See also: Is There Video Footage of Neville Goddard? The Lost KTTV Broadcasts, Joe Pyne and the Hunt for Video Evidence
Listen carefully to this story. It is taken from the first chapter, the third verse of the book of Joshua. Here it is: “Every place that the sole of your foot shall tread upon, that have I given unto you.” Do you believe it? Well, I know it’s true. I have proven it. And this story is meant not for the outer you, it’s meant for the inner you. Most men aren’t even aware that there is an inner you—a real you.
In the New Testament it’s put in this manner: “The natural man receiveth not the things of the Spirit of God: for they are foolishness unto him: neither can he know them, for they are spiritually discerned.” We are told the first man, that is the outer man, is of the earth; the inner man, the second man, is the Lord from heaven. Now this book from which I’ve read the quote is the book of Joshua. The word Jesus is the Greek form of the word Joshua; they are identical in meaning. They mean literally the same. And all the promises of the Bible are addressed to that inner man, that second man, that is the Lord from heaven. Not the outer man. The outer man is limited to the essence of his senses. He is limited to what they will allow, to what they dictate. But the inner man has no limitations: “Every place that the sole of your foot shall tread upon, the same give I unto thee.”
Now let me show you how it’s done. For I was confronted with what seemed at the time to be an enormous problem, an impassable barrier between myself and my objective. I hadn’t seen my family in Barbados for the entire war years. So, the first ship out of New York City to sail for the Indies after the war was over, I sailed with my little family to Barbados. We took a boat that took us to Trinidad, and from there we flew to Barbados. On arrival my brother asked me when I intended to return to America. For this was 30 January, and after returning home after so many years I would like to remain until maybe the end of April and return around the first of May.
Then he said to me, “Of course, you arranged for your return while you were in America.” I said, “No, I didn’t.” He said, “Neville, how could you have left America—that is the capital of the world, everything goes on there, especially in New York City, and if any passage could be arranged, certainly it should have been done in New York City. Do you realize that there are literally thousands, tens of thousands of people, waiting all through the islands for passage to America? And little Barbados has nothing to offer. There are only two ships that fly the waters: one sails out of Boston carrying 120 passengers, and one sails out of New York carrying only 60. And I am told that all space, all available space, is already committed, right through the month of September. And here it is January. Not only the space is committed, but there are actually thousands of people on a waiting list. If you put your name down with your family of three, you are at the bottom of the list—it will take two years to get out of here.”
I didn’t tell him what I’m telling you now. I didn’t wish to disturb him. Because he didn’t know or was not familiar with this technique. I made no effort to book passage; I simply put my name on the bottom of the list. But I wasn’t concerned. It was January, and I am in Barbados for vacation, so I do not need to be concerned and spoil my vacation for lack of passage. I wanted to get back to New York City around the first of May. So this is what I did based upon this knowledge. At the very end of March, I saw the ship that sailed for New York leaving the bay. I had a good mental picture of what she looked like, a small one. So that day as I returned to my hotel after lunch I sat in a nice easy chair in my room, and this is what I did. I knew that if the inner man could perform an act then the outer man would be compelled to duplicate it. For whenever the action of the inner self corresponds to the action that the outer self must take to appease desire, that desire must be realized. So I made as lifelike and vivid a representation as possible of what I would see and what I would do and what I would hear were I physically present on that ship.
Well, I knew one thing that I would have to do if I sailed. In Barbados there is no deep-water harbor, that is, not as yet. So all passengers must take a small little ship from the harbor, and move off maybe a mile or three-quarters-of-a-mile to sea; then your little ship is latched alongside of the big ship and a gangplank is lowered and you walk up the gangplank. That’s one act I would have to perform if I sailed on that boat. I could perform it as a visitor, but the emotions of someone who actually lived there differed from the emotions of someone who was only visiting. So, I had to adopt a sort of mixed emotion; for it was a peculiar sort of scene: I was leaving a very wonderful and large family behind that I had not seen in six years, although I was returning to a home that I loved in New York City. I was happy to get back, or to be sailing, but I was sad at sailing—that sort of feeling that mixed together joy and woe. As the prophet said: “Joy and woe are woven fine, a garment for the soul divine.”
So I knew exactly what he meant: the experience of mixing these two emotions into something that was a sweet, sweet sorrow. So, with my picture in my mind of what I would have to do, I sat in a chair like I am sitting here. I first induced a dream state, and the reason for that is this: We are told in the book of Job, “In a dream, in a vision of the night, when deep sleep falls upon men, in slumberings upon the bed, then He opens up the ears of men and sealeth their instruction.” Well, I knew the one who would sealeth was within me, for God is in man, not on the outside of man. God is in you. So the one in me would have to be my own wonderful I-Am-ness. That’s the God in man, man’s consciousness. And that inner man is his son, his only lovely begotten son, which is my imagination. Well, sitting in that chair I induced a drowsy state—that dreamy, drowsy state that borders upon sleep. But you induce it only to a certain step; if you carry it too far you go to sleep. And then you lose the control of the direction of your attention. That’s something you must always maintain, and it must be under your control, not the control of another. So I had to induce it but only to a certain point, and just before I slept I arrested that state.
You may say that consciousness is likened to an ocean or to a tide, it ebbs and it flows. The ebb tide is the very moment when my critical faculties are being exercised; I know exactly where I am seated in the studio and what I am doing. That is not the state of the flow tide, when I do not know what I am doing, which is the unconsciousness of sleep. But between these two extremes—of the flow tide of unconsciousness of sleep and the ebb tide when all the critical faculties are being exercised—there are any number of intermediary states between these two extremes. I wanted a state that borders upon sleep. So because I’m thinking of a tide, I recall now that the high tide lifts a man easily off the bars of the senses, where he has so long been stranded.
So I was stranded upon my senses, for they told me I couldn’t get out of the island. All that I heard my brother tell me, my father tell me—they confirmed my senses. For here I am stranded on the bar of my senses. But I knew I could lift myself off of what they knew, and what my outer man knew, what my critical faculty knew, and actually sail away to my place in New York City. So all I wanted to do was to perform an act that would actually imply that I was there. With that clearly in my mind, I took myself into the easy chair and induced the drowsy state, and just before I lost control of the direction of my attention I started the action in my imagination. And this was what I worked out: I felt that if I walked up the gangplank and it seemed to me real, and then on the top of that ship holding the rail I could look back at the little town of Bridgetown and have that feeling of sadness—and yet a sweet sadness because I was happy that I was sailing.
So I assumed I stepped off onto the gangplank, and then step after step right up the entire gangplank, making it as natural and as real as I possibly could. I gave every step all the solidity that I could muster—all the sensory vividness that I could actually bring to play upon that action. When I got to the part of the imaginary stairway, which is the gangplank, I became aware that I had wandered from my task. For I had set myself a task to walk up the gangplank, while holding the gangplank. Then I found myself completely gone, I was not on a ship. When I became aware that I had simply floated away from my objective, I brought myself back to the very first step on that gangplank. And there I went over and over again. I did it over and over and over until that action took on the tones of reality. When it seemed to me normal and naturally real, I then felt that I was actually performing it in the right way. So I kept on doing it and then I went sound asleep in the act of walking up the gangplank.
This was on a Thursday afternoon, I would say about 2:30 to 3. The next morning, Friday at 10:35, the Alcoa Steamship Company called me and offered me passage on the next sailing, which was the twenty-first day of April, putting me back in New York City on the first of May.
And so I know from my own personal experience that this thing is true. That “every place that the sole of your foot shall tread upon, the same give I unto you.” If you could now conceive of what you would do were you in possession of what you want to be in this world, and then having conceived it so that it’s clear to you, a vivid representation of exactly what you would see and do, well then do it. Do it over and over until it seems to you real. And while you are doing it in that dreamy, drowsy state, allow yourself to slip into the deeper sleep in the act of doing it. When you wake the next day or five minutes later—in my case I woke maybe a half-an-hour later—I was inwardly rehearsed in what would take place.
All the people who played their parts, the steamship agent, and all the people who did it on the ship, they were bystanders in my dream. I made my dream so real, and because of their physical presence they became related to my dream. And because they’re related to it, they were drawn into my drama and had to play their parts. I didn’t think of the captain’s name or the steward’s name or any person on the ship who might be sailing as a passenger. I didn’t concern myself with how it would happen, I knew it would have to happen. And in less than twenty-four hours I had confirmation of my passage as I sought. As an outer man seeking I couldn’t find, but the inner man can find. This is based upon the simple principle that whenever the action of the inner man corresponds to the action that the outer man must take to, I would say, realize his dream or to appease his hunger, that must be done in the outer world. I know it.
So when I returned to New York City I told my experience to my audiences at Town Hall. A man present said to himself, he didn’t say it to me, he said to himself, “I’m going to disprove this principle. I’m going to do it tonight,” and this is what he did: He hadn’t climbed a ladder in years; there was no occasion for it. But that night, because he hadn’t climbed one in years, he thought he would do that, for there was no occasion for climbing a ladder. So he sat in his easy chair, and he took this imaginary ladder, and up he climbed the ladder. He did it over and over, climbing the ladder until he went sound asleep in the act of climbing up a ladder. Four days later, he visited a friend he hadn’t seen in years. And she asked him, as a gentleman, if he wouldn’t mind climbing a ladder and rearranging a picture beyond her reach. He didn’t realize what action took place until he was on the very top of the ladder and saw the evidence. When it dawned upon him that he had proven the principle he became so emotional he almost fell off.
Now don’t you try to disprove it. Don’t climb a little ladder in doubt. If you hope to disprove, you will prove it. Rather, put yourself into some big, noble state, be a wonderful man, a wonderful woman, whoever you are. Be noble. Construct a little drama which implies the fulfillment of your dream. And then do it over and over and over, and make it natural. And I promise you, “Wherever the sole of your foot shall tread, the same give I unto you outwardly.”
Now after a moment from my sponsor I’ll be back with an incident that is by far the most interesting case history I could tell you this day.
As I told you, if an action is needed you must turn to the inner man and the inner man must do it. I told the story you just heard in San Francisco. A blind girl was in my audience. And she was faced with a problem. Although blind she was earning a wonderful, wonderful income. But there recently came the rerouting of the buses and she found herself spending two-and-a-half hours one way on three buses. For being blind, I tell you now, when I say blind, her eyes are removed; there are little plastic eyes when you look into her eyes—they had to remove them years and years ago.
So, in her predicament, getting off one bus she must wait and hope that someone is passing by and, seeing her limitations, can help her across the street. So she crossed herself and after two weeks she could not make it in less than two-and-a-half hours. And in previous days when she had only one bus to take she made it in fifteen minutes. So, that night this is what she did. She sat in her living room and she first of all investigated what it would cost by taxi. That was completely out of the question. She thought in terms of giving up her apartment. But all the things that she thought of rapidly, she couldn’t put into effect. She came to the conclusion that going from her place to the place she worked in a car was the only solution. She couldn’t afford a chauffeur and she couldn’t drive, for she was blind. But a car seemed to her the only solution.
So this is what she did. Sitting in her living room in a nice easy chair, she assumed that she was seated on the front seat of a car. She felt that the person next to her was a man. Then she felt the rhythm of the car. Then she could smell the gasoline. Then she felt the car move. She felt it stop for what she thought would be a red light. Then she felt the car move on. She finally came to the end of her imaginary journey, she turned to her companion and said, “Thank you very much, sir.” To which he replied, “The pleasure is all mine.” She got out of that car and then she imagined she heard the door click, as she slammed in her imagination the door of the car. And then she walked up the plank leading to her office. The next night she did it all over again. She did it until it seemed to her that she was actually in a car; she could actually see herself in a car and riding the streets of San Francisco, stopping in front of her office building, getting out, thanking her driver, and then making her way up the ramp.
The second night, right after she had done it and given it the tones of reality, her companion read her the evening paper. And there in the evening paper was the picture of a man who was interested in blind people. Having read the article, she thought she would call him. She looked his name up in the telephone directory, and found his name and called him. He said he was interested in the blind, as said in the paper, but this was no time or place to call him. If she would write him a long, detailed letter of the nature of her problem he would take it under consideration. She sat down and wrote him a letter and explained her problem—simply a problem of transportation.
Next day when he got the letter he simply read it and put it in his pocket. On his way home he stopped in at a place where he stops every day before returning to his home. And that happened to be a bar. He stopped in at a bar. He knew the proprietor and had his little martini, or whatever he had, and while he was there he was prompted to tell the blind girl’s story. Having told the story, a total stranger, who was a salesman for some liquor house, overhead the story. And he said, “Well, I make a good living and I do nothing for this community. Here is a girl who not only is taking herself off the backs of taxpayers, but in her letter she states that she is training nine other blind people to earn their own living. Here this girl, who should be supported by the taxpayers, earns her own living and she’s taught nine others to earn their living; and I, who earn a wonderful living, I do nothing for our community. I will drive that girl to work.”
The man who received the letter said, “If you, a total stranger, will drive her to work, I, who am interested in the blind and make it my job, I will then take her home. And that was the bargain. Now that’s almost three years ago. I saw that girl just about six months ago and she told me that it has not failed one day of a five-day week. Five days a week, one gentleman picks her up and takes her to her work and one takes her from work to home. And here is the strange part. The very first morning that she drove with one of these men, she turned to him as she got out of the car, and she said, “Thank you very much, sir,” to which he replied, “The pleasure is all mine.” The identical words that she in her imagination had used to make the scene seem natural were used the very first day.
Now, it was twice she did it—on the third day she was being driven to work. I say to you if she can do it, and if the speaker can do it, you can do it. I have done it a number of times and I teach others to do it. It is a simple, simple technique. You must learn to believe in the inner man and the reality of what is to you at the moment an invisible realm. This invisible world is not really unreal; it’s the most real world imaginable. And the inner man related to it is a far more real being than the outer personality that you cling to and think so much of in this world. Trust. These things will never fail. Whenever the action of the inner you corresponds to the action that the outer you must take to appease your desire, that desire will be realized.
For this whole wonderful world of ours is nothing more than the appeasement of hunger; that’s why we built it. We made it to satisfy our longing.
You have some intense longing, some wonderful hunger in this world, it may be for a job, it may be an increase of income, it may be some wonderful, harmonious relationship in a home that is now strained, no matter what it is, construct a little act, this action inside, that your dream has been realized, then take that action and inwardly do it over and over and over until it takes on the tones of reality.
When to you it seems natural, then you may sleep. But I do believe in that sleeping during the action, in some strange way it seems to hasten the interval between the doing and the realization of it. Of course, you don’t have to sleep. But I have found from experience that if I can fall asleep while I am performing the action—the action that implies the fulfillment of my dream—that I quickly collapse the time.
In Barbados, it took me less than one day to have passage on a ship, although the ship was not sailing for another twenty-one days. Still, I knew I was going to sail on that ship. I had tangible proof; I had the passage in my possession. This girl took maybe two days. Although she was driven on the third day, she really only did it two nights: two nights sitting in her living room she assumed she was in a car; she could smell the gasoline; she took all of her attention and hallucinated it—you can hallucinate sights, smell, touch. I can take my hand now, place it on this book, and assume that I am fondling something that is not here to be seen by anyone. And so lose myself in it that to me it seems natural. If I do it until it seems natural, and sleep while I’m doing it, do you not think it will become my posession? That’s how everyone should live and will eventually live in this world.
So instead of going out and simply getting things that are not yours or I would say stealing in order to survive, you don’t steal to survive with this technique—you die in order to live. You let go of the things that you conceptualize, just drop them, and you simply inwardly see yourself into another state. And seeing yourself right into the situation of your fulfilled desire you sleep in that state. And so you know the wisdom of the word: “In a dream, in a vision of the night, when deep sleep falls upon men, in slumberings upon the bed, then he openeth the ears of men and sealeth their instructions.”
We are rehearsed at night in the part that we are playing when we open our eyes in this outer world. And all that we will do, we do under compulsion. For this inner motion is the force by which the outer event is brought to bear.
If you know it, then don’t just know it—do it. For if you do it, I promise you, you will get the result. But you must apply it. Application is important. Everyone in this world must learn to live by their imagination. And only as you live by imagination can you truly be said to live at all. Now here in this book of mine, Awakened Imagination, you will find that case history of the blind girl. Read it and apply it. And become the man, the woman that you want to be. You can be anything in this world that you want to be; if you know these wonderful promises, accept them and then test them. You’re invited to test them. “Come prove me now and see if I will not open the windows of heaven and pour you out a blessing so great, there is not room on earth to receive it.”
You can conceive of the impossible state—impossible to the inner man. All things are possible to the inner man.
Now I’ll be back in just a moment with just a thought for today.
Today is to be reminded that every place that the sole of your footsteps tread upon has been given unto you.
Goodbye and thank you.
