#113: The Breath of Life

The Breath of Life

A Lecture in the Voice and Spirit of Neville Goddard

Man is forever trying to give life to his desires by wrestling with the outer facts. He takes his ambition, his longing, his unfulfilled wish, and he nurses it in the arms of his limited consciousness, wondering why it remains cold and unresponsive no matter how earnestly he strives. He does not see that the form he carries is as yet without life, and that no amount of outer effort can warm what has not yet received the breath. The desire itself is proof that the thing is possible, yet he treats it as though it were something he must create by force rather than something he must simply quicken by recognition.

Your consciousness is the prophet who alone can breathe life into every imaginal form. When you recognize this, you no longer struggle with the world as it appears. You take the desire which seems as lifeless as the widow’s son, you carry it into the upper room of your own awareness, you close the door against the evidence of the senses, and there you breathe into it the breath of life. That breath is your quiet, certain feeling that the thing is already so. It is the claim, made within yourself and without argument, that you are now the one who possesses or expresses what you formerly only desired. In that claim the form begins to stir. The quality you have given it starts to move, and what was dead in your world begins to show signs of life.

The story of the widow is the story of every man who has not yet discovered where the life of his desire resides. The widow is your present limited sense of self, forever carrying the dead child of frustrated hopes. The child is the desire itself—real as an imaginal form, yet without expression in the outer world. The prophet is your true awareness of being, the I AM within you, which, when you turn to it, can take that form and give it life. You do not give life by arguing with the facts, by rehearsing the reasons why it cannot be, or by wondering how it will come to pass. You give life by feeling the form as already alive, already warm, already standing upon its feet in your world.

To breathe the breath of life is to feel the naturalness of the fulfilled desire. It is to assume, within the quiet of your own consciousness, the very state you would experience were the desire already realized. You do not strain. You do not shout. You simply dwell in the feeling that it is done. As you do this, something invisible yet real begins to happen. The imaginal form you have animated receives the warmth of your recognition. It is as though the flesh of the child waxed warm beneath the prophet’s touch. The coldness of unbelief gives way to the living conviction that what you have assumed is already true.

You close the door when you refuse to give attention to the outer facts that deny your desire. The door is the entrance of the senses. When you shut it, you are no longer moved by what the world shows you. You are alone with your assumption. In that aloneness you stretch yourself upon the form you desire to quicken. You put your feeling upon its feeling. You identify yourself with the state of the wish fulfilled until there is no difference between you and the thing you have assumed. In that identification the breath passes from you into the form, and the form begins to live.

Most men remain indefinitely with the dead child in their arms because they do not know that recognition is the breath of life. They think life must be pumped into their desire by constant struggle, by repeated affirmations, by anxious watching for signs. But the breath is not effort. The breath is the simple, dignified feeling that the thing is already so. When you feel it to be already yours, you have breathed into it the only life it can ever receive. The world may still show you the cold form, yet you know that you have already given it warmth. You rest in that knowledge. You do not argue with the appearance. You have done the only thing that can ever be done. You have breathed the breath of life into your desire.

Consider what it means to claim yourself to be now what you desire to be. That claim is the breath. It is not a future hope. It is not a wish sent out into space. It is the present feeling of being the one who already has or already is the fulfilled state. As you sustain that feeling, the quality you have claimed begins to move through your world in ways you cannot foresee. The desire, once lifeless, acquires momentum. Circumstances rearrange themselves. People and events appear that confirm the life you have given. You did not make these things happen by planning or by force. You simply breathed into the form, and the form, now alive, began to express itself.

The breath of life is invisible, yet its effects are unmistakable. You cannot see the breath as it enters the imaginal form, any more than you can see the spirit entering the child in the womb. Yet you know when the breath has been given, for a quiet certainty fills you. The anxiety that once accompanied the desire disappears. In its place comes a peaceful assurance that the thing is already done. This assurance is itself part of the breath. It is the sign that you have truly assumed the state. You no longer look for results to convince you. You are convinced already, and therefore results must follow.

You may be tempted, after you have breathed the breath, to open the door again and look upon the outer facts. You may see no immediate change and wonder whether the breath was truly given. In that moment you are being asked to trust the invisible life you have imparted. The child may not yet stand upon its feet in your sight, yet you know you have already breathed into it. You keep the door closed. You remain in the upper room of your assumption. You continue to feel the naturalness of the fulfilled desire. As you do so, the life you have given begins to show itself more and more clearly. The flesh that seemed cold grows warm. The form that seemed motionless begins to move. And one day you will say, as the prophet said, “Thy son liveth,” and the world will confirm what you have known within yourself.

The breath you give is your own life. When you feel yourself to be the fulfilled desire, you are pouring your consciousness into that form. You are not pretending. You are not imagining something apart from yourself. You are assuming that you are now the one who possesses or expresses the thing desired, and in that assumption your life flows into the form. The form, thus quickened, becomes a living reality in your world. This is why the prophet could say, “Woman, thy son liveth.” He had not labored to create a new child. He had simply given back to the mother the child he had already made alive by the breath of his own consciousness.

You are doing the same thing whenever you assume the feeling of the wish fulfilled. You are taking the lifeless form of your desire and breathing into it the conviction of reality. You are not asking God to do something for you. You are discovering that your own awareness of being is the God who breathes life into all things. The desire you once carried as a burden becomes, through your recognition, a living expression. The very act of feeling it real transfers life from the infinite source within you into the particular form you have imagined. This is the secret of creation. This is the breath of life.

Many will ask how long they must continue in this feeling before the desire appears. The question itself reveals that they have not yet given the breath. When the breath is truly given, there is no anxious counting of days. There is only the quiet knowledge that the thing is already alive. You do not wonder when it will appear. You know it must appear because you have already quickened it. The appearance is not your concern. Your concern is only that you continue to feel the naturalness of the state you have assumed. As you do so, the world, which is only the mirror of your consciousness, begins to reflect the life you have imparted.

You may have many desires, yet the principle remains the same for each one. You take the particular desire that now occupies your attention, you carry it into the secret place of assumption, you close the door to every contradicting fact, and you breathe into it the feeling that it is already so. You do not try to breathe life into all your desires at once. You give your attention to the one that is alive in your mind at this moment. As you quicken it, you will find that other desires are either dissolved or fulfilled without effort, for life is one, and the breath you give to one form strengthens the whole fabric of your consciousness.

The outer world will often seem to contradict what you have done within. This is to be expected. The signs follow; they do not precede. You have breathed life into the form in consciousness. The world must now rearrange itself to match the life you have given. It cannot do otherwise, for consciousness is the only reality, and things are only the out-picturing of what man is conscious of being. When you have truly breathed the breath, you can afford to be indifferent to the present appearance. You know the life is already there. You rest in that knowledge, and the world, in its own time and in its own way, confirms what you have assumed.

Tonight you can perform this secret act. Take the desire that seems most lifeless to you, the one you have carried longest without result. Carry it in consciousness into the upper room. Close the door. Lay the form upon the bed of your assumption. Then breathe into it. Feel it to be warm with life. Feel yourself to be the one who already possesses or expresses it. Do not force the feeling. Simply dwell in the quiet conviction that it is already so. Remain there until the feeling of naturalness comes. When it comes, you have breathed the breath of life into your desire. From that moment the form begins to live, and your world begins to change.

You will discover that this breathing is not something you do once and forget. It is the constant attitude of one who knows he is the source of life for all his imaginal forms. Whenever a desire arises, you do not wonder whether it can be realized. You simply breathe into it the recognition that it is already real. This becomes your natural way of living. You no longer nurse dead hopes. You quicken them into living realities by the quiet power of your own consciousness. And as you do so, you find yourself living in a world that continually reflects the life you have given.

The breath of life is not a technique. It is the simple recognition that your awareness of being is the only power that can ever make anything live. When you know this, you cease to be the widow carrying a dead child. You become the prophet who takes the child into the upper room and breathes into it until it stands upon its feet. You become the one who says, and knows as he says it, “Thy son liveth.” And the world, which has no life of its own, but only the life you give it, responds by bringing your desire into visible expression.

This is the mystery hidden in the ancient story. It is not a record of something that happened once to a woman in a distant land. It is the eternal drama of consciousness. The dead child is every unfulfilled desire. The prophet is your own awareness when you turn from the outer facts and assume the feeling of the fulfilled desire. The breath is the feeling itself—the quiet, certain claim that the thing is already so. When you give that breath, the desire ceases to be a hope and becomes a living reality. Your world, which seemed fixed and unresponsive, begins to move in harmony with the life you have imparted.

You are not asked to believe something you do not feel. You are asked only to feel the thing itself as real. The feeling is the breath. The more natural the feeling becomes, the more completely you have breathed life into the form. There is no limit to what you may quicken in this way. Health, wealth, position, relationship, any state you can imagine, can receive the breath of life from your consciousness. You have only to close the door, assume the feeling, and remain in that assumption until it feels natural. Then the form you have imagined begins to live in your world.

Do not look for the breath to come from somewhere else. It is not in another person, not in a book, not in a ritual. It is in you. Your own feeling, when it is the feeling of the wish fulfilled, is the breath that quickens every imaginal form. Trust this power. Use it tonight. Take the desire that has seemed most unresponsive, carry it into the secret place, and breathe into it the quiet conviction of reality. Do not doubt. Do not question how. Simply feel it done, and know that in that feeling you have given the only life the form can ever receive.

As you continue in this practice, you will find yourself changing in a profound way. You will no longer see yourself as one who lacks and must struggle to obtain. You will see yourself as one who possesses the power to give life to every desire that arises within him. This change of self-concept is itself a result of the breath you have given. By quickening your desires into living realities, you discover that you are life itself, forever breathing into form the states you assume. The world becomes your mirror, reflecting back to you the life you have imparted. And you walk through your days no longer as the widow nursing death, but as the prophet who gives life, knowing that whatever you breathe into, must in its own time and way, stand upon its feet a living reality.

Tonight, before you sleep, perform this inner act. Choose one desire. Carry it into consciousness. Close the door. Breathe the breath of life into it by feeling it already real, already yours, already expressed. Remain in that feeling until it becomes natural. Then rest, knowing that you have done the only thing that can ever be done. You have given life to your imaginal form. And life, once given, must express itself. Your desire will no longer be a dead child in your arms. It will be a living reality in your world, and you will know, as surely as the prophet knew, that the breath you gave has accomplished its purpose. You are the one who breathes life into all your desires, and in that knowledge you are free.