I’m beginning to feel a disconnect between my behaviours and my intentions. I seem to be having issues accepting my default operative because I can’t shake this feeling that I could be doing more.

This parasitic idea of doing more has invaded my consciousness over the past few years. So much so that it has begun attacking my creativity and it has only been through altered states of consciousness that I’ve identified this issue. When I’m intoxicated, the incessant, badgering thoughts about my dismal production output slowly fade out. What’s left is this overwhelming calm and a pride for what I have created. I no longer feel self contempt or the burdensome pressure to be better. I think “you know what Dyl, you’ve done alright. You know what Dyl, just keep following your passions and be happy if and when by-products of these pursuits arise.”

But I can’t harness this sober.

It’s resistance. Powerful, disheartening, fist-clenched-in-my-mouth resistance. And I think it may be a product of my hyper-active mind. The innumerable and utterly indiscriminate thoughts that cycle through my consciousness each day seem rarely to take any meaningful trajectory. What’s it all for?” It’s thought for the sake of thought. And it’s exhausting.

But what can be done? How can I trace this problem back to it’s source so that my apprehensions can give way to pure and potent creativity? How do I achieve thoughts that can be embraced and explored, thoughts that can link to one another to create a chain of ideas, ideas that begin resonating preliminary truths, preliminary truths that brick the foundation of ideologies, ideologies that create a substantial and unique perspective allowing meaning to arise, meaning that inspires security and a sense of peace in an otherwise chaotic world?

That’s the million dollar question.

I’ve thought about meditation. And I’ve made a vain attempt at harnessing that sort of ‘inverted energy’, that lack of action, that recession from thought. It’s hard work and at a time when no idea protrudes out of my consciousness as the one to follow, it’s extremely difficult to stick with.

And then there’s the distraction factor.

I have recently realized how tremendously stimulating my life is. The music, the friends, the music festivals with friends, the work, the workouts, the driving to and from, the instrumental babble with people that hardly matter, the deep, inspiring conversations with friends into the late hours of the night discussing the nature of the universe, the screens, the text messages, the misdirected lust, the hopeless anticipation of future items that may never materialize or the future perspectives what will never manifest.

It’s mayhem.

It’s not that I don’t like having lots on the go and basking in the varieties of life, don’t get me wrong. It’s that I feel no cohesion or development across time from these experiences. It’s like my consciousness is a carousel and things jump on and off the endless loop at their own discretion. It’s like all the thoughts are competing to reach the center, against centrifugal forces, wherein intention will manifest them. It’s a slew of entities battling their counterparts: action with contemplation, wonder with indifference, faith with cynicism, hate with love. And even though this carousel resides in my conscious mind, the very production centre of thoughts and perceptions, I don’t seem to be manning the ride.

Life’s messy, Mom says, and she’s right.  But how do you make sense of it? All the streams of input and their loose relationship with output?

It all comes down to this disconnect. And I feel like this struggle only occurs to those with enough inflection to trip the issue. There’s a sort of threshold intellect necessary to even consider this controversy and experience this discomfort.

I have a friend, let’s call him Harry. Harry is a wonderfully simple person. He sees not much use for planning, delay of gratification, or questioning the nature of reality. He lives in a constant stream of popular media, mildly involving relationships and, unless my 5 years of observation renders erroneous conclusions, instrumental thought.

I receive little more than awkward nods and one word answers when I attempt to talk to him about the perplexing theory of supersymmetry, how it is that the moon and the sun, at 2 astronomically different distances from earth, cast the same size circle in the sky, or even about how crazy it is that engineers in Dubai felt the need to build the Burj Khalifa nearly a freaking kilometer tall. Naturally I have ceased badgering him with my wondrous thoughts.

But do the binding hands of procrastination even grip somebody with a consciousness like this? Because in order to be procrastinating, you need to identify it as procrastinating. In order to feel inertia, you need to reference forwards and backwards. I truly envy Harry’s ability to live in the moment and not strain his mind with ideas of what he could become if he tried a little harder, if he obtained a little more information, if he sought insight from those he idolizes, if he put the gear selector into drive a little more often and sped towards a goal.

But I’ll simply never be this way.

Again, it all comes back to the disconnect. To the bridging of the gap between intent and behaviour. To getting to a place where you can just be, free of pestering forethought and menacing memories, still able to visit complex ideas, build upon them, and extract meaning.

Will I ever get there? Who knows.