SA's Second Series by Ralph Waldo Emerson. SA-1 The Poet Read by Bob Neufeld. A moody child and wildly wise pursued the game with joyful eyes, which chose like meteors their way, and rived the dark with private ray. They overleapt the horizon's edge, searched with Apollo's privilege. Through man and woman and sea and star saw the dance of nature forward far. Through words and races and terms and times saw musical order and pairing rhymes. Olympian bards who sung divine ideas below, which always find us young, and always keep us so. Those who are esteemed umpires of taste are often persons who have acquired some knowledge of admired pictures or sculptures, and have an inclination for whatever is elegant.  Their cultivation is local, as if you should rub a log of dry wood in one spot to produce fire, all the rest remaining cold. Their knowledge of the fine arts is some study of rules in particulars, or some limited judgment of color or form which is exercised for amusement or for show. It is a proof of the shallowness of the doctrine of beauty as it lies in the minds of our amateurs, that men seem to have lost the perception of the instant dependence of form upon soul. There is no doctrine of forms in our philosophy. We were put into our bodies, as fire is put into a pan to be carried about, that there is no accurate adjustment between the spirit and the organ, much less is the latter the germination of the former. So in regard to other forms, the intellectual men do not believe in any essential dependence of the material world on thought and volition. Theologians think it a pretty air castle to talk of the spiritual meaning of a ship or a cloud, of a city or a contract, but they prefer to come again to the solid ground of historical evidence, and even the poets are contented with a civil and conformed manner of living, and to write poems from the fancy, at a safe distance from their own experience. But the highest minds of the world have never ceased to explore the double meaning, or shall I say the quadruple or the centupal or much more manifold meaning of every sensuous fact — Orpheus, Empedocles, Heraclitus, Plato, Plutarch, Dante, Swedenborg, and the masters of sculpture, picture, and poetry. For we are not pans and barrows, nor even porters of the fire and touch-bearers, but children of the fire, made of it, and only the same divinity transmuted and at two or three removes, when we know least about it. And this sudden truth, that the fountains whence all this river of time and its creatures floweth are intrinsically ideal and beautiful, draws us to the consideration of the nature and functions of the poet, or the man of beauty, to the means and materials he uses, into the general aspect of the art in the present time. The breadth of the problem is great, for the poet is representative. He stands among partial men for the complete man, and apprises us not of his wealth, but of the common wealth. The young man reveres men of genius, because, to speak truly, they are more himself than he is. They receive of the soul as he also receives, but they more. Nature enhances her beauty to the eye of loving men, from their belief that the poet is beholding her shows at the same time. He is isolated among his contemporaries by truth and by his art, but with this consolation in his pursuits, that they will draw all men sooner or later, for all men live by truth and stand in need of expression. In love, in arts, in avarice, in politics, in labor, in games, we study to utter our painful secret. The man is only half himself. The other half is his expression. Notwithstanding this necessity to be published, adequate expression is rare. I know not how it is that we need an interpreter, but the great majority of men seem to be miners who have yet come into possession of their own, or mutes who cannot report the conversation they have had with nature. There is no man who does not anticipate a super sensual utility in the sun and stars, earth and water. These stand and wait to render him a peculiar service, but there is some obstruction or some excess of phlegm in our constitution, which does not suffer them to yield the due effect. Two feeble fall the impressions of nature on us to make us artists. Every touch should thrill. Every man should be so much an artist that he could report in conversation what had befallen him. Yet in our experience the rays or impulses have sufficient force to arrive at the senses, but not enough to reach the quick and compel the reproduction of themselves in speech. The poet is the person in whom these powers are in balance, the man without impediment, who sees and handles that which others dream of, traverses the whole scale of experience and is representative of man, in virtue of being the largest power to receive and to impart. For the universe has three children, born at one time, which appear under different names in every system of thought, whether they be called cause, operation, and effect, or more poetically, Jove, Pluto, Neptune, or theologically, the Father, the Spirit, and the Son, but which we will call here the knower, the doer, and the sayer. These stand respectively for the love of truth, for the love of good, and for the love of beauty. These three are equal. Each is that which he is essentially, so that he cannot be surmounted or analyzed, and each of these three has the power of the others latent in him and his own patent. The poet is the sayer, the namer, and represents beauty. He is a sovereign and stands on the center. For the world is not painted or adorned but is from the beginning beautiful, and God has made some beautiful things, but beauty is the creator of the universe. Therefore the poet is not any permissive potentate, but is emperor in his own right. Criticism is infested with a cant of materialism, which assumes that manual skill and activity is the first merit of all men and disparages such as say and do not, overlooking the fact that some men, namely poets, are natural sayers, sent into the world to the end of expression and confounds them with those whose province is action but who quit it to imitate the sayers. But Homer's words are as costly and admirable to Homer as Agamemnon's victories are to Agamemnon. The poet does not wait for the hero or the sage, but as they act and think primarily, he writes primarily what will and must be spoken, reckoning the others, though primaries also, yet in respect to him secondaries and servants, as sitters or models in the studio of a painter, or as assistants who bring building materials to an architect. For poetry was all written before time was, and whenever we are so finely organized that we can penetrate into that region where the air is music, we hear those primal warblings and attempt to write them down, but we lose ever and anon a word or a verse and substitute something of our own and thus miswrite the poem. The men of more delicate ear write down these cadences more faithfully, and these transcripts, though imperfect, become the songs of the nations. For nature is as truly beautiful as it is good, or as it is reasonable, and must as much appear as it must be done or be known. Words and deeds are quite indifferent modes of the divine energy. Words are also actions, and actions are a kind of words. The sign and credentials of the poet are that he announces that which no man foretold. He is the true and only doctor. He knows and tells. He is the only teller of news, for he was present and privy to the appearance which he describes. He is a beholder of ideas and an utterer of the necessary and causal, for we do not speak now of men of poetical talents or of industry and skill in meter, but of the true poet. I took part in a conversation the other day concerning a recent writer of lyrics, a man of subtle mind whose head appeared to be a music box of delicate tunes and rhythms, and whose skill and command of language we could not sufficiently praise. But when the question arose whether he was not only a lyricist but a poet, we were obliged to confess that he is plainly a contemporary, not an eternal man. He does not stand out of our low limitations like a chimborazo under the line, running up from the torrid base through all the climates of the globe, with bells of the herbage of every latitude on its high and mottled sides. But this genius is the landscape garden of a modern house, adorned with fountains and statues, with well-bred men and women standing and sitting in the walks and terraces. We hear, through all the varied music, the ground-tone of conventional life. Our poets are men of talents who sing, and not the children of music. The argument is secondary. The finish of the verses is primary. For it is not meters, but a meter-making argument that makes the poem. A thought so passionate and alive, that like the spirit of a plant or an animal, it has an architecture of its own, and adorns nature with a new thing. The thought and the form are equal in the order of time, but in the order of Genesis the thought is prior to the form. The poet has a new thought. He has a whole new experience to unfold. He will tell us how it was with him, and all men will be the richer in his fortune. For the experience of each new age requires a new confession, and the world seems always waiting for its poet. I remember when I was young how much I was moved one morning by tidings that genius had appeared in a youth who sat near me at table. He had left his work and gone rambling, none knew wither, and had written hundreds of lines, but could not tell whether that which was in him was there in told. He could tell nothing but that all was changed, man, beast, heaven, earth, and sea. How gladly we listened! How credulous! Society seemed to be compromised. We sat in the aurora of a sunrise which was to put out all the stars. Boston seemed to be at twice the distance it had the night before, or was much farther than that. Rome? What was Rome? Plutarch and Shakespeare were in the yellow leaf, and Homer no more should be heard of. It is much to know that poetry has been written this very day, under this very roof, by your side. What! That wonderful spirit has not expired! These stony moments are still sparkling and animated. I had fancied that the oracles were all silent, and nature had spent her fires, and behold, all night from every pore, these fine auroras have been streaming. Everyone has some interest in the advent of the poet, and no one knows how much it may concern him. We know that the secret of the world is profound, but who or what shall be our interpreter? We know not. A mountain ramble, a new style of face, a new person may put the key into our hands. Of course, the value of genius to us is in the veracity of its report. Talent may frolic and juggle, genius realizes and adds. Mankind in good earnest have availed so far in understanding themselves and their work that the foremost watchman on the peak announces his news. It is the truest word ever spoken, and the phrase will be the fittest, most musical, and the unearing voice of the world for that time. All that we call sacred history attests that the birth of a poet is the principal event in chronology. Man, never so often deceived, still watches for the arrival of a brother who can hold him steady to a truth until he has made it his own. With what joy I begin to read a poem, which I confide in as an inspiration. And now my chains are to be broken. I shall mount above those clouds and opaque airs in which I live, opaque though they seem transparent. And from the heaven of truth I shall see and comprehend my relations, that will reconcile me to life and renovate nature, to see trifles animated by a tendency, and to know what I am doing. Life will no more be a noise. Now I shall see men and women, and know the signs by which they may be discerned from fools and satans. This day shall be better than my birthday. Then I became an animal. Now I am invited into the science of the real. Such is the hope, but the fruition is postponed. Oftener it falls that this winged man who will carry me into the heaven whirls me into mists, then leaps and frisks about with me as if it were from cloud to cloud, still affirming that he is bound heavenward, that I, being myself a novice, am slow in perceiving that he does not know the way into the heavens, and is merely bent that I should admire his skill to rise like a fowl or a flying fish a little away from the ground or the water. But the all-piercing, all-feeding and ocular air of heaven that man shall never inhabit. I tumble down again soon into my old nooks, and lead the life of exaggerations as before, and have lost my faith in the possibility of any guide who can lead me thither where I would be. But, leaving these victims of vanity, let us, with new hope, observe how nature, by worthier impulses, has ensured the poet's fidelity to his office of announcement and affirming, namely by the beauty of things which becomes a new and a higher beauty when expressed. Nature offers all her creatures to him as a picture language. Being used as a type, a second wonderful value appears in the object, far better than its old value, as the carpenter's stretched cord, if you hold your ear close enough, is musical in the breeze. Things more excellent than every image, says Yom Blikus, are expressed through images. Things admit of being used as symbols, because nature is a symbol in the whole and in every part. Every line we can draw in the sand has expression, and there is nobody without its spirit or genius. All form is an effect of character, all condition of the quality of the life, all harmony of health, and for this reason a perception of beauty should be sympathetic or proper only to the good. The beautiful rests on the foundations of the necessary. The soul makes the body as the wise Spencer teaches, so every spirit, as it is most pure, and hath in it the more of heavenly light, so it the fairer body doth procure to inhabit it, and it more fairly dite, with cheerful grace and amiable sight, for of the soul the body form doth take, for soul is form, and doth the body make. Here we find ourselves suddenly not in a critical speculation, but in a holy place, and should go very warily and reverently. We stand before the secret of the world, there where being passes into appearance and unity into variety. The universe is the externation of the soul. Whatever the life is, that bursts into appearance around it. Our science is sensual, and therefore superficial. The earth and the heavenly bodies, physics and chemistry we sensually treat, as if they were self-existent, but these are the retinue of that being we have. The mighty heaven, said Proclus, exhibits in its transfigurations clear images of the splendor of intellectual perceptions being moved in conjunction with the unapparent periods of intellectual natures. Therefore science always goes abreast with the just elevation of the man, heaping sapped with religion and metaphysics, for the state of science is an index of our self-knowledge. Since everything in nature answers to a moral power, if any phenomenon remains brute and dark, it is that the corresponding faculty in the observer is not yet active. No wonder, then, if these waters be so deep, that we hover over them with a religious regard. The beauty of the fable proves the importance of the sense, to the poets and to all other. Or, if you please, every man is so far a poet as to be susceptible of these enchantments of nature, for all men have the thoughts whereof the universe is the celebration. I find that the fascination resides in the symbol, who loves nature, who does not. Is it only poets and men of leisure and cultivation who live with her? No, but also hunters, farmers, grooms and butchers, though they express their affection in their choice of life and not in their choice of words. The writer wonders what the coachman or the hunter values in riding, in horses and dogs. It is not superficial quality. When you talk with him, he holds these at as slight a rate as you. His worship is sympathetic. He has no definitions, but he is commanded in nature by the living power which he feels to be there present. No imitation or playing of these things would content him. He loves the earnest of the north wind, of rain, of stone, and wood and iron. A beauty not explicable is dearer than a beauty which we can see to the end of. It is nature the symbol, nature certifying the supernatural body overflowed by life, which he worships with course but sincere rites. The inwardness and mystery of this attachment drives men of every class to the use of emblems. The schools of poets and philosophers are not more intoxicated with their symbols than the populace with their. In our political parties, compute the power of badges and emblems. See the great ball which they roll from Baltimore to Bunker Hill. In the political processions, Lowell goes in a loom and Lynn in a shoe and Salem in a ship. Witness the cider barrel, the log cabin, the hickory stick, the palm meadow, and all the cognizances of party. See the power of national emblems. Some stars, lilies, leopards, a crescent, a lion, an eagle, or other figure which come into credit, God knows how, on an old rag of bunting, blowing in the wind on a fort at the ends of the earth, shall make the blood tingled under the rudest or the most conventional exterior.  Beyond this universality of the symbolic language, we are apprised of the divineness of the superior use of things. Whereby the world is a temple, whose walls are covered with emblems, pictures, and commandments of the deity. In this, there is no fact in nature which does not carry the whole sense of nature, and the distinctions which we make in the events and in affairs of low and high, honest and base disappear when nature is used as a symbol. Thought makes everything fit for use. The vocabulary of an omniscient man would embrace words and images excluded from polite conversation. What would be base or even obscene to the obscene becomes illustrious, spoken in a new connection of thought. The piety of the Hebrew prophets purges their grossness. The circumcision is an example of the power of poetry to raise the low and offensive. Small and mean things serve as well as great symbols. The meaner the type by which a law is expressed, the more punctioned it is, and the more lasting in the memories of man. Just as we choose the smallest box or case in which any needful utensful can be carried. Bare lists of words are found suggestive to an imaginative and excited mind, as it is related of Lord Chatham that he was accustomed to read in Bailey's dictionary when he was preparing to speak in Parliament. The poorest experience is rich enough for all the purposes of expressing thought. Why cover the knowledge of new facts? Day and night, house and garden, a few books, a few actions serve us as well as would all trades and all spectacles. We are far from having exhausted the significance of the few symbols we use. We can come to use them yet with a terrible simplicity. It does not need that a poem should be long. Every word was once a poem. Every new relation is a new word. Also, we use defects and deformities to a sacred purpose, so expressing our sense that the evils of the world are such only to the evil eye. In the old mythology, mythologists observe, defects were ascribed to divine natures as lameness to Vulcan, blindness to Cupid, and the like to signify exuberance. For as it is dislocation and detachment from the life of God that makes things ugly, the poet, who reattaches things to nature and the whole, reattaching even artificial things and violations of nature to nature by a deeper insight, disposes very easily of the most disagreeable facts. Readers of poetry see the factory village and the railway, and fancy that the poetry of the landscape is broken up by these, for these works of art are not yet consecrated in their reading. But the poet sees them fall within the great order, not less than the beehive, or the spider's geometrical web. Nature adopts them very fast into her vital circles, and the gliding train of cars she loves like her own. Besides, in a centred mind, it signifies nothing how many mechanical inventions you exhibit. Though you add millions, and never so surprising, the fact of mechanics has not gained a grain's weight. The spiritual fact remains unalterable, by many or by few particulars, as no mountain is of any appreciable height to break the curve of the sphere. A shrewd country boy goes to the city for the first time, and the complacent citizen is not satisfied with his little wonder. It is not that he does not see all the fine houses and know that he never saw such before, but he disposes of them as easily as the poet finds place for the railway. The chief value of the new fact is to enhance the great and constant fact of life, which can dwarf any and every circumstance, and to which the bells of Wampum and the commerce of America are alike. The world being thus put under the mind for verb and noun, the poet is he who can articulate it. For though life is great and fascinates and absorbs, and though all men are intelligent of the symbols through which it is named, yet they cannot originally use them. We are symbols and inhabit symbols, workmen, work and tools, words and things, birth and death, all are emblems. But we sympathize with the symbols, and being infatuated with the economical uses of things, we do not know that they are thoughts.  He perceives the independence of the thought on the symbol, the stability of the thought, the accident and fugacity of the symbol. As the eyes of Lincaeus were said to see through the earth, so the poet turns the world to glass and shows us all things in their right series and procession. For through that better perception he stands one step nearer to things, and sees the flowing or metamorphosis, perceives that thought is multi-form, that within the form of every creature is a force impelling it to ascend into a higher form, and following with his eyes the life uses the forms which express that life, and so his speech flows with the flowing of nature. All the facts of the animal economy, sex, nutriment, gestation, birth, growth, are symbols of the passage of the world into the soul of man, and to suffer there a change and reappear anew and higher fact. He uses forms according to the life, and not according to the form. This is true science. The poet alone knows astronomy, chemistry, vegetation, and animation, for he does not stop at these facts, but employs them as signs. He knows why the plane or meadow or space was strewn with these flowers we call suns and moons and stars, why the great deep is adorned with animals, with men and gods, for in every word he speaks he rides on them as the horses of thought. By virtue of this science the poet is the namer or language maker, naming things sometimes after their appearance, sometimes after their essence, and giving to everyone its own name and not another's, thereby rejoicing the intellect which delights in detachment or boundary. The poets made all the words, and therefore language is the archives of history, and, if we must say it, a sort of tomb of the muses. For though the origin of most of our words is forgotten, each word was at first a stroke of genius and obtained currency because for the moment it symbolized the world to the first speaker and to the hearer. The etymologist finds the deadest word to have been once a brilliant picture. Language is fossil poetry. As the limestone of the continent consists of infinite masses of the shells of animalcules, so language is made up of images or tropes, which now in their secondary use have long ceased to remind us of their poetic origin. But the poet names the thing before he sees it and comes one step nearer to it than any other. This expression or naming is not art, but a second nature grown out of the first as a leaf out of a tree. What we call nature is a certain self-regulated motion or change. A nature does all things by her own hands and does not leave another to baptize her, but baptizes herself, and this through the metamorphosis again. I remember that a certain poet described it to me thus. Genius is the activity which repairs the decays of things, whether wholly or partly of a material and finite kind. Nature, through all her kingdoms, ensures herself. Nobody cares for planting the poor fungus. So she shakes down from the gills of one agaric countless spores, any one of which, being preserved, transmits new billions of spores tomorrow or next day. The new agaric of this hour has a chance which the old one had not. This atom of seen is thrown into a new place, not subject to the accidents which destroyed its parents two rods off. She makes a man, and having brought him to ripe age, she will no longer run the risk of losing this wonder at a blow, but she detaches from him a new self, that the kind may be safe from accidents to which the individual is exposed. So when the soul of the poet has come to ripeness of thought, she detaches and sends away from it its poems or songs. A fearless, sleepless, deathless progeny, which is not exposed to the accidents of the weary kingdom of time. A fearless, vivacious offspring, clad with wings, such was the virtue of the soul out of which they came, which carry them fast and far, and infix them irrevocably into the hearts of men. These wings are the beauty of the poet's soul. The songs, those flying immortal from their mortal parent, are pursued by clamorous flights of censures, which swarm in far greater numbers and threaten to devour them. But these last are not winged. At the end of a very short leap they fall plump down and wrought, having received from the souls out of which they came no beautiful wings. At the melodies of the poet ascend and leap and pierce into the depths of infinite time. So far the bard taught me, using his freer speech. But nature has a higher end in the production of new individuals than security, namely ascension, or the passage of the soul into higher forms. I knew in my younger days the sculptor who made the statue of the youth which stands in the public garden. He was, as I remember, unable to tell directly what made him happy or unhappy, but by wonderful indirections he could tell. He rose one day according to his habit before the dawn and saw the morning break, grand as the eternity out of which it came, and for many days after he strove to express this tranquility.  The poet also resigns himself to this mood, and that which agitated him is expressed but altered him in a manner totally new. The expression is organic, or the new type which things themselves take when liberated. As in the sun, objects paint their images on the retina of the eye, so they, sharing the aspiration of the whole universe, tend to paint a far more delicate copy of their essence in his mind. Like the metamorphosis of things into higher organic forms is their change into melodies. Over everything stands its demon or soul, and as the form of the thing is reflected by the eye, so the soul of the thing is reflected by a melody. The sea, the mountain ridge, Niagara, and every flower bed pre-exist or super-exist in pre-cantations, which sail like odors in the air, and when any man goes by with an ear sufficiently fine, he overhears them and endeavors to write down the notes without deluding or depraving them. And herein is the legitimation of criticism. In the mind's faith that the poems are a corrupt version of some text in nature with which they ought to be made to tally. A rhyme in one of our sonnets should not be less pleasing than the iterated notes of a seashell, or the resembling difference of a group of flowers. The pairing of the birds is an idol, not tedious as our idols are. A tempest is a rough ode without falsehood or rant. A summer with its harvest sown, reaped, and stored is an epic song subordinating how many admirably executed parts. Why should not the symmetry and truth that modulate these, and we participate in the invention of nature? This insight, which expresses itself by what is called imagination, is a very high sort of seeing, which does not come by study, but by the intellect being where and what it sees, by sharing the path or circuit of things through forms, and so making them translucent to others. The path of things is silent. Will they suffer a speaker to go with them? A spy they will not suffer. A lover, a poet, is the transcendency of their own nature. Him they will suffer. The condition of true naming, on the poet's part, is his resigning himself to the divine aura which breathes through forms, and accompanying that. It is a secret which every intellectual man quickly learns, that beyond the energy of his possessed and conscious intellect he is capable of a new energy, as of an intellect doubled on itself, by abandonments to the nature of things, that beside his privacy of power as an individual man, there is a great public power on which he can draw, by unlocking at all risks his human doors, and suffering the ethereal tides to roll and circulate through him. Then he is caught up into the life of the universe. His speech is thunder, his thought is law, and his words are universally intelligible as the plants and animals. The poet knows that he speaks adequately then only when he speaks somewhat wildly, or with the flower of the mind, not with the intellect used as an organ, but with the intellect released from all service and suffered to take its direction from its celestial life, or as the ancients were wont to express themselves, not with intellect alone, but with the intellect inebriated by nectar. As the traveller who has lost his way throws his reins on his horse's neck, and trusts to the instinct of the animal to find his road, so must we do with the divine animal who carries us through this world. For if in any manner we can stimulate this instinct, new passages are open for us into nature, the mind flows into and through things hardest and highest, and the metamorphosis possible. This is the reason why bards love wine, mead, narcotics, coffee, tea, opium, the fumes of sandalwood and tobacco, or whatever other procurers of animal exhilaration. All men avail themselves of such means as they can to add this extraordinary power to their normal powers, and to this end they prize conversation, music, pictures, sculpture, dancing, theatres, travelling, war, mobs, fires, gaming, politics, or love, or science, or animal intoxication, which are several coarser or finer quasi-mechanical substitutes for the true nectar, which is the ravishment of the intellect by coming nearer to the fact. These are auxiliaries to the centrifugal tendency of a man, to his passage out into free space, and they help him to escape the custody of that body in which he is pent up, and of that jail-yard of individual relations in which he is enclosed. Hence a great number of such, as were professionally expressors of beauty, as painters, poets, musicians, and actors, have been more than others want to lead a life of pleasure and indulgence. All but the few who received the true nectar, and as it was a spurious mode of attaining freedom, as it was an emancipation not into the heavens, but into the freedom of baser places, they were punished for that advantage they won by a dissipation and deterioration. But never can any advantage be taken of nature by a trick. The spirit of the world, a great, calm presence of the Creator, comes not forth to the sorceries of opium or of wine. The sublime vision comes to the pure and simple soul in a clean and chaste body. That is not an inspiration which we owe to narcotics, but some counterfeit excitement and fury. Milton says that the lyric poet may drink wine and live generously, but the epic poet, he who shall sing of the gods and their descent unto men, must drink water out of a wooden bowl. For poetry is not devil's wine, but God's wine. It is with this as it is with toys. We fill the hands and nurseries of our children with all manner of dolls, drums, and horses, withdrawing their eyes from the plain face and sufficing objects of nature, the sun and moon, the animals, the water, and stones, which should be their toy. So the poet's habit of living should be set on a key so low that the common influences should delight him. His cheerfulness should be the gift of the sunlight. The air should suffice for his inspiration, and he should be tipsy with water. That spirit which suffices quiet hearts, which seems to come forth to such from every dry knoll of seragrass, from every pine stump and half-embedded stone on which the dull mart's sun shines, comes forth to the poor and hungry, and such as are of simple taste. If thou fill thy brain with Boston and New York, with fashion and covetousness, and wilt stimulate thy jaded senses with wine and French coffee, thou shalt find no radiance of wisdom in the lonely waste of the pine wood. If the imagination intoxicates the poet, it is not interactive in other men. The metamorphosis excites in the beholder an emotion of joy. The use of souls has a certain power of emancipation and exhilaration for all men. We seem to be touched by a wand which makes us dance and run about happily like children. We are like persons who come out of a cave or cellar into the open air. This is the effect on us of tropes, fables, oracles, and all poetic forms. Poets are thus liberating gods. Men have really got a new sense and found within their world another world, or Nesta worlds, for the metamorphosis once seen, we divine that it does not stop. I will not now consider how much this makes the charm of algebra and the mathematics, which also have their tropes, but it is felt in every definition, as when Aristotle defines space to be an immovable vessel in which things are contained, and when Plato defines a line to be a flowing point, or figure to be a bound of solid, and many the like. What a joyful sense of freedom we have when Vitruvius announces the old opinion of artists that no architect can build any house well who does not know something of anatomy. When Socrates in comedies tells us that the soul is cured of its maladies by certain incantations, and that these incantations are beautiful reasons from which temperance is generated in souls, when Plato calls the world an animal, when Timaeus affirms that the plants are also animals, or affirms a man to be a heavenly tree growing with his root, which is his head, upward, and as George Chapman following him writes, So in our tree of man whose nervy root springs in his top, when Orpheus speaks of horiness as that white flower which marks extreme old age, when Proclus calls the universe the statue of the intellect, when Chaucer in his praise of gentleness compares good blood in mean condition to fire, which though carried to the darkest house betwixt this and the amount of Caucasus will yet hold its natural office and burn as bright as if twenty thousand men did it behold, when John saw in the Apocalypse the ruin of the world through evil, and the stars far from heaven as the fig tree casteth her untimely fruit. When Esop reports the whole catalog of common daily relations through the masquerade of birds and beasts, we take the cheerful hint of the immortality of our essence and its versatile habit and escapes as when the Gypsies say, it is vain to hang them, they cannot die. The poets are thus liberating gods. The ancient British bards had for the title of their order those who are free throughout the world. They are free and they make free. An imaginative book renders us much more surface at first by stimulating us through its tropes than afterward when we arrive at the precise sense of the author. I think nothing is of any value in books accepting the transcendental and extraordinary. If a man is inflamed and carried away by his thought, to that degree that he forgets the authors and the public, and heeds only this one dream which holds him like an insanity, let me read his paper and you may have all the arguments and histories and criticism. All the value which attaches to Pythagoras, Paracelsus, Cornelius, Agrippa, Cardan, Kepler, Swedenborg, Schelling, Okon, or any other who introduces questionable facts into his cosmogony as angels, devils, magic, astrology, palmistry, mesmerism, and so on is the certificate we have of departure from routine and that here is a new witness. That also is the best success in conversation, the magic of liberty, which puts the world like a ball in our hands. How cheap even the liberty then seems! How mean to study, when an emotion communicates to the intellect the power to sap and upheave nature. How great the perspective! Nations, times, systems enter and disappear like threads in tapestry of large figure and many colors. Dream delivers us to dream, and while the drunkenness lasts, we will sell our bed, our philosophy, our religion in our opulent. There is good reason why we should prize this liberation. The fate of the poor shepherd, who blinded and lost in the snowstorm, perishes in a drift within a few feet of his cottage door, is an emblem of the state of man. On the brink of the waters of life and truth we are miserably dying. The inaccessibleness of every thought but that we are in is wonderful. What if you come near to it? You are as remote when you are nearest as when you are farthest. Every thought is also a prison. Every heaven is also a prison. Therefore we love the poet, the inventor, who in any form, whether in an ode or in an action or in looks and behavior has yielded us a new thought. He unlocks our chains and admits us to a new scene. This emancipation is dear to all men, and the power to impart it, as it must come from greater depth and scope of thought, is a measure of intellect. Therefore all books of the imagination endure, all which ascend to that truth that the writer sees nature beneath him and uses it as his exponent. Every verse or sentence possessing this virtue will take care of its own immortality. The religions of the world are the ejaculations of a few imaginative men. But the quality of the imagination is to flow and not to freeze. The poet did not stop at the color or the form, but read their meaning. Neither may he rest in this meaning, but he makes the same objects' exponents of his new thought. Here is a difference betwixt the poets and the mystic, that the last nails a symbol to one sense, which was a true sense for a moment, but soon becomes old and false. For all symbols are fluxional, all language is vehicular and transitive, and is good, as fairies and horses are, for conveyance, not as farms and houses are, for homestead. Mysticism consists in the mistake of an accidental and individual symbol for an universal one. The morning redness happens to be the favorite meteor to the eyes of Jacob Bayman and comes to stand to him for truth and faith, and he believes should stand for the same realities to every reader. But the first reader prefers as naturally the symbol of a mother and child, or a gardener and his bulb, or a jeweler polishing a gem. Either of these, or of a myriad more, are equally good to the person to whom they are significant. Only they must be held lightly, and be very willingly translated into the equivalent terms which others use. And the mystic must be steadily told, all that you say is just as true without the tedious use of that symbol as with it. Let us have a little algebra instead of this trite rhetoric. Universal signs instead of these village symbols, and we shall both be gainers. The history of hierarchies seems to show that all religious error consisted in making the symbol too stark and solid, and was at last nothing but an excess of the organ of language. Swedenborg, of all men in the recent ages, stands imminently for the translator of nature into thought. I do not know the man in history to whom things stood so uniformly for words. Before him the metamorphosis continually plays. Everything on which his eye rests obeys the impulses of moral nature. The figs become grapes while he eats them. When some of his angels affirm the truth, the laurel twig which they held blossomed in their hands, the noise which at a distance appeared like gnashing and thumping, oncoming nearer was found to be the voice of disputant. The men in one of his visions, seen in heavenly light, appeared like dragons, and seemed in darkness. But to each other they appeared as men, and when the light from heaven shone into their cabin, they complained of the darkness, and were compelled to shut the window that they might see. There was this perception in him which makes the poet or seer an object of all and terror, namely that the same man or society of men may wear an aspect to themselves and their companions, and a different aspect to higher intelligences. Certain priests whom he describes as conversing very learnedly together, appeared to the children who were at some distance like dead horses, and many the like misappearances. And instantly the mind inquires whether these fishes under the bridge, yonder oxen in the pasture, those dogs in the yard are immutable fishes, oxen and dogs, or only so appear to me, and perchance to themselves appear upright men, and whether I appear as a man to all eye. The Brahmins and Pythagoras propounded the same question, and if any poet has witnessed the transformation, he doubtless found it in harmony with various experiences. We have all seen changes as considerable in wheats and caterpillars. He is the poet, and shall draw us with love and terror, who sees through the flowing vests the firm nature and can declare it. I look in vain for the poet whom I describe. We do not with sufficient plainness or sufficient profoundness address ourselves to life, nor dare we chant our own times in social circumstance. If we filled the day with bravery we should not shrink from celebrating it. Time and nature yield us many gifts. But not yet the timely man, the new religion, the reconciler, whom all things await. Dante's praise is that he dared to write his autobiography in colossal cipher or into universality. We have yet had no genius in America, with tyrannous eye which knew the value of our incomparable materials, and saw in the barbarism and materialism of the times another carnival of the same gods whose picture he so much admires in Homer, then in the Middle Age, then in Calvinism. Banks and tariffs, the newspaper and caucus, Methodism and Unitarianism are flat and dull to dull people, but rest on the same foundations of wonder as the town of Troy and the temple of Delphi and are as swiftly passing away. Our log-rolling, our stumps and their politics, our fisheries, our Negroes and Indians, our boats and our repudiation, the wrath of rogues and the pure salinimity of honest men, the northern trade, the southern planting, the western clearing, Oregon and Texas are yet unsung. Yet America is a poem in our eyes. His ample geography dazzles the imagination, and it will not wait long for meters. If I have not found that excellent combination of gifts in my countrymen which I seek, neither could I aid myself to fix the idea of the poet by reading now and then in Chalmers' collection of five centuries of English poets. These are wits more than poets, though there have been poets among them. But when we adhere to the ideal of the poet, we have our difficulties even with Milton and Homer. Milton is too literary and Homer too literal and historical. But I am not wise enough for a national criticism and must use the old largeness a little longer to discharge my errand from the muse to the poet concerning his art. Art is the path of the creator to his work. The paths or methods are ideal and eternal, though few men ever see them, not the artist himself for years or for a lifetime unless he come into the conditions. The painter, the sculptor, the composer, the epic rhapsodists, the orator all partake one desire, namely to express themselves symmetrically and abundantly, not dwarfishly and fragmentarily. They found or put themselves in certain conditions as the painter and sculptor before some impressive human figures, the orator into the assembly of the people, and the others in such scenes as each has found exciting to his intellect, and each presently feels the new desire. He hears a voice, he sees a beckoning, then he is apprised with wonder what herds of demons hem him in. He can no more rest, he says with the old painter, by God it is in me and must go forth of me. He pursues a beauty, half seen, which flies before him. The poet pours out verses in every solitude. Most of the things he says are conventional, no doubt, but by and by he says something which is original and beautiful. That charms him. He would say nothing else but such things. In our way of talking we say, that is yours, this is mine. But the poet knows well that it is not his, that it is as strange and beautiful to him as to you. He would feign here the like eloquence at length. Once having tasted this immortal Icar, he cannot have enough of it, and as an admirable creative power exists in these intellectuals, it is of the last importance that these things get spoken. What little of all we know is said, what drops of all the sea of our science are bailed up, and by what accident it is that these are exposed when so many secrets sleep in nature. Hence the necessity of speech and song, hence these throbs and heart beatings in the orator at the door of the assembly, to the end namely that thought may be ejaculated as logos, or word. Doubt not, O poet, but persist. Say it is in me and shall out. Stand there, balked and dumb, stuttering and stammering, hissed and hooted, stand and strive, until at last rage draw out of thee that dream power which every night shows thee in thine own, a power transcending all limit and privacy, and by virtue of which a man is the conductor of the whole river of electricity. Nothing walks or creeps or grows or exists which must not in turn arise and walk before him as an exponent of his meaning. Come see to that power his genius is no longer exhaustible. All the creatures by pairs and by tribes pour into his mind as into a Noah's ark to come forth again to people a new world. This is like the stock of air for our respiration or for the combustion of our fireplace, not a measure of gallons, but the entire atmosphere if wanted, and therefore the rich poets as Homer, Chaucer, Shakespeare, and Raphael have obviously no limits to their works except the limits of their lifetime and resemble a mirror carry through the street ready to render an image of every created thing. O poet, a new nobility is conferred in groves and pastures and not in castles or by the sword blade any longer. The conditions are hard but equal. Thou shalt leave the world and know the muse only. Thou shalt not know any longer the times, customs, graces, politics, or opinions of men, but shalt take all from the muse. For the time of towns is told from the world by funerial chimes, but in nature the universal hours are counted by succeeding tribes of animals and plants, and by growth of joy on joy. God wills also that thou abdicate a manifold in duplex life, that thou be content that others speak for thee, others shall be thy gentleman, and shall represent all courtesy and worldly life for thee, others shall do the great and resounding actions also. Thou shalt lie close, hid with nature, and canst not be afforded to the capital or the exchange. The world is full of renunciations and apprenticeships, and this is thine. Thou must pass for a fool and a churl for a long season. This is the screen and sheath in which Pan has protected his well-beloved flower, and thou shalt be known only to thine own, and they shall console thee with tenderest love, and thou shalt not be able to rehearse the names of thy friends in thy verse for an old shame before the holy ideal. And this is the reward, that the ideal shall be real to thee, and the impressions of the actual world shall fall like summer rain, copious but not troublesome to thy invulnerable essence. Thou shalt have the whole land for thy park and manner, the sea for thy bath and navigation, without tax and without envy. The woods and the rivers thou shalt own, and thou shalt possess that wherein others are only tendons and borders. Thou true landlord, sea lord, air lord, wherever snow falls or water flows or birds fly, wherever day and night meet in twilight, wherever the blue heaven is hung by clouds or sown with stars, wherever are forms with transparent boundaries, wherever are outlets into celestial space, wherever is danger and awe and love. There is beauty, plenteous as rain, shed for thee, and though thou shouldest walk the world over, thou shalt not be able to find the condition inopportune or ignoble.


For me, I probably will not, like I'll probably never break my 5K PR. Here we go onward and upward. How's everyone doing back in the studio? And I appreciate you sticking with me, sticking with the channel through this running injury.  I'm not out filming up in the mountains for you. I'm not filming beautiful running shots, but the injury allows the opportunity to make vlogs like this one where I'm here in the studio talking with you about whatever the case may be like yesterday with 7 billion runners. That was a fun topic to dive into. But today we're talking about PRs, PRs. So what does that stand for? For those that don't know, personal records. Some people say PBs, personal best. I go with PRs and that's what I'll say today. And it's just amazing when you're making YouTube videos for years on end how you can go back into the archive and look back and see like when was the last time on this channel we talked about R, not mine, but our collective PR. So it was January 3rd, 2019. So just barely over one year ago that we brought up this topic and shared together down in the comments all about our PRs. But before we get to that, I want to go back to 10 days ago approximately where we reflected back on our 2019 running goals. Failed, okay? And I'm going to be very honest, not pretty honest, very honest with myself in order to be more realistic and more accountable to myself in 2020. So that was goal number one. Goal number two, hit 400,000 vertical feet, failed. I did not reach that goal. That was a carryover goal from 2018 actually. And in addition, we talked about our goals for the future for 2020. Through everything I'm learning at the physical therapy office that I'm going to apply to my routine in 2020. So a healthier runner in 2020 is my goal number one, exciting times. And again, it's hard to believe that one year ago, January 3rd, 2019, we shared our PRs down in the comments. I wanted to talk about this topic for a while.  I said this one year ago, I'm going to say it again, PRs, they're not an opportunity to brag. PRs, how do I look at PRs, personal records? It's an opportunity to challenge ourselves, to climb the mountain, and to push a little bit harder in the new year. Do the little things. Probably, it probably doesn't mean do more running. It probably means doing the little things in order to meet your next goal, your next personal record. And that's what I love about running, right? Again, we're not looking at batting averages or QBRs or whatever. It just comes down to time, and it keeps it simple. But I think PRs are actually a really good thing in the sport, and a healthy component, I should say, of running, because it's that really clear measurement. That's why, actually, also, I love course records that are established on one course that has been, you know, people have been racing on the same course for decades. It's fascinating to go back and look at the record books of races that haven't changed the courses at all. Anyway, that's another topic, but maybe I should mark that down, course records. I think I will mark that down as a topic to dive into at some point. But PRs, here we go. Here's my PRs, and we're going to do a little flashback to 2019 as well as we go through these. Okay, here we go. 800 meters, and I'm not going to give my 400. Who knows? It's probably like 57, or it's not fast, but maybe 58. I don't know. 800 meters in high school, 204. I never broke two minutes. I think I could have, I don't know if I could ever really break two minutes again. Maybe I could, I don't know, but 204 in high school and a little side note, 4x8 in track, best race in track and field in my humble opinion. I love the 4x8. We took second, I think my senior year. Yeah, we took second place in the 4x8. It's just like such a fun race. Anyway, that's a side note. Okay, one mile, 421 in college, okay? Not blazing fast by any means, but it was a drop from my high school time. So 421 is my mile PR. Gosh, who knows? Could I ever approach that again? Maybe I could. I'm not going to never say never, right? Which we'll come back to that in a minute. So 421 for the mile. I guess I'll just give you my two mile, which, oh my gosh. I mean, did I in college?  You don't really run 3,200 meters. Oh my goodness. Anyway, from high school, it was only, it was 10.05 in high school for my two mile. So nothing to write home about there. Okay, moving on to the 5K in college, University of Oregon. Actually my medal is hanging up right over there. Hold on, maybe I could. Anyway, it's hanging up right there where I ran at Hayward Field. Very cool experience to be a walk on to see you and then to go run at Hayward Field where I set my 5K PR, 1446, my sophomore year of college. And guess what? I never had another opportunity, my junior year or senior year to try and drop that time because of injury. And I think, I think I could have approached 14 minutes if I would have stayed healthy. It just never happened and it's bittersweet. And this is, okay, so now flashback to 2019, one year ago, I said this about my 5K PR. For me, I probably will not, like I'll probably never break my 5K PR. No, no, no, no, no, no, never say never. After my Amsterdam marathon and specifically the first half marathon, I now have the confidence. And remember, we talked about this, setting goals and setting our race plan for the new year is confidence. Because of Amsterdam, I now have the confidence that I think I can chase down another 1446 at some point and set a new 5K PR. And frankly, it's on my radar for 2020 or 2021. I just, you know, I got to be careful with how much I'm racing, but it is on my radar. So never say never. I honestly, I thought it was, the opportunity was way out the window one year ago and that's where it comes in, like never stop dreaming, never stop working. You will be amazed at how you can progress with consistent training. And yeah, we'll leave that for another time. Okay, 5K, 1446, 10K, 30 minutes and 10 seconds, 30-10 on a cross-country course, a golf course in Fort Collins, Colorado, my senior year, and it was at elevation. Like it's Fort Collins is basically right at 5,000 feet above sea level. So that 30-10, I think I can set a 10K PR at some point in the next couple of years. I really do. If I could break 30 minutes, I would be beyond happy to go under that 30-minute mark. So it's not a goal for 2020, but anyway, that's my 10K PR on a cross-country course in college. Now, one year ago, I said this about my half marathon PR. Now, I had had a great year of base training, of aerobic base training. You know, I'm a big fan of that before adding speed. And so that's why I'm interested if I can run 111 solo at elevation on kind of a rolly, turny course. I'm just wondering like, hmm, maybe I should put the 100-mile distance on hold for a little bit and focus on the marathon, the speed stuff. Pause, pause, pause. I haven't watched this clip in a year and it's crazy to go back and look like, I'm so happy I paused ultra marathons in 100-mile races. I'm glad I dabbled in it. For those that don't know, I ran, I attempted 100-mile race in 2018. I DNF did not finish. I dropped out at 50 miles. And frankly, it was an eye-opener. And it was that negative situation of dropping out of my first 100-mile race that led me to greener pastures, frankly. And the opportunity, I'm just so happy that I've put ultra marathon racing on pause for a bit. I don't know how long it's gonna be anyway. Roll the tape. Three months ago, here in Denver, in that vlog, upper right-hand corner, I solo at elevation on kind of a rolly course with some turns. I ran 111, flat, 111. And I was only running 40 to 50 miles a week and I had basically done zero speed training leading up to that time trial. And it was solo. Nobody else was around. It was just me in the pavement, baby. And I ran 111. There you go. It was 111 with zero speed training here at elevation. And then what did I do? I showed up in Amsterdam, got a little excited. Chasin, you know who? And ended up running a 106.53, which is my half marathon PR at this point. 106.53. And it is a goal of mine in 2020 to set a new half marathon PR. And again, it gets down to, I'm not bragging, its goal setting. That it's so fun to be able to, you know, have a new calendar year to work with, a new training blocks to work with to strive for that daily purpose. We talked about that yesterday in the 7 Billion Runners vlog to have that daily purpose to know, okay, if I do this, then I can do this next week. If I do that, I can do that next week. And you build off of each week of training through your training block, leading to the attempt to PR.  I don't know how, I think it's an amazing experience that we runners get to put ourselves through because it's not always easy, but to put ourselves through, yeah, it just, I don't know, it gets me going, as you can tell. Okay, so that's the half marathon PR. Marathon PR, you know, 223.37 in Amsterdam in the same race as the half marathon. That is now my marathon PR. Almost frankly broke it in New York, kind of. About a minute slower, approximately, yeah, about a minute slower. Like a year ago, I could not share with you a marathon PR because I had never raced a road marathon. So it's good to be able to communicate that with all of you to accomplish one goal from 2019. And again, no bragging here. It's all about climbing the mountain. And the question of the day, what are your PRs? Okay, any distance you want to share? If you want to start from the 800 meter all the way down to 100 miles, whatever it is, like any distances you want to share, what are your PRs? If you want to share when you set them, like what age you were, that's cool too. And if you want to say the location, that's amazing as well. But then also, did you set a PR in 2019? Any distance, did you set one PR? Two, three, you know, just let us know. That would be amazing as well. There you go. Thanks for watching. Oh, I love this vlog because, again, in one year from now, January 7th, 2021, we can go back and look at this vlog and see what our progression is together as a global YouTube running family. All right, everyone. There you have it. Thanks for watching. Thanks for being here. We'll toss it back on the right to the PR vlog from one year ago where we dive in. If you commented a year ago, definitely go watch that vlog and see if you can go find your comment down below. And then on the left, we'll toss it back to the Amsterdam Marathon where I set those two PRs. All right, everyone. See beauty, work hard, and love each other. See you tomorrow.


Good morning Hank, it's Tuesday. So this is a video about mental illness. I think I'm going to do it in the format, actually. So I've had a rough couple months. My OCD and anxiety have been really high, and I've also had this lengthy bout of depression. It started about nine weeks ago amid really good news, actually. Our community had this huge win. We helped encourage this company, Danaher, to lower the price of its tuberculosis tests, which is going to allow five million more people to be tested for TB every year. It's incredible. But when that news happened, I just, I felt nothing but dread. It was just this like terrible, indescribable fear. In fact, the indescribability is part of the problem, right? Because that's part of what makes it so difficult to share or to feel unalone in. I can really only approach it through metaphor or simile. It felt like a blanket of dread just descended. Honestly, I don't know what else there's to say about it. It just, it just kind of sucks. When I was in my 20s, there was some naive part of me that thought if I could just make it to middle age, all of this would be behind me. And that hasn't turned out to be the case. But what is the case is that even when I can't feel it, I understand intellectually that this is temporary and that this isn't telling the full story of what it means to be a person in the world. And I know that if I just keep pursuing treatment, work with my doctor, take my medicine, move my body when I can, all that stuff, eventually I will feel different. I do think I might be starting to get better. It's been a little better in the last week. That's why I'm able to make a video at all. But, you know, there's been a lot of false dawns. And you never know. Speaking of which, let's get a check on the dawn. So it's like too gray and rainy for there to even be a visible dawn, which, you know, as a metaphor is a little bit on the nose. Susan Sontag described depression as melancholy minus its charms, which I like a lot because first it acknowledges the charms of melancholy. Like when you're driving alone at night, there's something sad about it, but there's also something beautiful and lovely about it. Like when I feel melancholic, there's something beautiful and rich and productive about it. Whereas when I feel depressed, everything is stolen away except for the sadness and the weight on my chest.   But I have to reject the idea that that tells the whole story because it just doesn't. A young woman I knew, a little Casey McIntyre, just died of cancer. She was married to my friend Andrew Rose Gregory of the Gregory Brothers, and she also worked for many years at the same publishing house where I published my books. Anyway, in lieu of like flowers at a memorial service or whatever, what she really wanted to do was erase people's medical debts. One of the many insanities of the U.S. healthcare system is that so many people are bankrupted just for being sick. And so Casey wanted to have this like debt jubilee. And incredibly, people have raised enough money to cancel $50 million of medical debt over the last few days in Casey's memory. I'll put a link in the doobly-doo if you want to join us in donating, but what a lovely way to remember someone and to take care of each other.  The hopelessness feels so complete. But then think of all these people coming together to cancel $50 million in medical debt in memory of a lovely person. To me, that's the complex story of being a person. We cannot save those we love from suffering as much as we desperately want to. We cannot make life fair or just. But we can reach out to each other, help each other, cancel each other's debts. We can be careful of each other, as Philip Larkin put it. We can be kind while there is still time. Hank, I'll see you on Friday.


Good afternoon, everyone. You've reached Dedicated to financial literacy. My name is Russell Moore your host say Welcome to the channel. Be sure to hit the subscribe button and the notification Bell ding ding. All right, if you like the content, I want to talk about tonight today. Just inflation now We've had Jerome Powell the federal chair just come out and say that their estimations of Inflation being 2.4 this year They've pushed they've pushed up their estimations now Which most of us know you don't have to be any calmest to know all you got to do is go to the store and Realize that we're beyond three that we're on we're beyond 2.4 Okay, so now their estimation is 3.4 for 2021 the inflation Inflation will be up 3.4 and I'm gonna tell you right now It's more than that the Fed is not being honest with us I want to I just want to give you a list of items that have already gone up and many other products P&G Procter and Gamble which they have a lot of products just Google Procter and Gamble and all the products that they sell That are under the umbrella of P&G. They said they're going up to about 8 to 12 percent on all their products for those of you who love Tide and Dawn They're going up 12 percent That's why if you go in my garage right now for the last three to four months. I've been stockpiling toilet paper I've been stockpiling. I've been getting everything at the cheaper price months ago and stockpiling into my garage Don't ask me where I live. I'm not gonna give you my address I've got tons one of these days I'm gonna give you a video show a video of all the toilet paper and And paper towels and how much dawn and how much tide I've acquired why? Because I knew this day was coming. All of these items are about to come up. They're about to go. They're about to go up Okay, and so what I plan to do is because I have a stockpile I'm gonna stop going out and buying sometime around September. I will no longer need to buy paper towels For at least two years. I Will no longer be able to need to buy paper towels. I will no longer be able to need to buy Toilet paper. I will no longer be able to buy dishwashing liquid hand soap Multiple I told my wife whatever you buy right now by two to three of them We want to get more why because I'm The prices are growing up gang. Let me give you 10 things that are going up right now as a result of inflation Gasoline is a 49% oil was it 60 barrels $60 a barrel It's above that now oil Use cars up 10% year-to-date from last year pre-pandemic to now up 10% if you buy a used car rental cars 82% houses 12% 22% let me rephrase that 22% for housing Lumber get this lumber which affects housing 280% Lumber is up now. They're saying by 2022 or the end of this year.  They're only 5% below pre-pandemic so So to rent a room Right now is only 5% less than what it was pre-pandemic Get this bacon's up to 10% Millennials were eating a lot of bacon because people were home a lot eating a lot at home Weren't going out to the stores work as much or if they were they were having things, you know delivered in So bacon was the number one comfort food And it's up 10% Why would they go up? when there's a demand They raise the prices You guys get ready if you have any if you're in the stock market now How actually said? That originally the Fed had said that rates interest rates would probably go up around 2024 Now they're talking 2023 Let me give you one I Think by the end of this year early next year rates will be going up. That's gonna affect the homes I'm talking about the federal rate. I'm not talking.   I do believe that these guys don't know what they're talking about But I'm not saying to do that, but we do need to get ready financially So what I'm what am I doing? I'm looking to gold. I've got some I've got some investment in Bitcoin and Crypto, I know many people believe that crypto is gonna tank if the market can't tanks I don't think so. I think it may be temporary and may take temporarily It may go down temporarily, but I do think crypto is here to stay. I really do but but just in case I'm getting some gold some silver. I've got gold and silver and One of the things that Peter Peter Schiff said and no one's saying is that it's the triple a 30-year Treasury bond Yes, the interest rates of interest rates go down. It'll go down, but it But that bond will mature and go up 3040% Not talking about the yeah. Yeah, the yield will go down But the percentage of that bond will go up. I thought that was interesting that Peter Schiff should say that anyway that I'm not telling you what to do. I want to get I want to say that right now. This was my disclaimer I am not telling people what to do. This is what I'm doing. I'm not advising. I am not I'm not a financial advisor Just an experienced guy that's been working and and have mastered my finances and Me and my family are doing well. So I just want to I just want to throw that out there. Hey Don't listen to the Fed We're going beyond 3.4 In fact, I already believe we're past 3.4 and inflation I know they they want to quote the CPI the CPI is inaccurate But I get it. They don't want to they don't want the public to panic And so I'm not saying do not panic whatever you do do not panic do not panic greater days are coming for us But we're gonna go through some tough times We're gonna go through some tough times as a country But get ready get ready hold on tight and trust God whatever you do trust God. God is good. Talk to you later


The horse with the speed of light, a cloud of dust, and a ha-hey-hay-oh silver! The Lone Ranger! General Mills, makers of Cheerios, the ready-to-eat oat cereal that gives you go-power, and Wheaties, the breakfast of champions, present by special recording, The Lone Ranger! When boys line up to run a race, Galloping Garden sets the pace, in first, because he knows, he's got go-power from Cheerios! Yes, he's got go-power! There he goes! He's feeling his Cheerios! Cheerios! Cheerios!  You'll say that Cheerios taste simply wonderful too.  Pour out a big bowlful, add fresh milk, and pitch in. You can almost feel the go-power. For a Cheerios breakfast is one of the finest ways you can get the vitamins, proteins, and minerals your body needs. A bowl of Cheerios and milk really starts your day right. Helps give you the good red blood, strong bones, and muscles. Go-power, you'll get it from Cheerios! Try it, and folks will say... He's feeling his Cheerios! With his faithful Indian companion, Tonto, the daring and resourceful mask-writer of the plains led the fight for law and order in the early western United States. Nowhere in the pages of history can one find a greater champion of justice. Return with us now to those thrilling days of yester-year. From out of the past come the thundering hoofbeats of the Great Horse Silver. The lone ranger rides again! Liz Barker, a raw-boned rugged type of western woman, became sole owner of the big and prosperous Circle B ranch when her husband, a hard-fighting determined man, died. Her brother Hank, a mild-mannered man, was foreman of the Circle B. One morning, Liz strode to the corral, where Hank and some of the ranch hands were saddling their horses. Hank, I want to talk to you. Good morning, Liz. We had an early breakfast. We're just leaving for the roundup. Hank, I told you to have the men put up a strong fence across the corner of the south range to keep the other cattle out. I went there early this morning, and that fence wasn't up. Liz, I reckon you forgot about the small ranchers south of here. They have to cross that south range to drive their cattle north to the stockyard. With big gulch to the east and mountains to the west, they'd have to drive them 30 miles farther if that fence is built, and it'll mean trouble. You get that fence up or you won't be foreman any longer. As for trouble, we'll meet back when it comes. I pay all of you high wages and give you good food and lodging. If you want to go someplace else to work... We want to work for you, man. Well, let's go, boys.  Jed was speaking. Folks, folks, I found out today that Liz Barker's men are putting up a fence as we can't cross anymore. Liz Barker's husband promised Daddy he'd leave the range open. And I, for one, think we ought to make a stick to that promise. Before I sent for all of you, I went over to talk to Liz. She wouldn't even see me. Why, that ordinary, mean-tempered female. We can't let her get away with it, Jed. Well, all right, then. But just what do you think we can do about it, Kay? Let him get the fence finished. Then our men will go and rip it all down. So good idea. That'll sure show Liz Barker that we mean business. I'll let you all know when it's finished. It ought to be done in a couple of days. And then our men will go over there after dark and get busy. That night at the cafe in town, two men sat talking in low voices. Listen, check. Before you came in, I heard talk about trouble brewing between the Circle B spread and some of the small ranches. Over a fence is being put up on the south range, huh? What about it? It seems the woman owner of the Circle B is determined to run that fence.  Yeah, hoppin' mad about it. Where do we come in? Our gang can rustle cattle from the Circle B from the others. They'll blame each other. We can be making a profit while they're at each other's throats over that fence. Yeah, that's a good idea. When do we make our first move? Later tonight. We'll rustle some of the Circle B cattle while most of the cow folks are busy at the south end of the spread working on that fence. Let's go to the hideout tell the gang. Come on. That same evening, the Indian companion to the lone ranger joined the masked man on the outskirts of town. Oscar, open her. Well, Tonneau, we'll take the supplies you brought right into the foothills nearby the pitch camp. Here's a little bit.  Man in store, talk about trouble between Circle B spread, small ranches to south. Isn't that the Barker spread? That's right. I've heard a lot about Liz Barker. She seems to have a neck for getting into trouble with her neighbors. Me here, her plenty stubborn, have quick temper. They watch developments, Tonneau. If necessary, do what we can to stop serious trouble. Meanwhile, we'll try to get a line on Gunner Savage's gang. All right, let's go. Come on. The following morning, Liz Barker rode to the south range and pulled to a stop beside her brother, Hank, who was supervising the work on the new fence. Oh, yeah. Oh, that is. We're almost through with the fence. I have it completed by noon, I reckon. Good. Hey, who's that coming? Compo. He went to the west range this morning. Something must be wrong.  I just missed you at the ranch house, ma'am. The cook told me you came here. All right, all right. What do you want? Why aren't you overriding herd on the west range? Well, I just came from there. Some of the cattle are missing. What? Must have been stolen during the night. Are you sure? Yeah. I'd say they took about 50 head. Why those dirty, even pole pets? So that's what they were doing last night. Oh, I don't savvy. Jed Stone and those other conniving, low-down, mealy-mouthed coyotes who call themselves ranchers. Well, hold on, Liz. You really don't think they'd pull anything like russin' to get back at you, do you? What's it look like? My cattle are gone, aren't they? You come with me, Hank. Where are we going? We're riding to Jed Stone's place, that's where he seems to be spokesman for that bunch of thieves. I hit leather and let's get going. Steady there. I'm ready, Liz, but I think... I'll do the thinking. Come on.    Jed Stone was talking to Kate Sykes when Liz and Hank pulled to a halt near the corral. Oh, there. Oh, steady. Well, what brings you here, Liz Barker? You know what we're here for, and so does Kate Sykes. Neither one of us are mind-readers, but it's easy to tell you didn't come to say you decided to let us cross the South Range. Your draw gone right, I didn't. I've come to say I want the 50-head of cattle back that you and the others stole last night from the West Range. Well, you must be joking, Liz. Well, if you aren't, you'll have to take back those words. Don't, Kate. I got your cover.  We don't know anything about stolen cattle, and that's all there is to be said as far as I can see. I'll get proof, and when I do, it'll be too bad. That fence will be finished today, and it's up to stay. Now, you can tell the others. I said you'll all be mighty sorry for what you've done. Let's get out of this low-down company, Hank. Steady there. Steady there.  Get up there. Come on. Meantime, the Lone Ranger and Toto had left their camp and were following the trail toward town. Well, you may be able to get a line on Gunner Savage's gang in town, Toto. Ah. Look, Kimosabe. Two riders coming over Rhine's yonder. They'll ride into the gully until they pass. Come on, Toto. Come on, Scott. Easy, Toto. Easy, Toto. Come on, Scott. Oh, sure they might see us. Steady, boys. Steady. Come from the West Range. I'll bet you'll find them hidden on one of the south ranches someplace. Maybe. I'm sure of it. And when I do get the proof, I'll make them mighty sorry. They don't circle the cattle. That barker woman, Kimosabe. Her talk of ranchers stealing cattle. Yes, the trouble has started. We'll head for the West Range and try to trail those cattle before her men get there. Ah. You think small ranches take cattle for spite? I doubt it. But the cattle are found on one of the ranches. We'll mean a gun battle. They'll do what we can to stop that. Come on, Toto. Get them up, Scott. We'll continue our Lone Ranger adventure in just a moment.  They sure enough know about Wheaties. The Southland's favorite Wheaties fan is Museo, known as Stan the Man. Because when he swings his mighty bat, he nearly knocks that baseball flat. Another Southland pride and joy is Bobby Lane, a Wheaties boy. Because when he starts to turn on steam, he's sure a one-man football team. Just ask Stan Museo or Bobby Lane. They know the secret of Wheaties energy. There's a whole kernel of wheat in every Wheaties plate. Wheaties, breakfast of champions. Keep body to your Wheaties And do, do, do an okay Okay. Now to continue. Meantime, the outlaw Chuck rode to a deserted line shack in a secluded valley near the Circle B. He told Gunnar and the gang that he had seen a mask man and an Indian riding along the South Range. The Circle B has a large herd on the South Range. If they were suddenly stampeded, a couple of hombres in that trail wouldn't have much of a chance to get out of the way. Yeah, and the ranchers would be blamed again. All right, let's hit the leather, boys. Let's move fast. Come on. The Lone Ranger and Tato rode along the trail as they headed for the range from which the cattle had been stolen. The Lone Ranger was saying, There's a big herd grazing on this range, Tato. It seemed to be all over the place. That's right. Men working south of here, beyond hills, putting up tents. It's good they're not able to see us. Yes, that would complicate matters. That seemed to come from that way beyond the herd. Seen a subby, herds starting to stampede them come this way. We're caught in the middle of the herd. It can't make it to either side, Tato. We'll have to head straight south. The Circle B man down that way. The large herd of frenzied cattle had moved with surprising suddenness, heading directly for the Lone Ranger and Tato. The Lone Horns raced forward in a horseshoe formation with a masked man and Indian almost in the center. The great horse Silver and the Valiant Scouts moved ahead as they topped the hill. On the other side of the hill, the Circle B men had heard the shooting and the thunder of the stampede. They hurriedly mounted, leaving their work on the fence and withdrew to each side. Tato pointed and called out, and they see cow folks, and said, Tato, if you jump the fence, it will slow the cattle. Gradually, the two horses pulled further ahead and then the fence loomed before them. Without lessening their speed, both horses rose into the air. They cleared the high fence with only inches to spare and as the Lone Ranger and Tato turned the gallant horses to one side, the cattle hit the fence. Momentarily, the herd slowed. Then, as the fence gave way, the cattle moved on, sweeping past the masked man and Indian as they stopped out of harm's way. That was close, Tato. Very close. The Barker men will be coming after us in a moment. I want to go back and find the men who started that stampede. Let's go. Meantime, Liz Barker and her men watched as the herd demolished the new fence. Then Liz, shaking with anger, spoke. The herd will have to stop when it reaches the base of the cliff yonder. That stampede was started just to ruin the fence. The two hombres we saw riding out of the way must have been with the gang who started the stampede. They almost caught traps. I saw them leaving right back up the range. The small ranchers hired them to do that. Hank, take some of the men and go round up those cattle.  After the herds rounded up, they'll follow that masked man and Indian. Yes, ma'am. Come on, get it. What are you going to do, Liz? I'm taking the rest of the men and I'm going to have a showdown with Stone and the other ranchers south of here. We'll all meet at the ranch house later. Now get going. All right. Half you men, come with me.  The outlaws made their trail hard to follow and the Lone Ranger and Tahoe had to move slowly not to lose it. They left the clear trail as they followed the men to the shack. They waited in hiding for the cow-folks whom they were sure would follow them. The trail of the men who started the stampede leads to that shack. Their horses are back among the trees. You're hoping maybe ranch hands come and now? Yes. Come on. They're going to the shack and get the drop on those crooks. Ranch hands ought to be here in time to help us. A short time later inside the shack, Gunner threw down his card saying, I'm tired of playing. I'm going to flop on a buck. We have your cover. The Masked Man and Indian. Holy smoke, they weren't killed. They're too smart for us.  I'll keep them covered. Let me get them. Men were six left. Two, grab your guns. I told you. Let them have it. Boys, calm down. Drop your guns, all of you. My men are at the windows. There are the two who started the stampede shack. You're the best man. Drop your guns, too. We're not outlawed, Sheriff. I say you are. Drop your guns. Oh, wait. Here, read this. Huh? Hey, this letter's addressed to me. That's right. Marshall West gave it to me in case we had to get in touch with you. Well, I've heard of you with that Indian, mister. Of course, finding you here with this gang. These men wrestled the Circlebee cattle last night, and they started that stampede, hoping to get rid of Tuttle and me. They must have found out we were trailing them. The wounded man there is Gunner Savage. Gunner Savage? Holy smokes. Sheriff, if what this masked man says is true, we'd better get the Jed Stones ranch right away. Liz took some of our men there. Get these cooks to their horses. Then we'll all head for the Stones' place.  Stone, your men stole those cattle and started a stampede so as to wreck the new fence. All right. Now, hold on, Liz Parker. We can prove none of our hands left our ranchers this morning.  Grab them boys. We're taking them along. Hey, there comes a share with your brother and more of your cow folks. Look, they got the masked on break. Yeah, and the Indian too. There's what's going on here. Jed Stone and his friends have caused enough trouble, Sheriff. I came here to... You made a big mistake, Mrs. Parker. The man who stole your cattle and started that stampede are the outlaws you see there tied to their horses. The Gunner Savage gang. That's right, Liz. They've admitted doing both jobs. The masked on be trailing. Knowing that some of your men would follow us, they'd have to clear trail. Luckily, they did follow and bring the sheriff. You mean to say the ranchers had nothing to do with it? That's right. You ought to be thankful somebody wasn't killed because of your stubbornness and quick temper, Mrs. Parker. Hold on, Mr. I don't have to take any talk from you. Someone should talk to you. You'd be a great credit to the West. You'd use your wealth at influence for good. Remember, others have rights as well as you. And you might try acting like a lady if you can't be one. I'm a nerd. Oh, good for you, Mr. Maybe what Liz Parker needs is a man around the place who'll take her down a peg now and then. I have something to say, Liz. I'm quicker. The Masked Man's right.   Wait, wait, Hank. What the Masked Man said and the way he looked at me when he said it sort of hit home. Mr. Not even my husband talked to me like that. But maybe he should have. Well, Mrs. Parker, some people mess the happiness and true meaning of life by living only for themselves. I hope you realize that in time. I think I realize it right now. Hank, don't quit.  You're welcome. You mean that, Liz? Yes. I want to take time out to well, try to be a lady. I'm sorry if I hurt your feelings, Mrs. Parker, but I... Mr. Don't apologize. You made me see that I have feelings. Pete, Jed, if you're willing to sort over look what's happened. Of course, Liz. But that feeling... There'll be no fence. What Hank says goes. Well, I'll be jigging. I don't. We have business elsewhere now. Easy, sir. Make yourself a easy color. Adios, everyone. You know, that's the first time any man made me feel downright ashamed of myself. Tell me, sir, who is he?  He's given up his own identity to help him. Gunner and his crooks find out it's no use trying to get away from him. That masked man represents law and order in the West, Liz. And he's known as the Lone Ranger. A copyrighted feature of the Lone Ranger Incorporated is produced by Pendle Campbell Muir Incorporated. A part of the Lone Ranger is played by Brace Beamer. Your announcer, Fred Boy. Listen to the Lone Ranger brought to you by special recording Mondays through Fridays at this same time.


I picked this up from a yard sale. I paid 20 and I sold it for $1,200. Wow, they just keep coming. This video, uh-huh. Hey, Bolo Buddies, thanks for watching. All right, you guys, in this video, we're gonna talk about big money Bolo's. Items to be on the lookout for, items you can buy low and flip for a profit. I'm gonna tell you where they got it, what they paid for it and what it sold for. I posted this, share your best July Bolo in my Bolo Buddies. Facebook group, which looks like this. And I invited everybody to share their Bolo. So let's get started here. All right, this first one comes from Bolo Buddies member, She Picker. This is her eBay store and her YouTube channel. Definitely check her out. She said, I went to this amazing estate sale last summer. It was loaded with tables of 1960s and 70s handmade, hippie clothes, all were dollar each. So I bought all that were in good condition. This dress is cutter. Then a newborn pup and it sold for 18 plus shipping. What, I think there's a typo here. Ah, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha. I visit. Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha. This might go to the bloopers. Oh my goodness. You know, you just read things too fast. And anyway, this dress is cuter Then a newborn pup and it sold for $18 plus shipping. Wow, wow, wow. Way to start the video. Vintage 70s mini dress girls, orange, yellow, brown, boho, checkered hippie. This is what it looks like. The next one here, bought at a Goodwill in California, paid $3.50, sold for full asking price in a few minutes. I priced it a little low because one corner of the packaging was damaged. New and Box Brother Label Maker, Model PT65 Green P-Touch, portable pro home hobby. And this is what it looks like. I picked this up from a yard sale. I paid 20 and I sold it for $1,200. What? Leslie Super Typhon Train Horn, 20 and to 1,200. Are your socks, where are your socks? Did I just knock them off? Where did your socks land? Oh my goodness. Wow. I bought this golf simulator game at an estate sale slash yard sale for 50 cents.  Like if only one flew off, the other one, it's gonna be gone. I posted it on eBay for 967 and sold it within four hours for a best offer of 826. 50 cents into 826. Interesting tidbit. It was the last hour of the sale and they were actually getting ready to throw it away. So I bought it. I had no idea what it was until a few days later. I couldn't believe it until it sold. The person that bought it left feedback that it worked great and they were happy with it. It is a SkyTrack Golf Simulator used Tiger Woods Hole in One. Are you kidding me? Wow. Wow, they just keep coming. This video, oh my goodness. Got this ENJ plush husky dog at the Goodwill Benz. I had been on the hunt since watching Bolo Buddy's videos. Couldn't believe it when I saw it was just hanging over the clothes bin, paid about a dollar for it when averaging all I spent that day. Listed it on eBay for Auction, started at 399 and ended up selling for 540 plus shipping. Shipping was 59.50, so the buyer was all in for 635.57. Yes, this is one that I have talked about in my big money plush Bolo videos. Congratulations, you found the husky. That is awesome. Wow. All right, this next one. I got this at my local thrift store last week. I paid 25 cents and it sold in two days. I had it listed as Pretty Kiki's Hopper Dashery. I don't know what any of that means. For 20, took a best offer of 17 plus shipping. It's a 2007 Simplicity 3639 sewing pattern. So it is a sewing pattern. So 25 cents into 17 plus shipping. Purchased this set of antique cardboard farm animals from a yard sale for $3, a little over a month ago. Sent a $75 offer to watch her and they accepted right away and they paid right away. I just started selling at the end of June. This was my most exciting sale so far. Thanks for the great content. It has been a huge help to me. You're welcome and thank you and congratulations on your big money Bolo. It says very hard to find full farm set antique vintage cardboard stand up animals from 1944. I found these pencils toward the end of an estate sale. I paid five for all three and sold the same day. I even received a message offering more money if it had not sold yet.  If I find vintage pencils, they are going on auction and I am starting them high. I'm gonna look at comps and I'm gonna find the highest comp I can find and that is where I'm gonna start my auction because it only takes two people to really want those pencils and they are very, very collectible. So keep that in mind if you find vintage pencils. 32 vintage pencils, slide boxes, Mon Goal, Eberhard, Faber, Firm, Lead. It's hard to see, it's very, very small but those, the Eberhard and Faber are both things that I've mentioned in videos before with pencils. They're good brands. If you see those, look them up. If they're cheap, grab them, pay and get out of there. Make sure you always check the Stuffed Animals for Puppets. Got this from Savers for $2 after military discount. Sold after one week for full asking price of $45. It is Darcy Lynn Petunia Puppet Ventriloquist Plush Bunny Rabbit and this is what it looks like. Here's another plush and if you guys like plush videos, I'm also doing videos just like this where I feature plush Bolo's from members of this group. It seems like a lot of people in the group sell plush and they sell it for big money. So got lots of those videos coming your way. So check them out. Bought this 22 inch Grover at Value Village for $2 listed on Poshmark 450 and took a best offer of 45 and it looks like this is Canada. So I'm not sure what that conversion is. Bought this Willy Talk Ventriloquist doll at the Goodwill for $3 and 3 cents and thought someone would really appreciate him. His mouth mechanism was a bit loose but he still sold for 65 plus shipping. Weird Ventriloquist Puppet sell. Always look up the weird and this is what it looks like. And that sold on Mercari and if you guys are not on Mercari, definitely check it out. Mercari is a great platform, especially for plush and toys. Those are things that I do well with over there and I featured a lot of people who sell tons of plush. If you watch my plush videos, you will see Mercari, Mercari, Mercari, Mercari, Mercari. It's crazy. I do have a link down below where you can get $10 to shop if you join with that link and it's a referral link and then if you sell $100 worth of stuff on Mercari you're gonna get another $20 to shop. So that's 30 bucks to shop and you can buy something to resell, right? Reinvest in your business with your money that you earn from joining with my link. Clever, right? Okay, pick this poster out of a ceiling, out of the ceiling boards of a basement and paid $2. You've got to look up people. This is a full-size vintage door poster. It sold for 146.84 shipped. Okay, this one comes from Farm Girl Scavenger, Farm Girl Scavenger Noel and she is a big money Bolo Finder and she has the best Bolo's. I'm telling you, she sells the weirdest stuff. If you're not following her on Instagram, follow her there also. She shares her reseller journey with posts of her Bolo's and I always love seeing her posts. They have got to take her forever to make. They are so incredible. But anyway, big money Bolo Finder, YouTube channel is amazing. Check her out, both places.  So tell her thank you because this group is huge. So yeah, this is a 1950s PSI, Belgium Wee Santa Claus Door Display Poster, Litho, Litho, Litho, it's Litho. 72 by 35, vintage MCM. Oh, it makes me think about the beginning where I said cutter instead of cuter. Oh my gosh. Oh boy. This yarn was part of my personal stash and I have had it for years. The buyer was all in for 4902. It's Bernat Casino yarn. Am I saying that right? And then it's silver, gray, lot of seven, same dye lot. I sell these frequently. I paid maybe 50 cents. This is also from Farm Girl Scavenger Noel. I paid maybe 50 cents for this sold for full asking price of $69.99 and the buyer was all in for 85.59. These little boxes of recipes are pots of gold and really do sell well. I sold another one a week later and it shipped to Australia. This is what it looks like.  And yes, these are Bolo's. This one comes from Bolo Buddies member, Kehoff77. July Bolo was a vase. We picked up at a thrift store for $2.99, sold within a few days for $92.99 plus shipping. It wasn't marked or fancy, but interesting. Google Lens helped us identify it. It's a Chinese cabbage bok choy butterflies with blue interior and this is what it looks like. One last one here and of course it's a trash pick. Found a claim pile curbside that had a lot of maternity clothing and new to very good condition. Now, mind you, I don't like selling clothing but my wife suggested that maternity clothes might be Bolo's. I lauded up the three pairs of leggings, cross-posted them at $60 or best offer and after five weeks took an offer of 45 plus shipping on Mercari. If it's free, it's for me. This one comes from Jersey Shore Thrifter and this is what they look like. So it's maternity pants. All right, you guys, that is it for July. Thank you guys so much for being here. Thank you for watching. Be sure to like, comment, subscribe and share and which Bolo was your favorite? Let me know down in the comments. I mean, it's hard to choose. There were some really, really fantastic Bolo's in this one. I kind of didn't do my counts right so there's not a ton of Bolo's in this one but the ones that are in it are, wow, just incredible. So thank you to all that shared and those of you that would like to share, head over to the Facebook group and look for the Share Your Best August Bolo. And again, thank you so much. I appreciate all of you. Video is popping up here and here. A subscribe and a video down below. Be sure to subscribe if you haven't already and let me know, again, which one was your favorite Bolo? Thank you so much and thanks for watching. Or it was loaded with, I'm sorry, it loaded with, this is her eBay store and her, I gotta plug my phone in and we're back. Okay, let's start over. Sorry.