

   On whose sentence all dependeth.

   Tuba mirum spargens sonum

   per sepulcra regionum,

   coget omnes ante thronum.

   Wondrous sound the trumpet flingeth,

   Through earth’s sepulchers it ringeth,

   All before the throne it bringeth.

   Mors stupebit et natura,

   cum resurget creatura,

   iudicanti responsura.

   Death is struck, and nature quaking,

   All creation is awaking,

   To its Judge an answer making.

   Liber scriptus proferetur,

   in quo totum continetur,

   unde mundus iudicetur.

   Lo, the book exactly worded,

   Wherein all hath been recorded,

   Thence shall judgment be awarded.

   Iudex ergo cum sedebit,

   quidquid latet apparebit:

   nil inultum remanebit.

   When the Judge His seat attaineth,

   And each hidden deed arraigneth,

   Nothing unavenged remaineth.

   Quid sum miser tunc dicturus?

   quem patronum rogaturus?

   cum vix iustus sit securus.

   What shall I, frail man, be pleading?

   Who for me be interceding

   When the just are mercy needing?

   Rex tremendae maiestatis,

   qui salvandos salvas gratis,

   salva me, fons pietatis.

   King of majesty tremendous,

   Who dost free salvation send us,

   Fount of pity, then befriend us.

   Recordare Iesu pie,

   quod sum causa tuae viae:

   ne me perdas illa die.

   Think, kind Jesus, my salvation

   Caused Thy wondrous Incarnation,

   Leave me not to reprobation.

  

   Quarens me, sedisti lassus:

   redemisti crucem passus:

   tantus labor non sit cassus.

   Faint and weary Thou hast sought me,

   On the Cross of suffering bought me,

   Shall such grace be vainly brought me?

   Iuste iudex ultionis,

   donum fac remissionis,

   ante diem rationis.

   Righteous Judge, for sin’s pollution

   Grant Thy gift of absolution,

   Ere that day of retribution.

   Ingemisco, tamquam reus:

   culpa rubet vultus meus:

   supplicanti parce Deus.

   Guilty now I pour my moaning,

   All my shame with anguish owning,

   Spare, O God, Thy suppliant groaning.

   Qui Mariam absolvisti,

   et latronem exaudisti,

   mihi quoque spem dedisti.

   Through the sinful woman shriven,

   Through the dying thief forgiven,

   Thou to me a hope hast given.

   Preces meae non sunt dignae:

   sed tu bonus fac benigne,

   ne perenni cremer igne.

   Worthless are my prayers and sighing,

   Yet, good Lord, in grace complying,

   Rescue me from fires undying.

   Inter oves locum praesta,

   et ab haedis me sequestra,

   statuens in parte dextera.

   With Thy sheep a place provide me,

   From the goats afar divide me,

   To Thy right hand do Thou guide me.

   Confutatis maledictis,

   flammis acribus addictis.

   voca me cum benedictis.

   When the wicked are confounded,

   Doomed to flames of woe unbounded,

   Call me with Thy Saints surrounded.

   Oro supplex et acclinis,

   cor contritum quasi cinis:

   gere curam mei finis.

   Low I kneel with heart’s submission,

   See, like ashes, my contrition,

   Help me in my last condition.

   Lacrimosa dies illa,

   qua resurget ex favilla.

   iudicandus homo reus:

   huic ergo parce Deus.

   Ah! That day of tears and mourning,

   From the dust of earth returning,

   Man for judgment must prepare him,

   Spare, O God, in mercy spare him.

   Pie Iesu Domine,

   dona eis requiem. Amen.

   Lord, all-pitying, Jesus blest,

   Grant them Thine eternal rest.  Amen.