The Chiding

How ungentle you are with yourself, child
Wanting to be what you want to be, right now and thoroughly
The deep loam seems to you a swallowing dark
You do not understand that sometimes the hottest of fires is needed to nurture the mightiest of trees
Patience
For my urgency is not yours
And becoming is a process with no true end
Hold out your hand open
Not grasping and greedy nor desperate for the way out or the walls of what is not a prison but a seed
Settle yourself here with the curiosity of a small child who does not yet know that names exist
And so begins their own naming
You are not a thing to be found, no map nor rescue could lead the way to safety
Unfurl in this place, send out your wild tendrils
You will know when it is time to reach