The Audacity to Disregard the Evidence

#NevilleGoddard   #LawofAssumption  #SelfHelp

The audit report sat on Elena’s desk like a heavy stone. It was a Tuesday morning in late November, the grey light of dawn filtering through the office blinds. In the corner of the room, the radiator gave a rhythmic clank, and the air smelled faintly of stale coffee and overheated dust—the scent of a place that had given up.

The numbers on the page were brutal. Her bank account was empty. Her phone had been silent for weeks. According to the evidence of her senses, she was finished.

Elena picked up the paper, her hands trembling. Panic rose in her chest like a tide. Every instinct in her body screamed at her to act—to scream, to beg the bank for an extension, to pack up her office and run. The physical world was screaming: You are a failure. You have nothing.

But then, a memory surfaced. It was a phrase she had read years ago, something she had scribbled on a sticky note and stuck to her monitor:

"Disregard appearances, conditions, in fact, all evidence of your senses that deny the fulfillment of your desire. Rest in the assumption that you are already what you want to be, for, in that determined assumption, you and your Infinite are one, and that One is your Father."

Elena looked at the sticky note. It was yellowed and curling at the edges. It seemed absurd in the face of a foreclosure notice. How could she disregard this? The numbers were right there. The eviction notice was taped to her door.

Ignore the evidence? It felt like ignoring a fire in the kitchen.

She closed her eyes. The quote said to "Rest in the assumption." To rest was the last thing she felt like doing. Her mind wanted to race, to plan, to fight the appearance of disaster.

But she forced herself to stop. She took a deep breath and made a conscious, violent choice to turn her back on the red ink.

"I am not this woman," she whispered. "I am not the woman looking at a bankruptcy."

In her mind, she stood up from her desk and walked out of the grey office. She walked into a new reality. She didn't just visualize a check; she entered the state of the woman who had already won.

She sat in the silence of her office and began to build a world from the inside out. She imagined the feeling of relief—not the relief of a hypothetical future, but the relief of a past event. She imagined the crisis was over. She imagined that the funding had come through months ago.

She caught the feeling. It was a quiet, unshakeable confidence, a deep hum of victory that vibrated in her bones. She imagined walking into the bank, not as a beggar, but as a successful architect finalizing a loan for her next big project.

"Disregard the evidence," she told herself firmly as her eyes flickered open and landed on the audit report.

The report was still there. The red ink was still red. The smell of stale coffee still lingered. The evidence of her eyes and nose had not changed.

But she had changed.

For the next week, Elena practiced what she called "The Blind Eye." Every time a supplier called demanding payment, she didn't stammer or apologize. She listened, but internally, she remained in the state of the woman who was already solvent. She treated the angry voices as background noise, temporary static in a signal that was already clear.

It was the hardest thing she had ever done. Her friends noticed the shift in her demeanor, but they didn't understand it.

"You're being scarily calm about this, Elena," her friend Sarah said over lunch one day, eyeing her warily. "Everyone else is freaking out, but you look like you're sitting on a secret. What's your plan?"

"I'm just operating from a different set of facts," Elena replied simply.

She refused to give the "conditions" any power. She refused to let the red ink define her identity. She nurtured the feeling of the wish fulfilled, watering it like a rare plant in the dark, ignoring the weeds of doubt that sprang up around her.

Ten days later, Elena received a call from a development firm in Singapore. They had been following her work for years. They didn't know about her financial trouble; they just knew they wanted her lead designer on a massive new urban planning project.

The contract was enough to clear her debts three times over.

When Elena hung up the phone, she looked at the audit report still sitting on her desk. It was exactly the same piece of paper it had been two weeks ago. The world hadn't magically rearranged itself in a day. But by refusing to bow to the evidence of her senses—by stubbornly occupying the feeling of the victory until it became her natural vibration—she had allowed a bridge of incidents to be built from that invisible state to this physical one.

She picked up the report and dropped it into the recycling bin.

The senses had told her she was dying. Her assumption had told her she was living. She had chosen the assumption—and the world, as it must, had no choice but to agree.

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Aaron Rose is a software engineer and technology writer at tech-reader.blog and aaronrose.blog.