The Crown upon our brow has not been an easy one to wear. Deep spiritual work is never easy. At this time of great inner hunger, if we are to be feed and find ourselves nurtured, then that work must not be dwelt upon but offered up as a sacrifice of its own. The Crown of glorious Sovereignty must be placed upon the ground in the middle of that field in which we have labored to bring forth crops.
This is a sacrifice of the false self— transforming—allowing the That-Which-I-Am to not only blaze as the Sun but with the Waters of the Mysteries of that Truth seen, the two as one bring forth the Inner Harvest.
It is Lammas, the First Harvest. There has been much work done to arrive at this point in our lives, but alas, if the Harvest is to be enjoyed then we must make a sacrifice of ourselves to the betterment of the Self. It is a bittersweet death. The mantle which must be put away has been good, and we have grown attached. However, in the same stroke which has cast it off, the sickle laid before us the grain of the harvest truth. It is Lammas and there will be bread upon our table.
"Lost in a thicket bare-footed upon a thorned path."