old hat

He gained one formulation from Sufism which exactly matched views he had arrived at independently: this was contained in the word baraka […] Graves compared it to the Elizabethan word ‘virtue’, in its meaning of ‘act of blessedness’. Essentially, however, the word means – in his words – ‘the sudden divine rapture which overcomes a prophet or a group of fervent devotees’. He assimilated the concept into his own scheme of thinking and feeling. In his hands it becomes more familiar and understandable than it is in Shah’s [account of Sufism]. Thus, durable goods that have been used with loving care, until they disintegrate, possess baraka, as do handmade objects, with their ‘glow of care’. ‘Baraka will never become a scientific term’. In literature baraka means ‘quality of life’; and, like religious ecstasy, is attained by ‘self-hypnosis’. The poem – the true poem – that has barakahas an ‘inspirational quality’ which defies critical analysis. Baraka came to mean, to him, ‘love’, while ‘anti-baraka’ meant ‘lovelessness’. The concept figured strongly in many of the poems he wrote after 1960, but its essence had always been an essence in his poetry.
(Martin Seymour-Smith, Robert Graves, His Life And Works, 1982: 506)
---from Melinda Lovell's lovely page.

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The chances, the statistical chances, are that something will go wrong, pear shaped; if not today, then tomorrow. The random gene thrown up, the moment of thoughtlessness, the movement of historical forces, some iron law, working its way silently into your path...fate up against your will. Art or love may give it the temporary slip, but it is as permanent as gravity. 

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You bump into a friend after ten years...it is painful to write this...your best man, in some ways a younger brother. Already this sounds false...But there he was. He walked past you. Then you realize he probably can't recognize you. There's no spark left on his face...it's as if he's not really there but locked up somewhere. There are no words spoken. As I turn to leave he nods as if to acknowledge me. It is profoundly sad to see the liveliest face, the brilliance of a mind reduced to a shadow, a shell. It dawns on you that you may never really see him again....