I think, it can be easy to talk about community. Sketch out vision, dream the ending. Harder to live it.
Today human threads feel frayed. Feel fingers fumble. Wonder what to do with all the mess that wasn’t in the plan - broken words, mismatched dreams, the hunger, hurt and loneliness. Want an escape. Or a clean beginning.
Then think of weaving threads. The threads freed, then brought back again. Simple union. Repetitiously chosen. Weaves it strong. Stronger than the thin thread run away. Weaves as one this messy unknown. A kind of perfection.
Community. The fumbling, joyful, weary, fun creating. Freedom of unity. Found pattern more perfect than all my perfected runaway dreaming.