Inspiration
Teaching yoga is an extension of practicing yoga. Whether you are just stepping onto the teaching path or have spent many years there maturing into a mentor teacher, as you practice so you discover anew the essence of yoga as a tool for self-transformation. Like in the practice, in teaching there are unlimited opportunities for seeing more clearly, feeling more fully, and living more happily. Teaching is also an extension of your larger life, for how you live is expressed in your teaching. Committing to this path will deepen your personal practice and bring yoga more into every aspect of your life. Doing this consciously—making a considered and deliberate decision to teach yoga rather than casually assuming the role of a teacher—will make every part of your teaching practice a more natural expression of who you are as a person while allowing you to sustain yourself more simply in the teaching profession.
Your students will always be your best teachers. Listen to them, to what they say, and to what they don’t say. Opening yourself with patience and compassion to how every student offers unique insights into the practice of doing and guiding yoga will help keep you grounded in the realities of your students. Your most challenging student may be your most relevant teacher. Honor, respect, and tap into these insights; they are the most essential foundation for being the best possible teacher.
Stay with your personal practice. Many yoga teachers become so consumed by teaching that their own practice fades. Not only is your practice a vital part of a balanced and healthy lifestyle, it is a bottomless well of experience for exploring and clarifying most of the questions that will arise in your teaching. Keep going back to that source. Beware of the common tendency among teachers to think you have done a practice by demonstrating asanas in the classes that you teach; it is not the same as when you are wholly focused in doing a yoga practice. Remembering Pattabhi Jois’s oft-quoted statement that yoga is ninety-nine percent practice and one percent theory, do the practice, and the theory!
Everything in life has a rhythm. As you explore along the path of teaching, take time to pause and reflect on how you are feeling amid the shifting rhythms of your experience. Notice the changing terrain, whether it is new places, different students, or the evolution of your thinking and personal experience of the practice. Like pausing when empty of breath and sensing more clarity, occasionally take a break from teaching to gain deeper insight into how you are approaching the craft. Be as clear as you can in your motivation to teach. Allow the inevitable challenges that arise in teaching to be raw material for your personal development, always opening yourself to refining your teaching just as you help students to refine their practice of yoga.
Keep breathing!
Virabhadra—the fierce spiritual warrior. When Shiva’s consort Shakti was killed by the chief of the gods, Daksha, Shiva tore out his hair in grief and anger, creating the fierce warrior Virabhadra from his locks. With a thousand arms, three burning eyes, and fiery hair, Virabhadra wore a garland of skulls and carried many terrifying weapons. Bowing at Shiva’s feet and asking his will, Virabhadra was directed by Shiva to lead his army against Daksha to avenge Shakti’s death, which he did with immediate success.
Like Shiva, Virabhadra’s aim in destruction is not revenge but to destroy the real enemy, which is the ego standing in the way of humility. Approaching the asanas named for Virabhadra—Virabhadrasana I, II, and III—we can encourage students to cultivate the mind of the spiritual warrior, aware of all sides, unattached to attainment, centered in one’s being.
Staying focused in the practice, holding on in the midst of fear and intensity, the spirit of Virabhadra helps students discover the strength and humility to explore challenges in their practice and life with greater courage and determination.
Most people are first drawn into the practice to reduce stress, develop flexibility, heal a physical or emotional injury, explore new social connections, or pursue physical fitness. But once in the practice, connecting body-breath-mind, something starts to happen. Students begin to experience a clearer self-awareness, a sense of being more fully alive; they feel better, more in balance, more conscious, clearer. The yearning that we have as human beings for a happy, wakeful, meaningful life and a sense of connection with something greater than our individual selves starts to become a powerful motivation for practicing over the long run of one’s life.
When used as a tool for self-transformation and a path of spiritual being, yoga starts the moment a student first pays attention to what he or she is doing in the practice. If a student is unsteady, falling, in pain, or distracted by discomfort, the tendency will be to go back into his or her analytical or agitated mind. Sthira and sukham—steadiness and ease—give the asanas their transformative foundation. Being steady does not mean being perfectly still in a pose that you hold for a very long time. Indeed, a “pose” is static, something a model does for a camera. Asanas, by contrast, are alive, in each moment a unique expression of the human being doing them. Opening one’s self to a feeling of inner peace amid the relative intensity of the asana practice—being calm and soft while strong and stable—takes the practice to a deeper level.
Even when staying with an asana for a long time and cultivating steadiness and ease, there is always movement: the heart is beating, breath and prana are flowing. An expanded view of asana practice thus takes in a practice of movement within and between what are often described as separate asanas, movement in which one is just as present, just as steady in body-breath-mind, just as at ease. The breath itself starts to become as though a mantra in the movement meditation that is asana practice. In this way the practice is that of mindful meditation, in which one is fully present in the moment.
This experiential process—not the religious worship of a deity or insistence on precise form in held poses—is what makes asana practice itself a spiritual practice. And it is precisely here, in creating a space that encourages mindfulness, that the yoga teacher becomes a spiritual facilitator. In guiding yoga classes that encourage self-reflective awareness, each asana, each moment within and between the asanas, every breath, every sensation, and every thought and feeling become windows into the nature of the mind, consciousness, and spirit. The practice becomes a process offering insight into the “stickiness and delusions of the mind,” which, Stephen Levine writes, “are seen more clearly when viewed from the heart.”
This is where doing yoga asanas becomes a practice of self-transformation and healing, and a profound sense of conscious awakening and connection begins to emerge.
With twenty-six bones that form twenty-five joints, twenty muscles, and a variety of tendons and ligaments, the feet are certainly complex. This complexity is related to their role, which is to support the entire body with a dynamic foundation that allows us to stand, walk, run, and have stability and mobility in life. In yoga they are the principal foundation for all the standing poses and active in all inversions and arm balances, most back-bends and forward bends, and many twists and hip openers. Meanwhile they are also subjected to almost constant stress, ironically one of the greatest stresses today coming from a simple tool originally designed to protect them: shoes. Giving close attention to our feet—getting them strong, flexible, balanced, aligned, rooted, and resilient—is a basic starting point for building or guiding practically any yoga practice, including seated meditation.
In order to support the weight of the body, the tarsal and metatarsal bones are constructed into a series of arches. The familiar medial arch is one of two longitudinal arches (the other is called the lateral arch). Due to its height and the large number of small joints between its component parts, the medial arch is relatively more elastic than the other arches, gaining additional support from the tibialis posterior and peroneus longus muscles from above. The lateral arch possesses a special locking mechanism, allowing much more limited movement. In addition to the longitudinal arches, there are a series of transverse arches. At the posterior part of the metatarsals and the anterior part of the tarsus these arches are complete, but in the middle of the tarsus they present more the characters of half-domes, the concavities of which are directed inferiorly and medially, so that when the inner edges of the feet are placed together and the feet firmly rooted down, a complete tarsal dome is formed. When this action is combined with the awakening of the longitudinal arches, we create pada bandha, which is a key to stability in all standing poses (and a key source of mula bandha).
However, the feet do not stand alone, even in Tadasana, nor do they independently support movement. Activation of the feet begins in the legs as we run lines of energy from the top of our femur bones down through our feet. This creates a “rebounding effect.” Imagine the feeling of being heavier when riding up in an elevator, or lighter when riding down. The pressure of the elevator floor up against your feet not only makes you feel heavier, it has the effect of causing the muscles in your legs to engage more strongly. Similarly, when you intentionally root down from the tops of your thighbones down into your feet, the muscles in your calves and thighs engage. This not only creates the upward pull on the arches of pada bandha (primarily from the stirrup-like effect of activating the tibialis posterior and peroneus longus muscles) but creates expansion through the joints and a sense of being more firmly grounded yet resilient in your feet while longer and lighter up through your body.
Teaching Pada Bandha
• Bring the class to standing with their feet together at the front of their mat.
• Ask them to look down at their feet and lift and spread their toes wide apart.
• Keeping the toes lifted, guide your students to feel the inner edges of the balls of their feet (about an inch in from the space between the big toe and the fourth toe) and to press that point more firmly down into the floor.
• Now ask students to repeatedly release the toes down and lift them up while keeping the inner edges of the balls of their feet rooting down, noticing how, with the toes lifted, the inner ankles and ankles automatically lift.
• Encourage the class to try to keep their inner arches and ankles lifted and to feel how this creates a sense of lifting the center of each foot like a pyramid, awakening pada bandha. The challenge arises in trying to maintain this awakening of the feet while allowing the toes to release softly down and spread into the floor.
• With pada bandha active, draw their attention to the rebounding effect, feeling the stronger activation of their leg muscles, awakening of their inner thighs, and lengthening up through their entire body.
Some movements involving voluntary muscle contraction happen automatically as a reflexive response to intended movements or external stimulation. Here the body is acting before you can think about it. When a muscle contracts in response to stretching within the muscle, this is called a stretch reflex. With eccentric contraction—for example, the hamstrings while folding forward into Uttanasana—it is easy to generate a stretch reflex. In folding forward we ideally relax the hamstrings, allowing them to stretch more easily. But before we know it, the hamstrings are actively engaging to control the weight of the upper body moving forward and down. It is as if the hamstrings want to pull the body back up into its natural anatomical position, fully upright and stable. Stretch reflexes limit the development of flexibility and must be circumvented through countervailing muscular actions in order to cultivate full flexibility.
When students move very quickly in and out of asanas, they are likely to trigger stretch reflexes that not only limit flexibility but also increase the risk of straining muscles or tearing ligaments. As we will explore in some detail when discussing how to “play the edge,” listening to the body’s natural feedback through the breath, heartbeat, and nervous-system messages is the key to moving with ease and stability.
Pada bandha, the energetic awakening of the feet through the stirrup-like effect of contracting the tibialis posterior and peroneus longus muscles on the lower leg, can be intimately related to the activation of mula bandha and uddiyana bandha. The fascial attachments of these two muscles interweave with those of the hip adductors, which have origins in and around the ischial tuberosities (the sitting bones). The sitting bones are the lateral aspects of the perineum, with the pubic symphysis at the front and the coccyx at the back. The front half of this diamond is the urogenital triangle, a landmark for the urogenital diaphragm, a hammock-like layer that is created by three sets of muscles: transverse perineal (connecting the two sitting bones), bulbospongiosus (surrounding the vagina or bulb of the penis), and ischiocavernosus (connecting the ischium to the clitoris or covering the penile crura) (Hatley Aldous 2004, 41).Contracting this set of muscles awakens the levator ani muscle, another hammock-like layer composed of the coccygeus, iliococcygeus, and the pubococcygeus muscles. When these muscles contract, they pull the entire pelvic floor up and naturally stimulate the awakening of core abdominal muscles with attachments at the pubis (including the TA and RA). This is the muscular action of mula bandha, which creates a feeling of grounded levity in the asana practice, supports the pelvis organs, creates an upward movement of energy, and stimulates uddiyana bandha. With practice, mula bandha can be accessed directly (i.e., independently of pada bandha) and steadily maintained throughout asana practice.
Uddiyana bandha is among the most misunderstood aspects of practice, owing in part to very different definitions and instructions from different traditions and teachers. In its basic form, uddiyana bandha involves pulling the entire abdominal region strongly back toward the spine and then up toward the breastbone when completely empty of breath. Its engagement is part of specific pranayama and kriya practices, not asana practice, yet many teachers instruct students to engage it while doing asanas. In asana practice we want the breath to flow smoothly, continuously, and fully, which requires the full, natural functioning of the diaphragm. However, uddiyana bandha prevents the diaphragm from expanding naturally, thus severely restricting the inhalation of breath.
The confusion about uddiyana bandha arises from a very different breath-related muscular action in the lower abdomen that we do want to cultivate in asana practice. With each and every complete exhale the major abdominal muscles naturally contract (primarily the TAs but also the obliques and the RA). When this occurs along with mula bandha, the very light, subtle engagement of these abdominal muscles can accentuate, deepen, and give more stability and ease to the body in many (but not all) asanas and asana transitions. Indeed, in some asanas we want the belly to be quite relaxed in order for the spine, pelvis, and breath to move appropriately for those asanas. We can refer to this as “uddiyana bandha light” to distinguish it from the full form of uddiyana bandha done in pranayama.
Mula bandha and uddiyana bandha are tools that can be variously engaged to support different energetic actions in the practice. In no situation do we want to grip the belly as in full uddiyana bandha, which restricts the breath in asana practice. Nor do we want to create tightness in the pelvic floor. Rather, mula bandha and uddiyana bandha are best cultivated as light and steady energetic lifting actions that draw energy up and into the core of the body while allowing that energy to radiate out and fuel the practice. The balance of the qualities comes with practice, and with time is increasingly subtle yet pervasive in its effects.
A good traveler has no fixed plans and is not intent on arriving.
—Lao Tzu
Teaching yoga is at once profoundly personal, predicated on sharing, and shaped by context. It is also inevitably surprising. We have no choice but to start from where we are and who we are, with whatever knowledge, skills, and experience we have in the moment. We also have little choice but to work with whomever shows up for class, teaching students whose conditions, intentions, learning styles, and needs are widely varied. On any given day, unanticipated events can make a class much different than what you might have envisioned. The changes that happen from class to class also have everything to do with whoever is in the class, the time of day, our own mood, and myriad other factors that invariably come into play in teaching. Indeed, if your classes are always perfectly predictable—if you feel the same, the students seem the same, the environment manifests as exactly the same—you might benefit from reflecting on the bubble you are in and how it is probably suffocating some aspect of the practice.
It is precisely in the variability of every class and the unique experience of each new breath—even in fixed-sequence classes such as Bikram or Ashtanga Vinyasa—that we find renewed stimulation of self-exploration and self-transformation, yet also the challenges that naturally arise in teaching. Going with the flow of change, you can draw from the richness of your teaching palette to inspire and guide your students along their yoga path.
The primary goal in teaching asanas is to enable students to perceive and understand more clearly what they are doing in developing a sustainable personal practice, whether in a class or independently. But there are many different ways of learning that require a varied approach to teaching. How people learn is closely tied to what educator Howard Gardner (1993) refers to as “qualities of multiple intelligence,” which vary considerably in any given class of yoga students. In yoga classes, where the learning objectives include conceptual, emotional, physical, and metaphysical elements, the full range of multiple intelligences are in play. At the same time, a human being is more than his or her intellectual powers; motivation, personality, emotions, physical health, and personal will are more significant than a particular learning style in shaping how, where, and when one learns. This suggests that effective yoga instruction takes into account these variables in engaging with students while still appreciating the following learning styles:
• Visual/spatial: Tend to think in pictures and need vivid mental images to retain information, underlining the importance of demonstrating every asana.
• Verbal/linguistic: Tend to think in words rather than pictures and have highly developed auditory skills, thus needing clearly enunciated verbal descriptions of asanas.
• Bodily/kinesthetic: Process and remember information through interacting with the space around them and need to directly experience asanas.
• Musically/rhythmically inclined: Think in sounds, rhythms, and patterns and may be highly sensitive to environmental sounds. Can benefit from being encouraged to tune in more closely the sound and rhythm of their breath. They may also benefit from soft music that syncopates with the rhythm of a class.
• Interpersonal: Try to see things from other people’s point of view; use both verbal and nonverbal cues to open up and maintain communication channels with others; need to feel a sense of genuine presence from their teacher in the learning process.
• Intrapersonal: Tend to be absorbed in trying to comprehend their feelings, dreams, relationships, strengths, and weaknesses; benefit from having more time and space to explore what an asana is about for them as they explore their practice.
Your voice and use of language are invaluable teaching tools. Considered from a chakra perspective, the voice manifests through the vishuddha chakra, which opens with ease and clarity when the body is grounded, the creative juices flowing, the willful center strong yet supple, the heart open, and the mind clear. How you speak as a teacher thus reflects where you are in your life, skills, and knowledge. Building from this natural foundation, there are several elements of voice to consider.
First and foremost, your voice should be sufficiently audible that everyone can hear you, yet not so loud that it interferes with students’ attentiveness to the sound of their breath and sense of being in a tranquil space. If you choose to use music in your classes, control the volume of the music to be lower than you can comfortably project your own voice throughout the class. If you have a very soft voice or find yourself teaching very large classes, consider using amplification
Explore how you can modulate your voice to match the mood or intensity of the asanas without resorting to a singsong quality of elocution. Your voice should flow along with the arc of the class, starting gently as students are warming into their bodies, reaching moderate crescendos accented by strength and dynamism as the practice moves through waves of intensity, softening and quieting as the class wanes toward Savasana. In a restorative class, try to maintain an even, relaxed tone that encourages letting go, allowing more space between statements so students can experience the freedom of silence.
Be aware of your tone of voice. Try recording and listening to one of your classes to become more aware of your tone. Many teachers are unaware that their voices sound a certain way. Speaking from your heart, let your technical instructions come across with the same even tonality as if you were speaking casually with a friend. At the same time, play with bringing enthusiasm and inspiration into your teaching through the current of your voice, balancing these qualities with assertiveness that tends more toward loving kindness than stern authority.
Language itself plays significantly in how students will hear and comprehend what you are saying. Try to use plain language that clearly describes what you intend to cue. It is usually much more effective to use direct, simple language than esoteric terms you learned studying anatomy, physiology, yoga philosophy, and psychology. Giving instructions in a concise manner is usually more effective in helping students to understand than flowery poetics or verbose statements. If you want your students to bring their feet together at the front of their mat, say, “Please bring your feet together at the front of your mat.” That’s all that’s needed. Focus your initial cues on the basic foundational elements of the asana, saving more elaborate (yet still concise and specific) cues for the transition into the asana and refinements.
Different terms carry more or less weight. Verbs of action such as press your fingers or breathe deeply have more of a command quality than their noun forms, which tend to be more encouraging: pressing your fingers or breathing deeply. An even softer quality of instruction is expressed with terms like feel, allow, and explore. As a general approach, try offering the stronger verbs of action when cueing what you consider the most important foundational actions of an asana, then use softer language to cue refinements and inner exploration.
Using Sanskrit terms for asanas and other aspects of the practice is a matter of personal choice. You might feel that Sanskrit does not resonate well with your students (or with your employer or you), or you might feel that using Sanskrit lends to a deeper feeling of authenticity in your teachings as you anchor your expressions in the ancient and traditional language of yoga. If you choose to use Sanskrit, try also to give the English terms for the words. For example, say, “Preparing for Ardha Chandrasana, Half-Moon Pose, please.… ” Some Sanskrit terms have become so ubiquitous in yoga classes that they have now entered the English lexicon: Chataranga (short for Chataranga Dandasana) is surely more familiar to most students than its English translation, “Four-Limbed Staff Pose.”
As with other aspects of your teaching, play around with this to find what is most comfortable for you and your students.
When casually standing or sitting, the tendency is to connect passively with the earth. The effect is that the body collapses into itself, each joint compressing as the body slumps and sags. But the moment you consciously root down into whatever is on the floor, the immediate effect is creation of space in the body. Referred to as the “rebounce effect” by Dona Holleman (1999, 26), this relationship between roots and extension is an expression of the “normal force” explained by Isaac Newton’s Third Law of Motion: for every action there is an equal and opposite reaction.
To the extent that you apply effort through intentional muscular action—for example, pressing down more firmly through your feet and into the floor when standing—the “equal and opposite reaction” of energy drawing up the body occurs. Emphasizing the application of consciousness in the discovery of foundational elements in each asana, yoga teacher Chuck Miller has referred to this as the intention of seeking the origin of every action.
In rooting down we naturally stimulate muscular engagement and manifest space through the joints, particularly through the spine, creating the foundation of structural stability and ease that is increasingly important as students move into more and more advanced asanas. The specific point or points vary in the different asanas, but the practice of establishing and exploring from the basis of this foundation is consistent throughout all the asanas.
While maintaining this initial foundation, students can find further stability and ease in asanas by consciously applying what Joel Kramer (1980, 19) coined as “lines of energy.” Bringing conscious effort to the radiation of neuromuscular effort (or “current,” in Kramer’s terms) through the body creates lines of energy. By radiating out from the core to the periphery, these lines of energy expand your body from the inside out in every direction, creating spaciousness while maintaining the stability that is created by drawing the body’s muscular support system to the skeletal structure.
Consciously running lines of energy through the body is a way of accentuating the principle of roots and extension. This technique can be variously applied by students in exploring the level of intensity that is appropriate in their personal practice, listening to the body-breath-mind for feedback that suggests when, where, and how intensely to move energy through their body.
Remind students that it is not important how far they go in an asana; rather, keep them focused on how they go, cultivating steadiness and ease as they explore the relative intensity of asanas that are simultaneously grounded and expansive.
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Recent blog posts
- Archtypes & Mythology: Hanuman – Leaping with Devotion
- Archtypes & Mythology: Vasistha & Vishvamitra – Effortless Grace and Determined Practice
- Archtypes & Mythology: Ganesha – Removing Obstacles
- Archtypes & Mythology: Astavakra - Transcending Misunderstanding
- Archtypes & Mythology: Shakti – The Divine Feminine
- Archtypes & Mythology: Virabhadra – The Spiritual Warrior
- Archtypes & Mythology: Nataraja – The Dancing Warrior
- Archtypes & Mythology: Surya Namskara – Bowing to the Inner Sun
- Archtypes & Mythology: Ha & Tha – Yoga as Balanced Integration
- Archtypes & Mythology: Overview
- Groundedness & Spaciousness
- Voice & Language
- Teaching Yoga & Student Leaning Styles
- The Simple Reality of Teaching Yoga
- Mula Bandha & Uddiyana Bandha
- Stretch Reflex & Playing the Edge
- The Feet & Pada Bandha
- Doing Yoga
- Teaching Warrior Poses
- The Path of the Teacher
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