a commonplace book
The garden gate opens itself
with the docility of the page
which a frequent devotion interrogates,
and within, the gaze
need not fix itself on its objects
that are already fully in memory.
These costumes and souls are familiar to me
and that dialect of allusions
that every human cluster goes about weaving.
I don’t need to speak
or invent privileges;
they know me well who here surround me,
they know well my anguish and my weakness,
That state being the highest we can reach,
the highest Heaven may give us:
not admirations or victories
but simply being admitted
as part of an undeniable Reality,
like stones and trees.
“Familiarity” (“Llaneza”), Jorge Luis Borges
My own translation from the original Spanish.