OMGabe

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

Archive for the category “angels”

The Truth About You

Julius stormed Omaha Beach, Normandy in 1944.

It was D-Day.

But instead of being armed with a rifle, he was shooting with his motion picture camera. Documenting the horror.

I met him today at a nature preserve in Boynton Beach, Florida. He was taking photos of birds.

He’s ninety-three.

We talked about the war, about photography, and of course, about women.

We also enjoyed some silence together.

And then we laughed together too.

On the way out of the place, there are two water fountains next to each other.

I took the higher one and he took lower one because he was sitting on his motorized scooter (a tank blew up in front of him during the Battle of the Bulge and his leg took shrapnel – after he healed, and was sent back to battle, his film crew was gone – captured by the Nazis – he doesn’t know what happened to them).

I watched him drink from his fountain as I drank from mine.

He struggled a bit with it.

But all I saw there, in that frail body, drinking water, was me.

Underneath it all, we’re all the same.

Exactly the same.

And this world won’t heal, until we realize this. Collectively.

I promise you that.

thank you for sharing these moments with me,
gabe

www.WinTheWarWithYourMind.com

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Download Life’s New Update

The crazy thing is, my mom wouldn’t have had the good time she had today if my dad didn’t die from brain cancer a few years ago.

How’s that for an opening sentence?

Got your attention now, don’t I, you squirrelly bastards…

Anyway…

I just got off the phone with my mom. She played golf somewhere on Long Island today.

She played awfully, since she’s a rookie, but had a lovely day laughing with the ladies she recently met at the gym.

It’s crazy because there’s no way in hell, or even in heaven, today would have unfolded the way it did for my mom if my dad was still around.

They would have been at the beach. Or taking a drive somewhere. Or just sitting around the house together.

And I’m certainly not saying she’s happier to have the opportunity to play with friends and go on little adventures by herself. Neither of us are.

We’re both just relieved that she’s recovered.

Re-blossomed.

Smiling again.

Ahhhh to get chocked up in Starbucks while I write to you, dear reader. Something I’ve grown accustomed to.

So, I said supportively to my mom, “That’s so great that you had fun today.”

To which she said, “Well, I’m making it happen. I’m taking control.”

My God I love when marionettes say this. It’s just about my fav. But that’s a discussion for another time.

For now, “my” strings are being pulled to have this come from these keystrokes: I hate how hard it is to just exist sometimes. Hate. None of us asked to be here. But with that, my love for love
is infinitely more powerful. And I didn’t ask for that either, but I’m so goddamn grateful my cells and soul are arranged this way. And I’ve got more than enough to share with you. So please, in this moment, take a breath with me.

In exchange, all I ask from you is this – the next time you have a choice between kindness and selfishness, please choose kindness.

Because kindness is selflessness.

And selflessness is the operating system of this universe.

Like it or not.

– gabe

Win The War With Your Mind

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Live Like A Fruit Fly Epilogue

There’s a young kid on a boat sailing over from Russia.

That kid ends up being my grandfather.

My dad’s dad.

And I sometimes imagine him knowing, right there on that voyage, that his son would inevitably die, awfully, from brain cancer.

And from there I think about what the dead would tell us. If they could talk. Knowing what they know now.

They’d probably say something like, “Lighten the fuck up.”

Continuing with, “Try not to get tangled in situations which make your heart heavy. And don’t try to keep up with the Joneses. They have their own problems you’re just not aware of. And, with that, they’re assholes anyway. Listen up living people, your only responsibility while alive, is to truly live. Because it all ends so fast. Please, for us, truly live. Thank you.”

Easier than it sounds?

Maybe.

Or maybe we need a good old fashioned global intervention of reprioritizing.

Maybe this blog post was written just for you.

– gb

www.LiveLikeAFruitFly.com

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I Met A Messenger Today – the sequel

“Shit. This fucking guy wants to talk to me?” I thought.

(Yes. There’s lots of cursing in my internal dialogue.)

I just wanted to sit there, upload pics to Instagram like a motherfucker (that one was just thrown in there for my own fun), suck on my venti iced coffee, and then, in between it all, dwell on the perfect flowers which encircled the man-made geyser/water-fountain at this outdoor mall I found myself at.

But this chubby old guy with a Brooklyn accent had to chime in with, “The sound of the fountain. It’s really nice.”

“Shit, and he’s autistic,” I joked to myself.

Be nice Gabe. Be nice.

I put my phone down. Established eye contact. Remembered I was a person. Remembered we’re all connected. Remembered I was here to serve a purpose. Kindness. Healing. Make people laugh. Etc. Etc.

We talked about the fountain. The flowers. The breeze. The adorable Asian babies in strollers.

“Do you follow the Mets,” he asked next.

“Nope, not at all. I’m sorry.”

I apologized because he seemed a little disappointed.

But it didn’t stop him.

He went on to describe a whole inning to me. Pitch by goddamn pitch.

Losing patience, the back of my brain said, “Excuse yourself and go to the bathroom.”

But I hung in there. Without even looking at my phone, which I was dying to do.

He was a sweet man and deserved some sweetness.

And then, out of nowhere, as if a switch was flicked in the universe, he said, “I’m a healer, you know. I do healings through Jesus.”

Matter of factly, but totally channelled, he spoke clearly about God and faith and love.

Not religiously, but beautifully. Divinely.

How bizarre. I wasn’t there for him, he was there for me.

He was a messenger.

But the message came with a test.

Would I be kind to a stranger? And would I continue to show kindness when I really wanted to cut and run?

Yes.

Thankfully, yes.

Because he finally said, “It ain’t never going to be perfect down here, you know. And I’m not afraid of dyin’. You’re going to see your mother and father and aunts and uncles again. Don’t you worry about it.”

He stood up and finished with, “Alright Gabe, it was nice talking to you. Time for me to stroll around and get my exercise.”

I gave him the respect of not watching as he walked away. Because I had a pretty good feeling he was just going to vanish.

Live Like A Fruit Fly

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How I Wish You Were Here

Just giving you a heads up, this isn’t going to be worth reading.

And yes, I know that sounds like a ploy to actually get you to read, but I swear it’s not.

It’s just something I know I need to write, so I’m going to. But it’s not going to be good. I really have nothing of value to say to anyone right now.

I’m just sitting here. On the couch. In the dark. Watching Good Will Hunting. With tears in my eyes.

A perfect movie. Which I won’t do a disservice to by talking about.

It’s just perfect, that’s all.

Especially tonight.

At the end of this day.

Three years exactly since I stood over my dad and watched him take his last breath.

I miss him so much.

Also, coincidentally, today is the day that I found out that I’m not sick.

I had a bit of a health scare but like I said, I’m good.

Before I was wheeled in for the endoscopy, a few days after the esophagram I had to have, I thought about the time in college I had surgery on my right arm after breaking it rollerblading.
I dreamt of Pink Floyd’s Wish You Were during the operation. At least, I thought I was dreaming about it. In reality, I was waking up from the anesthesia and the doctors were listening to it in the operating room.

And check this out, a moment before they induced me into to la la land today, I noticed a framed photo of the moon on the wall. The caption read: The dark side of the mood?

More evidence pointing to how the universe is intricately connected and more proof that every “coincidence” is a reminder of that connection. Winks from an ineffable intelligence.

And, just maybe, a wink from my dad. Letting me know it’s all going to be okay.

Which, I’m so grateful to say, it was. Is.

love/thanks,
gb

“Just do what’s in your heart son, you’ll be fine.” – Sean Maguire to Will Hunting. And just maybe, another wink from my dad to me. I’ll choose to believe it was.

www.LiveLikeAFruitFly.com

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It Doesn’t Matter

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Father’s Day

If I had access to a time machine, and could only use it once, I know exactly where I’d go.

A few years back, sitting on the couch with my dad, listening to Pat Matheny through his huge speakers at unsafe decibels (as if we were in that old Maxell commercial), looking at each other and smiling as children do.

We’d sit there until my mom yelled at us.

And then we’d sit there a little longer.

With that, tomorrow is Father’s Day.

My dad left me a few years ago and those speakers washed away in the hurricane.

And here I sit in Starbucks, listening to Pat Metheny for old time’s sake, and thinking – what’s the point of it all?

But I knew the answer before I asked.

The point is, further.

Keep moving further.

Because I know deeply, down to the depth of my neurons, more moments that will turn to monumental memories are on their way.

So, I’ll keep my head up.

And keep moving further.

I owe that to him. And to myself.

(This is a chapter to a new book I’m writing which I may or may not finish – thanks so much for trading your time to read it – PLEASE share it with your friends)

“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

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Free Range Thoughts

The problem with gratefulness is that it invariably leads to sadness for me.

Here I am, having coffee while watching cherry blossoms undulate in the wind, and I just feel grateful.

Grateful for the coffee.

The wind.

The cherry blossoms.

My eyes.

And grateful just to be able to feel grateful.

And thats the part that kills me.

There are millions of people, many millions, as well as other animals all over the world, who are suffering so badly as I type this.

Starving children. Raped women. Migrant farmers. Cows in corporately controlled slaughter houses.

And here I am wondering, “Are those marigolds or cherry blossoms. Is ‘marigold’ even a word or am I making that up? Goddamn, this is good coffee.”

Sadness sets in and lingers like rats on a ship.

Until I remind myself, once again, that it would be doing a greater injustice to those who are suffering if I didn’t allow myself to feel grateful for what I feel grateful for when I can.

How dare I squander the miracle of being a non-sufferer?

So, I allow myself to continue to feel grateful for what I feel grateful for.

And just now, while writing this, I’ve decided to also feel grateful for suffering that ends. If history has shown us anything, it’s that anything can change at any moment.

And from my perspective, it seems as though good prevails.

Eventually.

Thankfully.

thank you,
gb

P.S If you dug this, please share it with your friends so they can dig it too.

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June 14 2014

As of twenty-three minutes ago, my dad would have been seventy-two years old.

If he was still around, I’d probably open my eyes widely in his direction and instigate a bit with, “Seventy-two, huh?”

But per usual, he wouldn’t take the bait. He’d just smile and shake his head at me.

“It’s better than the alternative,” was his famous line when people complained about getting older on their birthdays.

A few nights ago, I watched up to the part when Michael confronts Apollonia’s father in GF1 (the original Godfather). Alone in the dark, I cried until I was out of tears.

Like most father and son teams, this was our movie. If we found it on TV while clicking through the channels, control of the remote control would be relinquished and it would remain untouched until the closing credits.

And now here I sit at the kitchen table, in his seat, listening to his favorite song Take Five by Dave Brubeck, in efforts to somehow…I don’t know…invoke the spirits maybe to give me a meaningful message.

But the truth is, the spirits revealed their message before I even knew to ask them to tonight.

While mindlessly making a cup of tea before starting to write, I noticed these words printed on the tab of the teabag: The purpose of life is to enjoy every moment.

The purpose
of life
is to enjoy
every moment.

I think I can feel my dad agreeing from the other side.

With that said, remember to be loving to your loved ones. Even if they make it really hard for you to do so.

They sometimes leave you faster than you’d ever imagine.

Happy Birthday Dad.

I love you and miss you immeasurably.

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Everything You Need To Know About Me

I don’t know about wine.

I don’t know my way around Manhattan.

I don’t know what I’m going to do with the rest of my life.

All I know is that I currently reside on a spherical rock which rotates on its axis at 1,000 miles per hour while it revolves around a massive fireball at 67,000 miles per hour.

And that’s more than enough for me right now.

That, and music.

And kindness. 

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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