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

Archive for the tag “non-duality”

Jesus Picks His Nose

God wanted me to cram two egg and cheese bagels down my gullet this morning.

How do I know the divine’s hand intervened in my breakfast?

Because I ordered one bagel with two eggs and cheese from Dunkin’ Donuts and they handed me two bagels with eggs and cheese instead.

So, of course, I ate them both.

I mean, who am I to get in The Lord’s way?

Or, maybe, it was a test. To see if I’d actually exercise willpower in this situation and abstain from the second engulfing.

But I don’t think so.

Although, there’s really no way to be sure.

Maybe we’re not actually choosing between our choices. And if that’s the case, it would be more accurate to say that “we’re” not actually choosing between “our” choices.

Because what mystics and masters have been saying for thousands of years is now being proven by quantum physics: there’s only one of us.

Everything is one.

The seemingly separateness of the universe is an elaborate illusion.

With that out of the way, I happen to be at a Dunkin’ because one phone call lead to another, which lead me (or “me”) to walking into an auto mechanic shop which lead me to another. And since my car is there now, here I sit and wait.

About an hour ago, I felt something dangling around in my left nostril so I tried to surreptitiously fish it out with a napkin.

I looked up to see if there were any witnesses but all I noticed was an adorable little Asian boy being held by his mommy. And he, perfectly so, was also picking his nose.

Thirty minutes later, a knockout blonde wearing workout clothes waltzed in.

As I was checking her out, a guy working being the counter was also giving her the ol’ up-and-down. And then, like it was happening in a movie, the guy behind the counter gave me a quick look as if to say, “Hey brother, it’s a damn good day, right?”

These events, seemingly so insignificant, mean everything to me.

Because nothing is insignificant in oneness.

Especially with you and I.

Regardless of “space” and “time”.

And that’s one to grow on,


P.S. It’s now many hours later. After intense but rapid deliberation, I decided not to fix my car. Instead, I just hopped in a brand new one for a test spin. And I’m not sure what this means, but the song that came on as soon as I turned on the radio was R.E.M.’s “It’s The End Of The World As We Know It”

P.P.S Thank god for that second bagel because I’ve been at the dealership all damn day and haven’t had a bite to eat since.

P.P.P.S “And I feel fine.”

The loveliest little book you’ll ever own is to be bought here:
<a href=”
“>Love Looks Like This



How about this, take a fucking breath.

The two women next to me at Starbucks are whispering, loudly, about money and insurance and properties and about whose husband is doing what.

Enough already.


And It’s not just them. It’s basically the only thing I hear from everyone, always.

Listen, I know money is important in this life of ours. I’m not a shmuck.

But c’mon man, can you give it a rest just once in awhile?


It would be nice to hear someone talk half as passionately about art or music or movies or sex as they do about finances.

But no.

We are a society obsessed.

And we’re all in for a big fat surprise that’s hiding right out in the open.

peace bitches,

buy my goddamn books here:


Still Life (Talking)



Sweatpants, sweatshirt, warm slippers.

A squirrel is squirreling in the grass outside the kitchen window.

Moss outlines the bricks of the brick patio.



My mind?

At ease and still, like a painting of a pond.

But in a moment, the old ghosts return to haunt. I should be succeeding. Vanquishing. Proving myself. Making better use of the time.

Hmm, something is definitely different today though. The ghosts are just empty sheets with holes cut out for eyes.

They’re no longer the leads in this play and leave the stage just as quickly as they entered the scene.

Although I’ve been strangled by the feeling of insufficiency for as long as I’ve had language, the urge to impress anyone, even myself, now feels prehistoric.

I am enough.

Right here, right now, I am enough.

And I don’t care who else is on board with this. The squirrel knows what’s up though.

I am enough.

I certainty don’t invite it, but death could come today and I’d be okay with it.

I am complete.

I always have been.

And so are you.

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


Who’s Reading This? 



“Just remember that I love you.”

Through struggling breaths, my grandma said this to me last night from her hospital bed before I left for the night.

“I love you too,” I said in return.

My mom was completely convinced that her mom’s hospital bed was transitioning to her death bed.

Her death bed, by sun up.

I was on the fence about it, but just in case, I was comfortable with those final words.

They were perfect.

And with that, here she is today, miraculously better.

Even more evidence pointing to the universe’s marionette strings.

But why would the universe pull her to be snippy with my mom and exude zero gratefulness for anything?

I have no idea.

I won’t even hazard a guess.

Que sera sera is my only answer to the question “why”.


Without exception.

I’m just grateful, so incredibly grateful, for my health today, and so grateful, so incredibly grateful that I’m pulled to offer kindness often.

And just remember dear reader, I love you.

Yes, you.


I See Me In You

“Before I was born, before my parents were born, before the Earth cooled, and light years even before that, I already existed. For I am only consciousness. Perfect, pure, timeless, boundless consciousness. As are you. Because I am you. And you are me. We are one. And we are all there ever was and will ever be.” – gb


Consider You’re The Lilies

Although my first thought was, “What a careless, fucking asshole,” I am so grateful for my second thought.

Which was: I am so grateful to be the type of person who notices a flower with a damaged stem and does what he can to prop the little fella up.

I’m not taking any credit for this by the way. There’s no way to actually know where our thoughts manifest from. Free will? The butterfly effect since the Big Bang? Quantum calculations in neurons? God? Fate? Destiny? Complete chaos? Midi-chlorians?

Now back to the careless, fucking asshole.

My mom’s gardener.

I pulled into the driveway last night and saw that he must have stomped on the flower while doing the spring clean-up yesterday. And, as I’ve said, I’m so grateful for my thoughts.

I’m even more grateful to be the type of person who doesn’t automatically dismiss these types of thoughts and label them as “silly”, regardless of how I become conscious of them.

But this isn’t just any flower. It’s one that my dad planted years ago. And even after Hurricane Sandy destroyed our house and caused the sewage facility to overflow which destroyed the soil, my dad’s flowers persevered. They refused to be killed and thankfully, they keep coming back.

So, I got out of my car, gently lifted his little flower head and used one of his brothers to support his body.

The truth is though, I would have done this for any old flower.

Because the same mysterious force which animates a damaged flower, simultaneously animates my sister, and my mom, and you, and myself.

So how could I not extend a kindness if I’m in the position to do so?

Denying the impulse to do what I can, when I can, would be denying a kindness to myself, and that’s the ultimate unkindness.

Earlier I said that I’m not taking any credit for these thoughts. Trust me, I’m well aware there isn’t a long line of people waiting to dole out bushels of credit my way. I know my traits aren’t ranked high on society’s value list.

And I’m really okay with that. For better or worse, I can only be the expression of the universe that I am. I just do what I feel I must, so I can rest my head comfortably on my pillow before I sleep.

I’m not expecting a medal, nor do I think I deserve one.

Then why am I writing all of this?

Because I’m compelled to.

Because, if I remind just one person to connect with kindness, I’ve fulfilled my purpose.


thank you for trading your time to read my words – I’m truly grateful,

P.S. If you enjoyed this piece, please share it with your friends so they can enjoy it as well.

P.S.S. My mom’s gardener is actually a beautiful, gentle person. He’s a cancer survivor and after my dad died from cancer, he checks on my mom often to see if she’s okay. Which, I’m so grateful to say, she is.


Skin Deep And Deeper

Being beautiful can make you famous and being famous can make you beautiful.

It’s the latter I have a problem with.

Well, not really a problem, but it’s something I think about and it registers as a bit unfair and even unjust with me.

Walk into any Chipolte on any given day, and you’ll see at least five guys or girls who, if were famous, people would lose their fucking minds over.

Lose their minds, not only because they’re famous, but also because they’ll think these guys or girls are beautiful.

Why do I have/not-have a problem with this? Because goddammit, they’re already beautiful. And already should be inflicting onlookers with awe. But they’re totally overlooked and just blending in with the burritos.

Do you know what I’m saying?

Stick these chicks in the ridiculously redundant Divergent sequel and then, like clockwork, you’ll see them on the covers of Glamour and Cosmo. Everyone will want to be them or be with them. But now they’re nothing.

And that just sucks.

See what I mean?

Okay, let me put it this way: look at the picture of these two chicks I sneakily took. If you showed them to one hundred people, most would say they’re average looking. But shove them in some lame TV show, smear a little makeup on, somehow erase the memory of the hundred people so they don’t remember seeing the initial picture, and I bet ya everyone goes gloryhole gaga over them.

When I see someone, I try to remember to also see their inner essence. And as long as they don’t ruin it as soon as they open their mouth, I see them as being better looking than than most people do.

Why isn’t inner essence vision more commonplace? Because it will throw a wrench into the system. The system is set up to keep us separated and in competition. If we were taught to see beyond outer appearances, we’d end up seeing ourselves in everyone and in everything. And the powers that be can’t have that. Because the powers that be would soon be out of power.

Thank God for you and I.


Fish Are People Too

My sister’s neighbor knocked on the door yesterday. She was holding a fish.

Not in the palm of her hand mind you, but in a bowl.

It’s purple. Or purplish. And standard pet-fish size.

His name is Sushi.

My sister’s neighbor said, “Can you guys watch him for a week?”

“Sure,” I said.

She handed him to me and said, “If he ever looks dead, just tap on the glass.”

To that I asked, “But lets say he is dead?”

She didn’t respond.

I almost asked again, but she was already knee deep in the snow, halfway back to her house. I think she said she was going to Tampa.

I put the bowl on the dining room table, and then wrestled with my sister’s golden retriever in the den until we were both out of breath.

We were nose to nose on the floor. Staring into each other’s eyes.

I thought, “What’s the difference between this beautiful dog and Sushi? What’s the difference between me and Sushi?”

Gills aside, nothing.

So I did what I knew I had to.

I got up off of the floor and took a seat at the dining room table. It was just me and the fish.

But what do you say to a fish? A fish who lives alone, in a universe composed of only a couple of cups of water?

I felt a little weird, but I said the one thing I’d want to hear if roles we reversed.

I established eye contact as best I could, and with all sincerity I said, “I love you.”

I said it again and again and again.

I love you, I love you, I love you.

For about twenty seconds.

I swear he started to swim with more vigor.

As for me, I felt less of the world’s weight. At least for a little while.

“Love is composed of a single soul inhabiting two bodies.” – Aristotle


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