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  • Dr. Ted Klontz

Random Thoughts - March 2024

Updated: Mar 27

Random Thoughts - March 2024Read by Ted Klontz

I have referred to a person’s authentic self as the “soul.”  The essence of who we are.  I have a hunch that to the degree that this authentic self or soul, is ‘caged,’ is related to how life seems to us and ultimately how we act.  Pets, zoo animals, lab animals and human beings are the only parts of mammalian nature that I am aware of that experience what some call pathological behaviors.  Perhaps not pathology at all?  Perhaps nothing more than somewhat predictable aberrations one should expect when the essence of human nature is caged, restricted, controlled?


We do that with trees too.  We “Bonsai” them and have to keep at it, because the tree keeps trying to escape, grow in their own way.  As far as I know, we don’t consider that behavior pathological, but logical.         


“Times, they are a changing….”  I went to my favorite diner and asked for my usual bowl of oatmeal.  “We don’t have that anymore; you were the only one who ever asked for it.”  Ok.  And then I travelled back to Ohio and went to a restaurant that dates from my childhood.  “Sorry, we don’t have corn meal mush, nor do we have a sausage sandwich (sausage patty on a bun) anymore.”  Sad.  Thought of the song, which has a line that I converted to “Hit the road, Ted, no mush, no more, no more, no more, hit the road Ted, ain’t gonna get no mush, no more…” (Unless I make it.)    


I’m sitting in a restaurant looking at an old, exposed brick wall in an old building in Cambridge that has been “gentrified.”   I was looking at a wall where the original masons used scraps, end pieces, stones, and broken brick to build it, knowing it would be covered up with plaster, or wood; who never imagined that anyone would ever see it. I wonder what thoughts would go through their minds if they saw it today.  Laughter (at us)?  Embarrassment?


If you grew up among cattle, the term “I cut my foot” has a different meaning than those who didn’t.  You’d laugh, instead of scrambling for the first aid kit.


I wonder why when surprised, nearly everyone covers their mouth.  Afraid something is going to come out?  Be sucked in?


They are coming to get us.  So, there are a lot of people making a lot of money and getting a lot of mileage out of making stuff up.  Did you hear of the latest conspiracy theory?  Remember when no one seemed to have a peanut allergy?  It’s all about President Jimmy Carter’s revenge for losing his re-election campaign.  Think that’s just a coincidence?  Think that those two things are not connected?  Well, you are among the sheep being led to the slaughter I’m told.     

And you don’t even want think about the Weiner-Mobile and the threat it represents to the soul of American youth…….


And the final one for now.  Do you think it is just a coincidence that some people put their name tags on the left side of their chest, while others put theirs on the right, and yet others put theirs in the middle?  Think again.  Trust me, it’s a secret handshake, a secret society organized and led by those who would destroy us.  Don’t believe me?  Next time, if you dare, put your name tag on the other side or in the middle and just see what happens.  😊 


Would it be too much to ask English Muffin Makers to cut the fricking things all the way in half?  Can you imagine trying to get a slice of bread out of the wrapper that isn’t cut all the way from top to bottom?  I’m sure there is a reason, or maybe not.  And while I am at it, I would love to sit down with the design team and watch them try to open the “Tear Here” package without using their teeth or a pair of scissors, or a fork, or a knife, or an axe, or a torch….. 


I was thinking the other day that a teacher, mentor or guide actually is doing a disservice if in how they are with the seeker, they don’t empower their student(s) seeker to develop their ability to gently know, embrace, and trust their own truth.    

I was talking with my friend Dick, about what we both see as the impending head-on crash of how we humans live our lives, extracting far more of the universe’s resources than we give back.  We were speculating on how different the world of our young descendants will be than the one we grew up in and wondering what we could do about it.  He mentioned, “Hospice.”  I immediately said, “Of course, palliative care,”  that’s what I can do.  As the Titanic’s orchestra did, get our instruments out and play as much beautiful music as we can, while we can, and hope (against hope) that the Carpathian (or the moon, or mars, or Elon, or….) will come to our rescue.  Reducing the anxiety for the inevitable.  Like the Titanic, this earth will not go away, it just may very well just not be able to support human life as we have known it.


I came up with a term, “Pseudo Intimacy” to describe how I see so many try to satiate their need to connect in real and authentic ways.  I was thinking about the various things people do to seek a sense of meaning and connection.  Alcohol, other drugs, parties and social media are just a few popular ways.  Since it is pseudo, not the real thing, there is never enough.  But at least it is something to chew on, like an old piece of leather, better than nothing at all.   


Speaking of which, I saw where Netflix offered money for those who enter a contest for who could name the most binge worthy series.  There is only one way that someone would know that.  So, I guess I could add that to the above list.


I practice, from time to time, capturing a delightful moment at the end of my day.  Yesterday, the shuttle driver taking me to my rental car had to be one of the most loving souls I’ve ever witnessed.  


Very early, one dark morning last week in Austin, a man by the name of Wally (I found out later), was walking towards me.  He had long, stringy, disheveled hair, an unkempt beard, ragged clothes, and mismatched gloves.  As he got closer, he asked me if I had a dollar.  I told him “No, I’m sorry, I don’t.”  His head dropped so far down, I thought he might fold in half.  “All I have is a twenty, here you go,” and handed it to him.  He said, “Really?”  I said “Yep.”  He looked down at the bill, looked up and burst into tears.  He said through his sobs, “My name is Wally,” and over the next few minutes, told me his life story.   I know, I know, he could have mugged me.  Knifed me.  Shot me.  Beat me up.  If I ever get killed by someone, let it be because I was trying to do something to help them.     



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