Jed Wolf

My dear friend Shirlee used the expression, “you’re harshing my mellow” today and I knew instantly I’d co-opt it. She’d left out the, “hey man,” part and without the 420 context, it sounded brilliant.

Not even the radio news could depress my manic good mood as I sped along, air conditioning blasting past pristine ocean dunes and recently bulldozed live oak canopies talking hands-free to my high school bud.

As a Libra, attempting to unite apposing certainties comes as naturally as chasing pheasants does to an Irish Setter. “Yet does the pursuit of anything ever end well?” I asked Shirlee who’d never suggest I try meditation.

As a kid, I’d often flush pheasants, ducks, cats and rats from a nearby fragmites swamp with my neighbor’s three-legged setter Mollie. She’d been hit by a car and one leg was basically useless, but that boney beauty never quit running ‘till heart-worm finally stopped her. Concerned about that same fate, in lieu of giving up the chase, (like all the best people I know,) I fling forward toward contentment trying to notice what keeps me from sinking my teeth into it.

Peace is hard. Simply replacing the preposition “or” in “fight or flight, “on or off” or “good or bad” with “and” or other new age techniques to turn stupidity into revelation, does little to assuage bird dogs. We require three glasses of wine to levitate, or something healthier that might stick like climbing the local lighthouse repeatedly to wear ourselves out, like I do. That’s where good energy comes from.

Poetry’s supposed to be a kind of shorthand into the very heart of things, but seems more suitable for those in repose. In his book, “An Exaltation of Larks” the author James Lipton (of all people,) host of Bravo’s star-studded, schlumpy “Actor’s Studio,” explored “nouns of assemblage” like “brow of scholars,” and “smack of jellyfish,” for fun, but “harshing my mellow” has practical use.

As humans blundering toward nirvana, often bored with philosophy, impatient with beauty and each other…, a mellow state of mind is handy. I’m proof it’s achievable without pot or alcohol but it’s a drag when harshness of any kind disturbs it.

As those of us yet to be plucked from this paradoxical world must learn the hard way, peace is an inside job. Blaming is folly. Pointing at anything as the source of our negativity perpetuates it, yet pretending we’re okay when we’re clearly not is as pointless as lecturing a Debbie Downer.

Searching for balance these days means countering harsh paradoxes effectively. Throwing our weight or love around is dangerous while grains of insight lay ignored. The good news is, there’s a gentle alternative to simply allowing others to irk us.

Unlike “you’re disturbing my peace,” “you’re harshing my mellow” with it’s stoner overtones feels merciful and playful – a perfect reaction to our trigger happy world. Unlike a call to arms, condescending reminder, biblical warning or blame, as I pursue myself through the muck, simply turning “harsh” into a verb and “mellow” to a noun seems utterly relevant.