#196: The State That Includes the Desire

The State That Includes the Desire

A Lecture in the Voice and Spirit of Neville Goddard

Many a man turns his attention to a desire and labors to bring it to pass, yet remains in the very state of consciousness that makes the desire necessary. He affirms, he prays, he struggles, and all the while he continues to view his world from the old mansion, the old sum of assumptions that denies the very thing he seeks. The desire stands apart from him, something to be added, something still to come, and so it either delays or arrives attended by effort and strain. But the secret is not in the desire. The secret is in the state that already includes the desire as one of its natural expressions. When you enter that state, the desire ceases to be a goal to be reached and becomes instead the inevitable fruit of the consciousness you now occupy.

Consciousness is the only reality, and every state of consciousness is a mansion within the Father’s house. These mansions are not places in space; they are conditioned states of awareness, each one complete in itself, each one peopled with its own incidents, its own events, its own expressions. You are always in one mansion or another. You are always assuming, whether you know it or not, and what you assume determines the world that rises around you. The desire you now entertain is not a solitary thing floating in emptiness. It belongs to a larger state, a broader conception of yourself, a richer sense of being in which such a desire is already at home. To focus upon the desire while remaining in the old state is to ask the old state to produce what it cannot produce. The old state can only continue to out-picture its own nature. The new state, once entered, out-pictures its nature without your coaxing or pleading.

You cannot serve two masters. You cannot dwell in the consciousness of lack and expect abundance to appear as anything but an exception. You cannot remain identified with the man who is still becoming and expect the finished thing to appear without struggle. The state you occupy is your master. It commands your inner speech, your view of the world, the very feeling tone with which you meet each day. When that state is one of quiet fulfillment, the specific desire you once pursued with anxiety now appears as a simple incident along the way. It does not have to be coaxed into being; it is already included. The state itself brings forth its own correspondences, and among them is the very thing you once thought you must achieve by effort.

Consider what it means to enter a state rather than to chase a desire. To enter a state is to assume the consciousness of already being the one for whom the desire is natural. It is not to think of the desire; it is to think from the larger consciousness that contains it. In that consciousness the desire has already been fulfilled in principle. The particular form it will take is secondary. The state does not argue with the senses; it simply knows itself as complete, and the senses, in time, must conform. This is why the promise is given to seek first the kingdom of heaven. The kingdom is not a distant realm; it is the state of consciousness that produces the thing desired. When you occupy that state, all things are added, not because you have asked for them one by one, but because they belong to the state itself.

The feeling that accompanies the true assumption is one of naturalness. There is no strain, no forcing of the mind, no anxious repetition of words. You simply allow yourself to feel as you would feel were you already living in the larger state. The relief that comes when a long-standing problem is solved, the quiet satisfaction that attends the knowledge that you are secure, the unhurried certainty that the thing you once pursued is now yours in consciousness—these are the feeling tones of the state. Dwell in them. Let them become your dwelling place. Do not visit the state for a moment and then return to the old mansion. Remain there. Make it your home. For the state you persist in becomes the state you express, and the world you see is always the out-picturing of the state you have made your own.

Many wonder why their desires remain unfulfilled even though they have imagined them vividly. The answer lies in the state from which they imagine. If the imagination is still rooted in the old conception of self, the image is like a picture hung upon the wall of the old mansion. It decorates the wall, but it does not change the house. The true work is not to hang a new picture; it is to move into a new house altogether. When you move, the old pictures lose their power, and the new state brings with it its own pictures, its own events, its own fulfillments. The desire you once held so tightly now appears without your having to hold it at all. It is simply there, as natural as the air you breathe in the new mansion.

The inner speech reveals the state you occupy. Listen to the words you speak silently to yourself throughout the day. Are they the words of one who still lacks, still hopes, still waits? Or are they the words of one who already is? The man in the state that includes his desire does not say within himself, “I will have it someday.” He says, in feeling if not in words, “It is so now.” He does not argue with appearances. He views the world from the new state, and appearances, in time, must rearrange themselves to match the view. This is not a matter of positive thinking in the usual sense. It is a matter of identity. You are not persuading the world to give you something; you are assuming the consciousness that already possesses it in principle, and the world, being but the shadow of consciousness, must follow.

There is no need to concern yourself with the manner of fulfillment. The state has ways you know not of. When you occupy the state, the means appear as naturally as the desire itself. The bridge of incidents is built by the state, not by your anxious planning. You may not see the bridge at first. You may see only the old walls around you. But persist in the feeling of the new state, and the walls will open or fall away. What seems impossible from the old state is seen to be the most natural thing in the world once you have risen to the state that includes it. The how is never your concern. Your only concern is to remain faithful to the state you have assumed.

As you persist, something subtle yet profound occurs. The desire itself begins to lose its feverish importance. You no longer feel that your happiness depends upon this one thing appearing. You are content in the state, and because you are content, the state can express itself without hindrance. The very relaxation of your grip upon the specific form allows the larger consciousness to bring forth what is truly fitting. Often the thing that appears is greater than the desire you originally held, for the state contains not one expression but many, and life, moving from the state, chooses the expression best suited to the whole. You discover that you were not truly desiring a thing; you were desiring the feeling of a state, and now that you have entered the state, the things take care of themselves.

This is the meaning of the words, “To him that hath shall more be given.” The man who has entered the state already has the consciousness of fulfillment. Therefore more is given. The man who has not entered the state, though he may possess many things, still lacks the consciousness, and even what he has seems insufficient. The state is the true possession. All else is but its shadow. When you understand this, you cease to envy those who appear to have what you desire. You see that they are living in a state you have not yet assumed, and you turn your attention to the assumption of that state rather than to the things they display. In this there is no resentment, only quiet determination to occupy the mansion prepared for you.

Tonight, as you lie down to sleep, do not rehearse the desire. Do not go over the reasons why it should come or the obstacles that seem to stand in its way. Instead, assume the larger state. Feel yourself into the consciousness of already being the one for whom such things are natural. Let the feeling of quiet fulfillment, of security, of freedom, of whatever broader quality the desire represents, possess you. Fall asleep in that feeling. If you wake in the night, return at once to the feeling of the state. Do not argue with the senses. The senses are but the report of the old state. You have moved, and the report must catch up with the new residence.

In the days that follow, carry the state with you into every activity. Do not reserve it for moments of meditation and then abandon it when you meet the old circumstances. The state is not a mood to be put on and off; it is your chosen dwelling. When old thoughts arise, do not fight them. Simply return to the feeling of the new state. The old thoughts are but the furniture of the mansion you have left. They have no power in the new house. As you persist, the old mansion grows dimmer, and the new state becomes more and more your natural home. The world begins to reflect this change, not because you have forced it, but because you have changed the cause.

There is no limit to the states available to you, for consciousness is infinite in its capacity to assume. The only limit is the limit you place upon yourself by remaining identified with the old state. But the moment you assume a new state and persist in it, that moment the limit is broken. The desire you once thought so difficult now appears as the simplest thing in the world, for it was never difficult in itself. It only appeared difficult because you were trying to produce it from a state that could not contain it. Now that you have entered the containing state, difficulty vanishes, and naturalness takes its place.

You are not asked to believe something you do not feel. You are asked to assume the feeling of the state until the feeling becomes your natural response to life. The assumption, persisted in, hardens into fact. This is not a theory; it is the law of consciousness itself. Every man, whether he knows it or not, is demonstrating this law every hour of his life. The question is not whether the law works, but which state you will choose to demonstrate. Choose the state that includes your desire, and you will discover that the desire was never separate from you. It was waiting for you to rise to the consciousness in which it already lived.

In this rising there is no loss of self. There is only the discovery of a greater self, a more generous self, a self that is not at war with its desires but at one with them. The old self, the self that struggled and doubted, is left behind in the mansion you have vacated. You do not look back. You live from the new state, and the new state lives as your world. What you once called your desire now lives in you as a quiet certainty, and the world, in its own time and way, confirms what consciousness has already established.

This night, enter the state. Let it be your home. For in the state that includes the desire, the desire is already fulfilled, and you are already free.