Language is a compromise between the infinite messiness of the world and the finite, discrete nature of human cognition.
I've never felt translating literature from Japanese is automatic. The words are so far apart. The texture of the language is so different…it's some hazy realm that's bordered by the two languages.
I am afraid I am a chauvinist of mysticisms: content with my own, because I don't have to own up to them too often, and dismissive of others.