Communion
Loneliness is what unites us. At sea, we learn how to stand beside it — together.
Loneliness is what unites us.
It belongs to everyone.
No one can walk our path for us—
not a parent,
not a partner,
not a child.
We live alone.
We age alone.
We die alone.
No one can carry the weight of our lives:
the hopes,
the choices,
the responsibilities,
the fears,
the failures.
Loneliness is what unites us—
the recognition of our shared tragedy.
Communion does not merge one life with another.
It does not rescue one life through another.
It allows us to stand beside each other,
fully aware,
fully responsible for our own story,
while witnessing the magnitude of what the other carries.
It is holding the hand of a dying person—
not to take away the fear,
not to eliminate the pain,
but simply to say:
I am here.
I see where you are going.
It is raising a child—
not to take away the fear,
not to eliminate the pain,
but simply to say:
I am here.
I see who you are becoming.
It is sharing a meal—
acknowledging our hunger
and our hope for relief.
Bringing what we have.
Setting it on the table.
Not as an act of rescue,
but of presence.
Saying, without promise:
Take.
It is sharing a boat—
acknowledging our desires
and our search for meaning.
Entering the same passage.
Accepting the same uncertainty.
Sailing together,
not to erase our solitude,
but to move alongside it.
Saying, without promise:
Come.