OMGabe

by Gabe Berman – the author of Live Like a Fruit Fly

Nirvana Is In The Nostrils

“When I first started working, they called me The Kid,” said a man in his early sixties in the barbershop today.

I was getting scissor snipped, and this guy, The Kid, was talking to the owner of the place while waiting for his turn in the chair.

He continued, “They all use to say, ‘Look out for The Kid!’”

“And now, I almost can’t believe it, they call me Grandpa. Or they call me the old man. ‘Hey Old Man, how’s it going buddy?’”

In the mirror, I saw him smiling between words.

Thankfully.

Because that smile, like an aspirin of last resort, halted my heart from crumbling as I listened to him while watching a mixture of gray and black hairs fall from my head.

Tic

Toc

Tic

Toc

Tic toc.

Tic toc tic toc

Tictoc Tictoc Tictoc

tictoc-tictoc-tictoc-tictoc-tictoc-tictoc-tictoc-tictoc-tictoc-tictoc-tictoc-tictoc-tictoc-tictoc-tictoc-tictoc-tictoc-tictoc-tictoc-tictoc-tictoc-tictoc-tictoc-tictoc-tictoc-tictoc-tictoc-tictoc-tictoc-tictoc-tictoc-tictoc-tictoc-tictoc-tictoc-tictoc-tictoc-tictoc-tictoc-tictoc-tictoc-tictoc-tictoc-tictoc-tictoc-tictoc-tictoc-tictoc-tictoc-tictoc-tictoc-tictoc-tictoc-tictoc-tictoc-tictoc-tictoc-tictoc-tictoc-tictoc-tictoc-tictoc-tictoc-tictoc-tictoc-tictoc-tictoc-tictoc-tictoc-tictoc-tictoc-tictoc-tictoc-tictoc-tictoc-tictoc-tictoc-tictoc-tictoc-tictoc-tictoc-tictoc-tictoc-tictoc-tictoc-tictoc-tictoc-tictoc-tictoc-tictoc-BAM!

Thirty years passed before this guy’s eyes just like that.

And it’s happening to all of us.

But not in this instant.

Because it’s happening when we’re not in this instant.

When we’re somewhere else in our minds.

Focused on the illusion of the past or a figment of a future, our life hits the accelerator and it approaches light speed.

We’re hurled through space and time and BAM, we’re siting in a barbershop, taking about diabetes and hip replacements.

Is there a way to slow it down?

Can we cling more to this moment?

Yes, of course.

But it’s going to take an inner revolution.

A crusade.

An adoption of a concept, so rare, that it runs counter to the constant bombardments of society’s accepted normalcy.

Are you ready to receive the coveted secret of all enlightened masters?

Well, ready or not, here it comes: Worry Less.

Worry less.

Can it be that simple?

Yes.

Simple, but certainly not easy.

Because we’ve by conditioned by the fear based, powers-that-be, to worry incessantly.

We’re so conditioned to worry that it has become as normal as breathing.

But imagine living a life where you can just breathe without it being attached at the hip of soul-stunting worry?

And that, right there, is the answer.

It’s the answer to the question: but how do we become freedom fighters in this revolution against worry?

We breathe just to breathe.

We convert from the blind religion of worry, to the grace of conscious breathing.

We make our entire existence into a meditation.

Because with or without your worries, life is unfolding as it will.

And before you scream at me, yes, I know, there’s plenty to worry about. And trust me, I worry with the best of them at times, but eventually I remember – nirvana is in the nostrils.

So listen up, please, I can go on and on about this, but talking too much about slowing down the clock will invariably speed it up.

You’re just going to have to trust me.

Witness yourself breathing.

Make it the most important part of your life.

Move worry to the back burner.

Allow this intelligent universe of ours to actually be intelligent.

Your next breath, and the one after that, and the one after that, can stretch this instant out into eternity.

I promise.

In Live Like a Fruit Fly, Gabe Berman shares his recipe for living a more joyful, worthwhile, and abundant life in every way. A witty, entertaining, and insightful read.” — Deepak Chopra, Author, The Seven Spiritual Laws of Success

www.LiveLikeAFruitFly.com

www.WeightLossCoffeeMiracle.com

www.WhereIsGodWhenOurLovedOnesGetSick.com

 

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Stream Of Unconsciousness

She’s definitely going to think it was me.

Because it’s not like I could have said, “I swear it was like this when I got here.”

I think that would have made things worse, so, I had no choice but to let her walk right into a trap.

The truth is, however, it was the person before me who completely cleaned out their colon in the Starbucks bathroom. I was just there for a quick pee.

But when I opened the door, and saw the woman standing there waiting to use the bathroom, I just put my head down and got the hell out of Dodge.

- end scene -

(I know, not much of a blog post. Here’s something even less substantial: earlier today, I was telling a friend about my old bartending days. When a customer had to wait three seconds more than they wanted to for their hamburger, they’d invariably say, “Did the chef have to go kill the cow first.”

Being the total, sarcastic prick I’m known to be in the face of childlike impatience, I, like clockwork, would automatically respond with, “Did you just make up that line? It’s so clever. I’ve never heard it before.”

Dear reader, why am I wasting your time with this?

I have no idea really. Sorry.

If you haven’t already stopped reading, which I wouldn’t have blamed you for, please allow me, finally, to make a point.

Thank you.

I’m a vegetarian.

Why?

Because I’m one of those weirdos you’ve heard about who cares deeply for the animals I’d be ingesting.

And  I’ve actually been mocked for this on more than one occasion.

Don’t be so shocked. I’m sure many others feel the same. They just, rightfully so, don’t have the gall to say it to my face.

There’s a part of me that wants to grab them by the neck, rip them down to the ground and step on their heads. “You like the way this feels mother fucker? Want to spend the rest of your life like this before you’re killed in the most horrific way?”

But of course, I’d never.

I just do what I can by simply abstaining.

It’s a chicken Gabe. Whats the big deal? And you’re just one person. You’re not going to make a difference.

And that thinking, right there, is responsible for just about every problem on God’s green Earth.

We need to be more compassionate. Period.

More compassionate to the less fortunate, to elders, to other ethnicities, to anyone we deem different, and of course, to animals.

Wouldn’t we want someone to stand up for us if we couldn’t stand up for ourselves?

Of course we would.

But animals don’t count when we want our burgers.

Because that would be awfully un-American.

And, the truth is, you’re just one person. Your efforts can barely scratch the surface.

But imagine if everyone thought that way?

Oh right, everyone already does.

And with that said, I was just about to switch my seat at Starbucks. I’m sitting at a table intended for eight people and two kids are doing math homework next to me. They’re not annoying, but I can hear them through my headphones and if I make my music any louder, I’ll probably hemorrhage somewhere.

But, alas, I’m staying put.

Because I just caught a whiff of the both of them. They smell like pencil sharpenings.

The smell of youth. The smell of cutesy problems.

I miss that.

I really miss that).

- end scene -

People often ask me how they can support me as a writer (actually, I’ve never been asked this – by anyone, ever).

Please click on these links and make purchases as if the entire universe hinges upon it – thank you:

 

Weight Loss Coffee Miracle

Live Like A Fruit Fly

Where Is God When Our Loved Ones Get Sick?

The Fifth Force – part 1 – Evil Approaches

“Never believe that a few caring people can’t change the world. For, indeed, that’s all who ever have.” – Margaret Mead

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You’re Awesome (no really, you are)

My friend’s wife texted me this afternoon about a dream she had about me.

We were swimming together, and then she woke up.

Why is my friend’s wife dreaming about me?

That’s the first question you ask?

Is it that unbelievable?

How come you never bothered to ask why more of my friend’s wives aren’t dreaming about me?

Anyway, as I was saying, my friend’s wife texted me this afternoon about a dream she had about me (she obviously needs to be medicated, severely, or a priest must be brought in for an exorcism).

Using every last bit of willpower I had stored up in my bone marrow to resist making sexual innuendos, I asked her about how’s she been.

She answered, and I quote, “I’m amazing! Everything is great here.”

We volleyed a few more messages back and forth and then, like a pissed off bull in Pamplona, it rammed me right in the solar plexus.

I’ve never, ever, been able to say things are amazing for me.

I mean, I can surely type those words, and I guess I could push those words passed my lips, but it would be a lie.

Cosmically, I know, down to the depths of my DNA, that everything is unfolding exactly as it must.

But if I allow myself, just for a moment, to be a normal, disconnected guy, sitting here in Starbucks as I type this to you, I’d have to admit that I’d to feel what amazing feels like for a change.

Of course I’m so grateful for the micro and the macro, the alpha and the omega, and the yin and the yang, but amazing?

It doesn’t take a genius or guru to know that amazing is lightyears better than not amazing.

So, what can I do about this?

Well, what does amazing entail?

According to the dictionary, the definition of amazing is: causing great surprise or wonder.

I call bullshit.

We all know when my friend’s wife said, “Amazing!” she sure as hell didn’t mean: causing great surprise (unless she was talking about finding me in her dreams – but then again, the word she probably would have used is “gross”).

She obviously meant amazing, as in awesome.

The question now becomes: is it possible to pull myself off of the bull’s horns, seal the wounds, and then set a course for amazing?

Yes.

In one move.

All I must do is redefine amazing.

I’m redefining it to mean: awesome and/or the potential for awesomeness.

Do I have the potential for awesomeness?

My God yes.

As do you.

I promise you, you do.

How can you check for yourself?

There’s a very simple test: put your hand over your heart. If you can feel something beating, you’ve got the potential.

From now on, instead of my standard okay when someone asks me how I’m doing, I’m going to say amazing.

Because I’m alive and full of divine potential.

And so are you.

Welcome to the world of the infallible, self-fulfilling prophecy.


“In Live Like a Fruit Fly, Gabe Berman shares his recipe for living a more joyful, worthwhile, and abundant life in every way. A witty, entertaining, and insightful read
.” — Deepak Chopra, Author, The Seven Spiritual Laws of Success

www.LiveLikeAFruitFly.com

www.WeightLossCoffeeMiracle.com

www.WhereIsGodWhenOurLovedOnesGetSick.com

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Time Travel Sucks

I almost hit a woman with my car today.

Intentionally.

I pulled into the post office and some woman was standing in the only available spot, talking to another woman parked in the adjacent spot.

I didn’t want to be rude with a typical hitting of the horn, so I just idled there, motionless, with a body length between us.

You’d think the grumbling hole in the muffler would have awakened her to my dangerously close, four thousand pound SVU, but, alas, she didn’t bat a fucking eyelash.

What to do, what to do?

A friendly neighborhood tappity-tap honk?

Rev the engine?

Pin her to the side of the building with my bumper?

Since the post office was closing in five minutes and twenty-three seconds and I really needed to mail something to Los Angeles, I decided to just sit there and wait it out like a passive aggressive asshole.

Miss princess finally figured out that she was on the losing end of a physics equation, so she finally got out of the way.

She offered the I’m sorry wave and once again apologized once we were both inside.

“I went to high school with that woman and now our kids go to high school together.”

To be friendly, I asked her what school.

East Rockaway High School.

I went to the nearby Lynbrook High and I’m not sure why I did, but I heard myself offering her this information.

“Do your kids go there now,” she asked.

My kids?

I almost turned around like Robert De Niro in Taxi Driver to see if there was someone standing behind me.

How could she be taking to me?

My kids? I’m just a kid myself.

Wait, what’s that you say?

I’m forty-one?

Really?

No.

No way.

Shit. You’re right.

How in God’s name could this have happened?

Lets review…I remember jumping into the fountain at my college graduation, I blinked a few times, and here I am, innocently in line at the post office.

Twenty years.

Poof.

While everyone else was buying houses, losing their hair and having kids, I was…

Well..

I really don’t know what I was doing.

Surviving I guess.

Statistics say that I must have experienced some joy in between, but it definitely wasn’t enough.

I don’t feel, in the moment, that it was enough.

But that’s the price I paid for rocking Status Quo’s cruise ship.

Would I do it again if presented with the same set of choices?

Of course.

Because I’d be blind to other alternatives.

It’s carve my own path, or perish.

Does this path lead to joy?

I sure as hell hope so.

Regardless, I’ll keep on bringing it to others so I know this long, strange trip hasn’t been in vain.

In Live Like a Fruit Fly, Gabe Berman shares his recipe for living a more joyful, worthwhile, and abundant life in every way. A witty, entertaining, and insightful read.” — Deepak Chopra, Author, The Seven Spiritual Laws of Success

www.LiveLikeAFruitFly.com

www.WeightLossCoffeeMiracle.com

www.WhereIsGodWhenOurLovedOnesGetSick.com

 

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Harold Berman

Harold Berman.

The mailman relentlessly delivers letters with his name on it.

I’ve been piling them, unopened, on a chair in my mom’s office.

A tower of wasted words.

My dad would come home from work everyday and ask, “Did we get any mail?”

And I’d say, everyday, “It’s on the table in the front. Exactly where it always is.”

And now here I sit, listening to Dave Brubeck at 2:26 AM on a Friday, back in this house I grew up in.

With just a pile of memories.

Last night a friend said to me, “Goodnight Mr. B.”

It was an innocuous close to a conversation but it warmed me like a cup of hot cocoa. The one my mom would always make for me after coming in from playing in the snow as a boy.

There was no way for my friend to have known, but this is what my dad would often call me.

Mr. B.

I haven’t thought of that in quite some time.

Another memory for the pile.

And I honestly may have forgotten it forever if my friend didn’t just “coincidentally” say it.

Why is coincidentally in quotes?

Because, as I was explaining the significance of her goodnight sendoff, I was simultaneously thinking, “I wonder if this could be a message from him?”

And just then, as if Rod Serling was hiding behind the closet door, the lights flickered in my bedroom.

Maybe I’m grasping at straws but, aside from memories and mail, straws is all I got.

“In Live Like a Fruit Fly, Gabe Berman shares his recipe for living a more joyful, worthwhile, and abundant life in every way. A witty, entertaining, and insightful read.” — Deepak Chopra, Author, The Seven Spiritual Laws of Success

www.LiveLikeAFruitFly.com

www.WeightLossCoffeeMiracle.com

www.WhereIsGodWhenOurLovedOnesGetSick.com

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Words From The Lizard King Prophet

Love hides in the strangest places.

Love hides in familiar faces.

Love comes when you least expect it.

Love hides in narrow corners.

Love comes to those who seek it.

Love hides inside the rainbow.

Love hides in molecular structures.

Love is the answer. - jim morrison

jim

Cosmic Drano

My friend’s parents are complete assholes.

It’s true. So, why should I beat around the bush and call it anything other than what it is?

His dad is an asshole and his mom is asshole.

And before you jump down my throat for not sounding “spiritual” enough (not you of course, but other lackeys reading this right now), let me assure you: I simultaneously see their inner essence. I see their perfect souls as clearly as I see my fingers typing on my iPad.

With that said, they’re cup runneth over with ego. And it camouflages their intention to love.

Their fear, and selfishness, and judgement, bubbles up and oozes over like lava from an active volcano and my friend invariably gets trapped in it like those poor bastards in Pompeii.

Who’s fault is it though?

You might think I’m going to say it’s my friend’s fault, but I’m not going to.

Why does he have to be as evolved as an Eckhart Tolle in order to simply get through a dinner or phone call with them?

Why can’t they just chill the fuck out and realize the truth?

What truth?

There is no spoon.

I remember when my parents used to visit me back in Florida. If I didn’t commit to a mantra of forgiveness, I’d end up swallowing my own tongue in an intentional act of seppuku in order to escape.

But I now sit in a Starbucks on Long Island after watching my dad dwindle away for eleven months from brain cancer.

And there’s nothing I wouldn’t trade away to hear his voice again.

Because I know, as I’ve always known, there is no spoon.

All of that ego-based bullshit is just that: bullshit.

It has no real weight. It’s an illusion.

And in one moment it’s here, and the next it’s not.

Gone.

Forever.

Like a warm dream you once had as a child.

And disappearing with that illusion, are our bodies.

Gone.

Forever.

Like a warm dream you once had as a child.

When will our loved ones figure out that we are just passing through transitory states together? Transitory states together with very limited time.

When will they fully focus on the only thing that matters?

When? Probably never.

That’s why we’ll have to focus on forgiveness. Because forgiveness unclogs the passages to gratitude.

Start with forgiving yourself for becoming so irritable at times.

It’s not your fault.

Because you just want unconditional love to flow. And how can that ever be faulty?

“In Live Like a Fruit Fly, Gabe Berman shares his recipe for living a more joyful, worthwhile, and abundant life in every way. A witty, entertaining, and insightful read.” — Deepak Chopra, Author, The Seven Spiritual Laws of Success

www.LiveLikeAFruitFly.com

www.WeightLossCoffeeMiracle.com

www.WhereIsGodWhenOurLovedOnesGetSick.com

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And The Killer Is…

Dhani Harrison said his father, George, rarely gave him advice.

“The only two things he felt I had to do in my life were be happy and meditate,” he once told Rolling Stone.

I quoted this to a friend of mine the other day because she was feeling uninspired and directionless.

I then said, “You’re healthy, your family is healthy, you have have money in the bank, why don’t you just allow yourself to sit there in Starbucks and chill.”

She knew this. Of course she knew this.

But she got caught up in comparison. She felt discouraged with just “being” while watching all of the busy people “doing”. They were rushing around, coming and going, typing with intention on their laptops, and seemingly, living lives with some sort of purpose.

And I’m sure she looked through Facebook with all of those pictures of perfect, happy people with their perfect, healthy meals and thought, “Jesus man! What the hell am I doing with myself?”

It’s not her fault to feel this way. And it’s not yours if you feel this way as well.

I know I sure do at times.

Our society is built on comparison. It fuels the machine. 

But comparison, when you’re trying to live a gentle, spiritual life, is the killer.

Do you hear that?

Comparison is the killer.

And what are we really comparing ourselves too? Usually, mere illusions.

A few weeks ago, I typed to an old friend on Facebook, “I’m so happy that you and your wife look so happy. And your kids are so cute. Good for you man, you deserve it.”

A few hours later he responded with, “Thanks so much. But do you really think we’re going to post pictures of us fighting?”

It’s all an illusion. Just a very convincing illusion.

If you must compare yourself to others, skip over the rats in the race. Look for the people who are simply sitting there. Sitting there with a slight smile and breathing just to breathe.

There’s a good chance these people aren’t always happy, because, as you know – life sometimes has a sick sense of humor. But they’ve obviously learned to enjoy the times when there’s nothing better to do than just enjoy the time.

The clock continues to click regardless.

In Live Like a Fruit Fly, Gabe Berman shares his recipe for living a more joyful, worthwhile, and abundant life in every way. A witty, entertaining, and insightful read.” — Deepak Chopra, Author, The Seven Spiritual Laws of Success

www.LiveLikeAFruitFly.com

www.WeightLossCoffeeMiracle.com

www.WhereIsGodWhenOurLovedOnesGetSick.com

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Read With Caution

A week after reading Live Like A Fruit Fly, my friend filed for divorce from her pigheaded, abusive husband.

A year later, after rereading my book, she quit her job.

On her first freedom filled Monday, which happened to be yesterday, I called to see if she was feeling nervous about starting a new venture.

She took an audible deep breath and slowly released the air.

She then said, in her perfect Texas twang, “Of course I’m a little nervous, but do you know what Gabe, this is the first time in fourteen years that I can actually breathe.”

This new venture of hers is already working out well but it’s always unsettling to separate yourself from a steady paycheck. Regardless of how lifeless you felt behind your desk everyday.

However, you may encounter a moment when your soul will no longer abide in victimhood quietly.

Your inner essence will beg you to chose the path of the hero.

And if you decide to choose this path, the red pill over the blue pill, the universe will respond in kind.

Doors, once rusted closed by society’s fears, will open for you. You may have to kick through them forcefully, but mark my words, they will indeed open.

The universe is working for you. It’s working with you. Through you.

You just have to listen and follow.

First, it may first politely tap you on the shoulder for a few years to get your attention.

Then, it will yell at you with a bullhorn.

If you insist on ignoring it, the universe will undoubtedly inject your veins with dose after dose of tough-love to get through to you.

Even if it ends being the cause of your demise.

Read Live Like A Fruit Fly with caution if you aren’t ready to file for divorce from victimhood.

But maybe it’s time to just chose to be ready. Maybe others are counting on you to do so.

The life you hoped for can start today.

I promise.

In Live Like a Fruit Fly, Gabe Berman shares his recipe for living a more joyful, worthwhile, and abundant life in every way. A witty, entertaining, and insightful read.” — Deepak Chopra, Author, The Seven Spiritual Laws of Success

www.LiveLikeAFruitFly.com

www.WhereIsGodWhenOurLovedOnesGetSick.com

www.WeightLossCoffeeMiracle.com

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Flux Capacitor

Raiders of the Lost Ark is the only movie my dad and I saw twice in the theater together.

I was nine. My dad was a year younger than I am now.

Remember in the tent when that nazi, the creepy one dressed in all black with the burnt hand, pulls out the Bruce Lee/nunchucku device that ends up being a coat hanger?

My dad and I simultaneously looked over at each other and said without saying anything, “Oh my God, this is going to get good.”

I’m thinking about this now because the theme song from Raiders shuffled through my iPad as I was checking email at the kitchen table this morning.

Directly across from where my dad used to sit.

If I had a DeLorean, I’d get that bad boy up to 88 mph and revisit that moment right now.

Maybe we’d buy popcorn this time instead of sneaking it in from home as we often did.

In Live Like a Fruit Fly, Gabe Berman shares his recipe for living a more joyful, worthwhile, and abundant life in every way. A witty, entertaining, and insightful read.” — Deepak Chopra, Author, The Seven Spiritual Laws of Success

www.LiveLikeAFruitFly.com

www.WeightLossCoffeeMiracle.com

www.WhereIsGodWhenOurLovedOnesGetSick.com

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