ZINE: Holiday, now

To that design, we sought out connection
around the globe, loving until an
Omie presented itself, and loving on in
gratitude. Omies aren’t only women, by
the way. We have a lovely Omie in Utah
who is a cranky man in his seventies who
couldn’t be anything other than family to
us. They are just family. A safe harbor. A
sense of home in a mercurial and often
vicious world. Our family is not defined
by age, gender or race. Our family is defined
by a deep web of networked compassion.
Our family includes a monk in Bayakulpe,
A rickshaw driver in Mysore
a teacher in South Africa
a yoga student who died in April of a heart
attack, a mountain of a man, an Australian
rugby player who loved motorcycles
and throwing the boys across the pool in
India on our day off from training. The
loss is as deep as the loss of any family
member would be. He hath borne them
on his back a thousand times, and now he
is gone... but he is still our family.
To that end, the family of our family is
our family. One of my family members
lost his wife of sixty-seven years.
I met him, because his son is in my family.
The loss of one so dear to both of
them made the absent space where she
belonged crystallize into a family member,
a living, breathing memory, a sacred
space.
2020 has of course brought with it the
most extraordinary challenges most of
us have ever faced. Coming strong on the
heels of three years of cancer and pain,
the loss of my ability to perform my job
as an adventure guide on rock, snow, ice,
motorcycles, bikes, trekking and art going,
my crumpled husk was on a mattress
on the floor in the back room of our small
cabin in Aspen for a long time.
I did not see my Omies during this pre-
COVID darkness. But they were there.
They sent messages; they were patient.
There were many days when I felt I was
taking more than I could give, and they
would remind me, this is not a transactional
relationship. This is love. My traditional
family is as bizarre perhaps as
my Family, and those who we are closest
to we are often physically farthest from
as my body healed again and the need to
learn drove us onward in search of further
immersive education. Our family helped
us get here. They helped with emails of
encouragement, with sweat and effort,
with financial support. Each gave as they
could. We are here because of our family.
The journey to London was its own Crucible,
launched as it was in the middle of
the Pandemic, and landing us in a place
and time where the world felt very cold
and dark, angry and isolated. We had no
Omies in place in London. Acquaintances,
yes. People who could and would be
there should the illusion that we were safe
and secure come crashing down… no.
And then the extraordinary happened
again. A friend we had met once, in Koh
Samui as she traveled through for an
Omie’s wedding appeared on our doorstep,
children waiting in the car: a holdall
with kale from her garden, herbs, a bottle
of wine, and a Sainsbury’s account
set up for us so we could have groceries
delivered whilst in quarantine. We had
no bank account, and COVID made the
wait for one weeks long. She, this angel
of compassion, helped. The effort it cost
her was not inconsiderable, but the impact
it had on us was immeasurable.
It is hard, as we realize we are becoming
family with this beautiful troop, not to
continuously ask, how can I ever repay
you? And to my friends who are helping
me set up a studio in London. How? How
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