OMGabe

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

Archive for the category “awakenings”

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

20170417-155904.jpg

Advertisements

Keys and Doors.

And now for the most unromantic thing you’ll ever hear:

I know of a couple, both in their twenties, who were watching TV together.

It was a cold Brooklyn night and he was suffering with terrible allergies so he really didn’t feel like walking her home after.

In response to his not so serious bellyaching, she said, “Well, if we lived in the same place, you wouldn’t have to.”

They got married three weeks later.

Just. Like. That.

And today, my parents, would be celebrating their 48th anniversary.

I miss my dad so damn thoroughly.

His absence from my existence tugs at me, unrelentingly, like the rough ocean undertow.

Such is life.

And such is death. It blindsides the living.

With that, a great man and a good friend of mine died today.

Alan Colmes.

He was the only liberal on Fox News and he sometimes played their punching bag.

Which was fine with him because he stood firmly for justice, a healed planet, and the well being of all.

But underneath his political life, right underneath it, he was a spiritual seeker. On the quest for the holy grail of a peaceful mind.

That’s how we met. Many years ago. After he read Live Like A Fruit Fly.

And now, unfortunately, on February 23rd 2017, on my parent’s wedding anniversary, he’s become the poster child for my book which he so enjoyed.

Alan was just sixty-six. He loved his wife ferociously.

May he rest in peace.

So, moving right along with this meandering stream of cosmically unplanned flow of words and spaces, my sister was just in town and she and my mom invited me to go to an indoor flea market with them.

No thanks.

I stayed home.

I didn’t go because the last time I was there, I sat across from my dad in the food court as he handed over his car keys to me.

It was like a veteran police officer relinquishing his badge and gun.

I didn’t know at the time, but that moment would turn out to be the first of countless horrifying ones with him.

His double vision was getting worse and that drive to the flea market was the last time he sat behind the wheel of a car.

He was dead in eleven months. Brain tumor.

Looking back, and hearing about Alan’s passing today, it seems like Life delivers varying degrees of awfulness until we wake up.

Until we wake up to the gift of worrying less.

Worrying less about what truly does not matter.

Because it’s all just going to end anyway. Whether we pretend it won’t or not.

From this point on, I hope to be caused to hold on to this gift more often

Much more often.

And I hope the exact same for you. Yes, you. The person reading this right now.

I’ll close now with a hopeful quote I’ve closed with before. It was said by Ray Manzarek. The keyboard player for The Doors who has also since passed.

“‘The world on you depends, our life will never end.’ The ultimate statement. Our life will never end. And the ancient Egyptians used to say that if you say a man’s name, he is alive. So I take this opportunity to say Jim Morrison.”

And I take this opportunity to say Alan Colmes. And Harold Berman.

love/thanks,
gb

“Meet the new generation of consciousness-raising. Gabe’s simple, yet profound message can be a life-changer.” Live Like A Fruit Fly
―Alan Colmes, Nationally Syndicated Radio Host

20170223-173419.jpg

“Mr. Nobody”

“I’m not afraid of death. I’m afraid I haven’t been alive enough.”

I sat on the edge of my bed – totally petrified.

Not frightened, but silent and still, like stone. Mesmerized by that quote above.

I heard it at the end of a movie trailer I was watching on my phone just a moment before.

“I’m not afraid of death. I’m afraid I haven’t been alive enough.”

Those words landed in the center of the center of the bullseye so they didn’t even need to be thought about.

They just hung in the air in front of me like conspicuous Himalayan prayer flags.

But they evaporated in an instant when my eyes caught an unexpected sight in their periphery.

It was like a glitch in the Matrix.

A World War II bayonet rested beside my bed.

I felt neurons rushing to make their calculations.

Ah, yes.

My mom and sister were going through boxes of old stuff today and one of them must have left it there for me.

It was my dad’s.

He inherited from his dad who guarded Nazi prisoners with it.

They’re both dead now.

And now it’s mine.

I can’t speak for my grandfather (Abraham Berman) but when my dad (Harold Berman) got sick, he told me that he lived long enough and all he cared about at that point was his family not having to see him suffer.

How brave and beautiful and selfless.

It didn’t even occur to him to worry about suffering. His first thought, as always, was about my mom and my sister and me.

But he didn’t get his wish.

I was imprinted with his suffering. Tattooed permanently by it.

And at this point, I’m not afraid of dying either. I just hope that I (Gabriel Berman) will be alive enough to truly live.

And I hope the same for you.

with love and gratitude,
gb

If you haven’t read this yet, it’s time:
Live Like A Fruit Fly

20160718-014309.jpg

My True Love

It burns like a bitch.

Suntan lotion in the eye.

The worst.

But yesterday it stung sweetly.

Because it’s a sign of the upcoming summer.

Ahh, summer.

How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.

Is there anyone in your life who is simply in love with love? Love Looks Like This

20160420-131027.jpg

The Apprentice Is Now The Master

Totally black.

The screen went totally black and it became completely silent in there.

Just ten minutes left of the mystifying movie Midnight Special and the projector shut down.

As if sitting in a crashing fighter jet, I ejected myself out of the seat and headed to the lobby to alert the officials while everyone else in the theater just sat that there like helpless lambs.

The movie was back on in minutes. The ending was remarkable. Super sick flick. See it.

That was me being my dad. Jumping up like that. Making sure everything was okay. Ready to fix, fight or flee without hesitation.

If there was a fire or an armed maniac, I would have been in my car, completely safe, before anything went down.

100%.

No doubt.

My dad and I used to say that the nazis never would have gotten us.

Get on these trains?

Not. Very. Fucking. Likely.

Maybe this feels like I’m reaching. Like escaping a movie compared to a death camp is a stretch.

Well, it’s not.

It’s just a difference of a degree.

When I was young, feuding with my dad over everything and nothing, I prayed that I’d just disappear. That I could just be an orphan.

But now, after all of these years and after all of these experiences, I literally couldn’t be more grateful that I’m Harold Berman’s son.

So, what does this mean for you, the reader?

Probably nothing.

I just knew I needed to share. And now we’ll see what unfolds next.

And, I just looked out the window and saw a little brown bird picking twigs up with it’s beak. Presumably to make a nest. For its kids.

There’s no better way to end this than with that.

thank you, so much, for taking the time to be with me in this moment,
gb

P.S I snapped this photo right before the movie restarted. Normally I would have texted it to my dad. And he would have said, “You’re a real pisser.”

read my new book, LOVE LOOKS LIKE THIS, here: http://www.amazon.com/Love-Looks-Like-This-Berman/dp/0692665382/ref=sr_1_6?ie=UTF8&qid=1458762345&sr=8-6&keywords=Love+looks+like

20160403-174958.jpg

Biggest Peace

This may mean I’m broken.

But it also may mean I’m whole.

This morning I watched a TED talk on gratitude and the speaker said that after eight years of marriage, she finally realized her husband, upon serving dessert to the family, always gives himself a smaller piece of pie so she could get the biggest.

I completely lost it.

Just lost it.

So, what does this mean about me?

I really don’t know.

And I really don’t care.

Either way, I wouldn’t trade it.

thank you as always,
gb

buy my goddamn books here:
www.LiveLikeAFruitFly.com

20160303-134610.jpg

Another Helping Of My New Book

Every year I swear to myself I’ll never do it again, but here I am in Starbucks sending a “Happy Thanksgiving” text to every person in my phone before I meet up with my family for dinner.

I certainly don’t give to receive, but how dare some people not take the two seconds to text back.

I should just delete them. Because what’s more cathartic then a good ol’ house cleaning of the contact list?

Nothing.

Except for maybe an hour long foot rub for $23 at one of those Asian foot spa places. Although, let me say this: RUBBING MY FEET FASTER WILL NOT MAKE THE HOUR GO BY FASTER – PLEASE SLOW THE HELL DOWN BEFORE I VOLCANICALLY EXPLODE WITH ANXIETY! And while you’re at it, stop yanking my toes like I’m one of those old cigarette vending machines. Who does that feel good for? Nobody, thats who.

Just rub. Firmly. And for the love of God, slowly. Thank you.

A few people texted me back already and a few of those few people said they were thinking of me today because they know how hard it must be on the holidays without my dad around.

I thanked them sincerely but the truth is, I miss him so much more on the regular random days. Like while I’m having coffee by myself in the morning. Or when I see his beloved boating magazines in the bookstore. Or late at night, while flipping through channels and stumbling upon Goodfellas.

Or when I want to text my good friend Danny, and have to scroll passed “Dad” in my contacts to get to him.

That happened a few minutes ago.

I just can’t bring myself to delete his cell phone number from my phone. Actually, I can’t even consider it.

Here’s what I will consider however: eating a giant turkey leg. I’m usually the strictest of vegetarians but my dad lived for those damn turkey legs and tonight, for him, I’m going to get all Fred Flintstone on one of them. If not both of them. In each hand. At the same time.

And later, when I’m in the bathroom, dying of stomach convulsions, he’ll look down on me, sarcastically call me a shmuck, and then smile.

20151127-035937.jpg

Let It Be

I woke up sad today.

Which, to be completely candid, isn’t exactly a new thing for me.

But instead of trying to busy myself with busyness to feel less blue, I broke routine by lacing up my kicks and taking a walk around the old neighborhood.

I waved to people.

Some waved back.

I paused by the dock where my dad kept his boat.

I listened to birds chirp.

I love how birds don’t think to themselves, “Maybe I should chirp now.”

They just stand there in trees, with their little bird feet, and chirp.

I wish I can be just to be.

I wish that for all of us.

Maybe it’s time to get out the old Zamboni and clear a path.

A path with even less resistance.

Because, as it’s been said, resistance is futile.

As always, we shall see what unfolds next.

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

20140523-171909.jpg

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

20140316-185836.jpg

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

20140314-000532.jpg

Post Navigation