She had a special glow. The glow of someone who had been
given a second chance. Looking at that tall, lustrous-haired girl, it was
difficult to imagine that in her early teens, she had been hospitalised with
leukaemia. That those thick dark locks had vanished with the side effects of
chemotherapy. She was vibrant. Yet beneath that elegant, almost demure
exterior, a survivor’s spirit crouched like a tiger.
Our friendship was at its height in the early nineties.
London’s second summer of love. As creative, iconoclastic teenagers we were
drawn to the colourful rave scene, festooned in psychedelic flares and thick,
black eyeliner. We partied with dedication that far surpassed our scholarly
disciplines. Tabitha’s unique Anglo-Asian beauty attracted many admirers,
including the attentions of a certain indie rock star.
It was a dreamy time for us, our soundtrack a mix of
uplifting House and vintage Motown soul. We danced, we celebrated life and
channelled our inspiration into poetry and art, a source of mutual fascination.
At a time when I felt so angry and highly misunderstood, Tabitha got me. We could share long
philosophical rambles and confide our teenage angst in each other.
She had this infectious enthusiasm for even the smallest
details: a sample in a dance tune, the shape if an orchid, a glitzy pair of
platforms, Dusty Springfield’s voice in “Son of a Preacher Man’. It amazed me
how she seemed to relish every moment.
Over the years our party scenes changed as we grew, evolved
and even matured. From pulling our worst 70’s dance moves at Carwash in
Leicester Square, grooving to funk in sweaty basement Fitzrovia clubs, hanging
out in the backstreet pubs of Camden to vibing with the student nightlife in
Nottingham, where Tabitha studied.
As I moved off into my own travels and studies, we
eventually lost touch. Many years later, when I returned home to South Africa,
we reconnected through Facebook. We found we had followed similar paths, and had
both transformed the bliss of our party days into the natural high of yoga. It
made me happy to know she had become a Kundalini yoga teacher and it seemed so
fitting that she was facilitating yoga holidays to India and Morocco.
A traveller, a poetic soul, a passionate fighter for worthy
causes, those are the flames that burnt brightly in her soul. That such a
bright fire could so suddenly be extinguished, was almost unbelievable for me.
It was with utter shock that, just after Christmas 2016 I read a long list of
tributes on her Facebook page. It is clear that she sparked those same flames
in many of her students and all who met her. And judging by what I read there, that she was
at the peak of her life, doing work that she loved, guiding and inspiring
others and wholeheartedly engaged with her karma
yoga.
On the yogic path there are various winding trails to
enlightenment. Yet a perfectly balanced yoga class could include all of them. Hatha yoga, the yoga of postures,
darling of the West, often becomes more about fixing and beautifying bodies, or
achieving circus-like Instagram glory, while neglecting the inner being. Bhakti yoga is the yoga of devotion with
its world of sacred chants, prayers or offerings to a pantheon of elaborate
deities. Jnana yoga, the yoga of
knowledge and intellectual reason, befits the thinker, the meditator, who
quietly contemplates the mysteries of the universe.
But the karma yogi
is less glamorous than all of these. She is cleaning the ashram floor,
preparing dhal for hundreds of hungry
mouths or caring for the sick and needy. The karma yogi is fuelled by the boundless energy of someone who is
dedicated to divine, selfless service. Through the rewards of her work, she
finds fulfilment.
Tabitha was at that celestial peak, having descended into
the challenging valleys of her life, and having ascended on its joys. That she
ended her wild and beautiful sojourn on this earth by devoting herself to a
group of orphans in India is the most bittersweet thought. That ultimate summit
of her existence was no better place from which to grow wings and soar into the
higher realms.
While a massive loss for her family, friends and all her
students, her passing has also been a huge awakening for me. It has made me
examine my life, my yoga and my teachings and is calling my soul to apply
itself to a meaningful and rewarding task. It is calling me to take action,
beyond the yoga mat, beyond the studio walls. I have no doubt that the many
others who had the privilege of knowing Tabitha will feel the same.
In loving memory of
Tabitha Dean.
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