OMGabe

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

Archive for the category “self-publishing”

Exit Reality

Don’t read this if you’re not interested in cleaning out your consciousness.

Still here?

Okay, thanks for sticking around.

Today, while walking into Panera Bread, I slightly smiled when I saw the storefront next door because I thought it said Exit Reality.

But alas, as you can see from the photo, it’s just a real estate agency named Exit Realty.

But before we continue, yes, I know I’m cheating on Starbucks.

Anyway… I’m bothering to bring this up because there’s an important point to be made about human suffering.

Most of human suffering is caused by the thinking mind. And the only way out of this suffering is too deny reality. Exit it. By accepting a new reality. The real reality.

Do I know what that looks like and how to get there?

Yes.

And there’s only one thing you need to do in order to sense the real reality as well:

You just have to allow yourself to listen to me share with you what took me over twenty years to discover. It probably won’t be similar to anything you’ve ever heard before about existence. Click the link below or email me at gabeberman@gmail.com if you’re at all intrigued. I promise, you won’t regret it. And maybe, just maybe, the rest of your life is hinging on it.

With that, I was just getting a refill of iced coffee and I had to wait for a few moments for the half & half because an older gentleman in front of me was slowly adding it to his coffee.

He noticed me and made an effort to hurry it along.

I said, “Take your time. I’m in no rush at all.”

To which he said, without making eye contact because he was concentrating on securing a lid to his cup, “You’ll live a long time with that attitude.”

I answered, “I don’t know about that, but life is definitely too short to make someone feel rushed over milk.”

After I lightened my coffee, I added, “Okay man, have a good one.”

He said, this time with eye contact, “You too. God bless you.”

And that, right there, was more than enough reason to be alive for today.

I am so grateful for this lovely little exchange. And so grateful for anyone reading this who also finds it lovely.

take care, as in, really, take care,
– gabe

www.WinTheWarWithYourMind.com

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The Pit Of Nirvana

Relief.

That’s the standout feeling at the conclusion of my twenty-five year search for enlightenment.

Phew.

It nearly killed me.

Literally.

And now that I’m here on the other side of the fence, I still find myself skimming through books on enlightenment I’d hope could save me back in the day. Looking for clues I may have missed through my old filter.

But nope.

Just the same snake oil that didn’t help me the first time through.

Except for today.

Today I saw something significant. Something that’s clear as day to me now but made less-than-zero sense before. But it wasn’t written by the author. It’s a quote he used.

How can a figment of the imagination have any effect on anything that is not itself a figment of imagination? Therefore any effect resulting from an act of ‘will’ subject to the ego-concept can only be as imaginary at itself.” – Wei Wu Wei

So what does this mean Gabe?

Whatever. Who cares. It doesn’t matter too much. If at all.

The only thing that matters is what happened after I read that quote.

An ant walked across the page.

It just happened.

Out of nowhere.

Like everything else.

Without our control.

love/thanks,
gb

P.S. And then, right there at Starbucks, a guy walked by me who totally needed to invest in some Mitchum. Stat. He smelled so ungodly awful, he could, as my uncle would say, knock a buzzard off of a shit wagon.

www.WinTheWarWithYourMind.com

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Seeing what sticks…


love looks like this

live like a fruit fly 

The Emmy Awards

The dead people.

When they show all of the dead people.

The poor folks in the biz who have died in the last year.

In Memory I think it’s called.

It’s my favorite part of the night. It’s my favorite part of any awards show.

I don’t exactly look forward to it. Because I don’t even think about it until it’s on. But I’m always happy to catch it.

Why?

Because, well, I’ll let Robin Williams from Dead Poets Society say it:

“Because we’re food for worms, lads! Because we’re only going to experience a limited number of springs, summers, and falls. One day, hard as it is to believe, each and every one of us is going to stop breathing, turn cold and die!”

Even the goddamn celebs which we jerk so hard.

All of us.

No one gets out alive.

Death is coming for our parents, our kids, our friends, our partners… and us.

You’d think this, and this alone, would convince us to be more lovely to each other.

But no.

We suck.

We’re greedy, angry, meat eating, selfish fucks.

All I can say, regardless of where my life is now, is that I’m so grateful I’m me.

And if love is your reflex, as it is mine, I’m grateful for you too.

– gb

Love Looks Like This

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It All Just Bubbles Up


Everything is happening at the same time.

The band at the beach club jams out a groove heavy, heartfelt version of Ain’t No Sunshine.

Kids splash around in the adjacent pool.

Middle aged men and woman, making up the majority of the audience, drink “pain killers” from their sand chairs.

An old woman taps her foot to the beat in her wheelchair.

A young girl, around three or four, walks along side her daddy. She uses her palms to shields her ears from the music.

A first aid crew from the pool sprints to a cabana in the distance – never a good sign.

The woman standing next to me is pregnant. Very pregnant.

After shooing it away a half-dozen times, this bastard of a mosquito lands on my ankle and I swat it to death. I bury it in the sand and I’m not exactly thrilled with myself.

Like an undulating ocean, thoughts enter my head, thoughts leave my head. Enter my head, leave my head. Enter my head, leave my head.

“I wonder what’s going to happen to me next,” bubbles up.

See, the thing is, we think we know what’s going to happen, but we don’t. We make plans, sometimes down to the very last detail, and then life unfolds as it will.

The only thing I know for sure is – the Doobie Brothers had it right. The guitarist just belted out, “Without love, where would we be now?”

In the weeds.

In the weeds at best.

love/thanks,
gb

P.S. The band closed the show with Good Lovin and a super spunky hippie chick grabbed the hand of some teenaged boy who was sitting by himself and they danced together in front of everyone. He has Down’s Syndrome. I still feel his smile. And I’m pretty sure it won’t leave me for quite some time.

Check out my new book here:
The Right Isn’t Right

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So many caring people. It’s the reason for suffering. To give others the opportunity to care.

“So many caring people. It’s the reason for suffering. To give others the opportunity to care.”

Normally, I would have ended a post with a line like that, but this one is just too damn significant and too damn beautiful for anything less than top billing.

And now, with that, I don’t even feel like explaining it’s origin anymore.

So, I won’t.

I’ll just say it again, and pray that it marinates in the minds of those who may see this.

Truth or not, it’s a lovely perspective on this often unfortunate life of ours.

“So many caring people. It’s the reason for suffering. To give others the opportunity to care.”

love/thanks,
gabe

explanation – please, please click and give if/what you can:
https://www.gofundme.com/alifeboat4eric

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“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

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Can We Handle The Truth?

In thirty-nine minutes, it’s my dad’s birthday.

Harold Berman.

He would have been seventy-four.

If he hadn’t gotten sick, I’d probably be in Florida right now. And I’d call him tomorrow, like nine hundred times, to wish him happy birthday.

But I flew back to New York the day he was diagnosed. And here I remain. For now.

I still hear him in the back of my head. As clear as ever. Behind my ears. As I always have.

Not in words exactly, but in silent feelings. I can feel his feelings. And they guide me through decisions and situations. Although, obviously and unfortunately, I can’t call him after the fact anymore.

And I hate that.

Hate.

When I was young my dad told me I shouldn’t use the word “hate” because it’s too strong of a word.

Well dad, I really mean it this time.

More so than I ever.

Because all I can do is sit here, listening to Brubeck – your favorite, while writing to a few good people who are now reading these words.

So what would you like me to pass on to them?

You’d often say there are three sides to every story – my side, your side and the right side. The truth.

So, what’s the truth here?

It feels like, behind my ear, the truth is that only love is real.

But maybe that’s good-ol-fashion bullshit.

Because the fear, and greed, and evil in this world, sure as hell seems just as real.

Wait.

Ahh, I got it.

I can hear you more clearly now dad.

Love might not be the only thing that’s real, but it’s certainly the only thing that matters.

And I love you.

Beyond.

And miss you.

Excruciatingly so.

And I love you too, dear readers, for being here with me in this moment.

I’m truly grateful for you – and that’s the truth as well,
gb

Happy Birthday Dad.

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Roy G. Biv

Aggressively, I pulled over to the side of road like a cop on Cops and jettisoned out of my car like it was about to explode – super nova style.

Everything was cool though. It’s just that I saw a rainbow that seemed CGI. Completely computerized. Luminous, crisp and perfect.

And this is right around the time you ask, “Gabe, are you really taking up my time to talk about a goddamn rainbow?!”

No.

Well, yes and no.

I wouldn’t have written a word about if I hadn’t received multiple texts from a few friends as I clicked pics of the overhead magnificence.

A few lovely people in my life wanted to make sure I wasn’t missing out on such a transcendent site. Because they know that’s what I’m all about – noticing beauty in between the shit.

And just the fact that a few people were looking up at the same time, in awe, and thought to share it with me and god knows who else, almost moved me to tears.

It’s just too damn beautiful.

Especially with the new Paul Simon album in my headphones as I write this.

He just sang, “I trade my tears to ask The Lord for proof of love. If only for the consolation of gazing at the stars above…I ask The Lord for proof of love. Love is all I seek. Love is all I seek.”

Prayer answered. Right in those texts.

And I am so very grateful for them.

In this moment, all I am is gratefulness.

thank you, so much, for sharing this moment with me,
gb

Get my new book, Love Looks Like This

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If Not You, Then Who?

About an hour ago, I saw a young woman and a little girl, who I’m guessing was her daughter, pick trash out of a dumpster behind a shopping center as I was driving home from Mother’s Day dinner.

Holy fuck, were they scrounging for food?

I quickly scribbled a few mental notes at the red light: my mom’s first Mother’s Day in seventy years without a mother. One day, as sure as sugar cookies, I will be motherless as well. And a tie in with these two poor souls dumpster diving.

But then, like the ice bucket challenge, these thoughts crashed over me, “You’re just going to write about this?? Do something about it NOW!”

I pulled a u-ey across the double yellow line with the precision of a stunt driver and then screeched into the shopping center.

I had time, in the seven seconds it took me to make that maneuver, to debate over how I was going to ask them to take a twenty-spot from me. And I also had time to remember that the universe, in its magnificence, would choreograph the dialogue perfectly so I had nothing to worry about.

But as soon as I got to the dumpster, they were getting into their relatively not so ancient Toyota Camry.

Maybe they just threw something out accidentally earlier in the night.

Or maybe, well, who the hell knows what. As long as they weren’t looking for sustenance, I’m alright with whatever.

So, what’s the moral of this story?

There isn’t one.

But thankfully, regardless of how much I’m succeeding or not succeeding, I at least can put my head down on the pillow tonight with no regrets.

Exactly as I do, night after night after night.

Thank you for taking the time to read these words and Happy Mother’s Day to all,
gb

P.S. The picture posted is of me, my mom and my dog Chuckles. But I was still marinating inside of her belly.

Get Oprah’s favorite book of all time here (although, as of today, she’s unaware of this fact):
Love Looks Like This

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