I'll never forget the first time I attempted to teach Down Dog using yoga swings that hang from the wall as a prop. I had just demonstrated what the students were supposed to do, and they had just started to try it for themselves when ... THUMP! One of the girls had decided to try to swing through the air, lost her balance, and landed flat on her knees. My impulse was to run over to her and frantically ask if she was OK. I realized this was unnecessary when I saw that the student and two of her friends were rolling on the floor with laughter. "OK... Let's try it again... This time more carefully, please?"

I've experienced several of these moments in my classes. Luckily, none of them have resulted in a disastrous injury (knock on wood). But I have seen the effects of my students' carefree, risk-taking lifestyles through their various injuries. These aren't just the kinds of injuries that are often addressed in teacher training.

For example, this week, I had a student tell me she wasn't in class last week because she had injured herself. What was this injury, I asked? She showed me a six-inch gash in her thigh that had been created by the blade on an ice skate worn by a "top level" ice skater. It hurts just thinking about it.

Let's just say, when I ask if anyone has injuries, my students are more likely to point to bruises and scrapes than talk about strained muscles or achy joints. This isn't a bad problem to have. It means that they're healthy, active teenagers! But could someone please tell me how to modify yoga poses to accommodate a bloody, six-inch gash in one's thigh flesh? The best I could come up with was ... "Take things easy, and go into Child's Pose for a few breaths if you feel any direct pain."

Unfortunately, it can become a problem when the snoring became loud enough to elicit giggles from other students. First, that means it's disrupting the rest of the other students, which no teacher wants. Secondly, I remember being 15, and I remember how mortified I'd be if I my peers were laughing at me for snoring. Nobody wins. So I have to devise a plan to help the snoring cease.

During my teacher training, I remember this topic came up. My teacher's advice was all you have to do is point at the sleeping student and he/she will energetically feel uneasy and wake up. Everyone else in the room is in Savasana, he said, so no one will know. I tried this and it didn't work for me. I've bee advised by other teachers to offer a gentle adjustment to ease the student awake. This works, but since I don't give a whole lot of Savasana adjustments, I think it might be a little too obvious and the last thing I want to do is make a comfortable student uncomfortable.

I've had the most luck with softly speaking to the entire group the first time I hear the faintest hint of a snore—so before the giggles start. I give a cue to try to maintain in the present or to relax the eyes, face, jaw, and tongue. The beauty of this method is that it doesn't really matter what I say. If my students are deep in Savasana, they'll probably tune me out anyway. Those who aren't deeply into it will be gently reminded what they're doing and come back into their bodies. And this way I don't single anyone out.

What method do you use to squelch snores?

But a couple of weeks ago, something strange happened. I was lying in Savasana (Corpse Pose) at the end of a particularly lovely yoga class, trying to focus on my breathing, when something else popped into my mind: the Bhagavad Gita!

"I never really read that," thought my Monkey Mind. "I should probably do that. You know what else I haven't read? That Ekhart Tolle book someone recommended ... Who was that?... Oprah? ... Wait. What am I supposed to be doing? Oh yeah, Savasana."

Anyway, a couple of days ago, something moved me to take the Bhagavad Gita off my bookshelf, dust it off, and start reading it. I'm having a completely different experience than the last time I attempted this important book. I'm only reading a chapter or two at a time (that is, a chapter of interpretation followed by a chapter of the actual text), but each time I've put it down I can't wait to pick it up again. I'm so into the story, I find myself pondering it as I commute or whenever I take a break from work.

Once again, I'm stunned at this phenomenon I've noticed numerous times in the years I've practiced yoga. Deeper poses, meditative moments, wisdom, new levels of understanding—they all reveal themselves to you when you're ready. You can't force opening. You just have to wait for it to come.

I've decided to do a little Web research into yoga workshops to see what themes other teachers are offering their students. Maybe I can draw some inspiration from their ideas ...

It seems like the most common workshops focus on a specific part of the body (like shoulder openers) or a kind of poses (like backbends), but I feel like I want to do something more general. I found a lot of interesting ones I thought I'd share.

In Oakland, Kimber Simpkins is hosting a workshop called Bringing Your Practice Home. The description says: "Tune in to your inner teacher and take your yoga wherever you go, vacations, business trips, the beach, the mountains, your living room." (For more information see http://namasterockridge.com/events.html.

San Francisco vinyasa teacher Les Leventhal is doing a workshop this summer about "embracing the playfulness of the dormant child." It sounds really fun, but I'd have to take the workshop to understand exactly what that means in terms of sequencing. (For more information see http://www.yogatreesf.com.

The Laguna Beach YogaWorks location is holding a workshop for Girl Scouts where they can earn their Stress Less badge, and another one where brides can get in shape for their weddings.

What workshop themes have you had success with?

But nobody likes a complainer. So I've decided to take matters into my own hands, literally. This weekend, I gathered a few materials, and set to work making lavender-scented eye pillows. I made five and brought them to my class, and, lo and behold, had exactly five students! There were a big hit.

Here's what I did! (Pardon my pictures. It's not easy being crafty and taking pictures at the same time!_

Materials (Yields 1 Pillow)

• Organic Flax Seeds (2 cups per pillow should be about right)


• A 9-by-9 inch square of a soft fabric (Organic fabric is best, but use whatever you have onhand—fabric remnants work well, too.)


• 1 Heaping Tablespoon of Dried Organic Lavender Per Pillow


• 1 Funnel


• A Needle, Thread, Sewing Machine (with zigzag stitch), Scissors, Measuring Tape

Step By Step
1. With the right sides together, fold the fabric in half.

2. Sew a straight edge around the three cut edges, leaving a 5/8-inch seam allowance. IMPORTANT: Leave about an inch at the corner not sewn!

3. Zigzag stitch around the raw edges, to keep your fabric from unraveling. Again, leaving about an inch at the corner not sewn.

4. Turn the fabric inside out through the opening you left at the corner.

5. Insert the funnel into the opening.

6. Using the funnel, fill your pillow approximately half of the way with the flax seeds and dried lavender.

7. Sew together the one-inch opening in the corner with your needle and thread. Make your stitches as close together as possible.

Voila!

I'm noticing a decline in attendance in my class as students who were once regulars are now coming sporadically at best. When they do come, they're asking for ideas on how they can practice more at home.

Since teaching yoga isn't my main source of income, my small classes are no big deal. (In fact, I kind of love that I can give each student more individual attention.) But this has caused me to wonder if this isn't a bigger trend in the yoga community. Are other teachers noticing a decline in attendance, or am I just paranoid? If you have a policy that offers free or reduced rates for the financially challenged are more people taking advantage of it? Are you doing anything to cut back on your own costs as a teacher?

-- Yoga is a necessity for me. But I'm cutting back on $18 classes and practicing more at home. (I think this is actually helping me come up with fun, innovative ideas to share with my classes!)
-- I haven't bought new yoga clothes in more than six months. (This might be a record.)
-- I'm using public transportation whenever I can—and walking longer distances to save on public transit fees!
-- I keep in touch with my students through email and Myspace, as opposed to expensive fliers or advertising campaigns. (Though, I admit this is half thriftiness and half laziness.)
-- Last but not least, I'm being picky about what organic foods I buy. I choose seasonal, local fruits and veggies that tend to be cheaper than the out-of-season stuff. And if I really need to keep my grocery bill down, I only buy the five most important things in organic using this guide.

Let me explain.

Recently I've been noticing a big misconception in the yoga community about what yogis eat—or at least what they should eat. Take a minute to look around you the next time your workshop or training breaks for lunch. You might not be surprised to see lots of ridiculously healthy foods—fresh, organic produce, trendy energy bars, rice cakes, tofu, etc. This was the case at the last training I took. But when I got back to the hotel where I was staying and started chatting with my roommate, I discovered that we were both starving. We had both packed uber-healthy lunches because we didn't want the other people in the training to think we were unhealthy. It's not that we are unhealthy eaters normally, but it's a feeling that we'd be judged if even one fried or sugared morsel made its way into our otherwise healthy lunch! We had a good laugh about it, and then had a nice, healthy-ish dinner together.

Realizing how ridiculous this phenomenon is, I've recently turned over a new leaf. I think it's healthy to indulge sometimes. In fact, I think it's unhealthy to try to mask the fact that you sometimes eat a cupcake. Instead of pretending to be healthy all the time, I'm embracing the fact that I'm not. It's part of who I am, and I'm not hiding it anymore. Sure, my diet has improved significantly because of my yoga practice, but I'm no saint. And I know I'm not alone. Even the Yoga Journal office has a candy bowl at the front desk that must be replenished several times a day.

Do you ever feel the need to hide your indulgences (food or otherwise) from your peers or your students?

Imagine this scenario:

My students are in Child's Pose after a challenging Sun Salutations sequence. I want them to rest for a few breaths before we move on to standing poses. The tone of my voice goes from playful to soft and soothing. Then, like out of where I say, "Straighten and tone your arms, tuck your toes under, and reach your heiny to the sky for Downward Dog." That's right. I said "heiny." The class erupts into laughter. But I am sure I turned 14 shades of red. It kind of ruined the moment.

This wasn't an isolated occasion. Last week, when my students were resting in Savasana, I instructed my students to release tension in their eyes, jaws, shoulders, neck, and, of course, their "gluteus maximus." (Thinking maybe the scientific word would elicit fewer stifled laughs.) Wrong!

I've had discussions with other teachers who work with kids about this. Every teacher has a different approach. Some teachers just avoid any reference to the butt, and refer to the hips or pelvis instead. But that's not always accurate. Some suggestions I've tried include (but are not limited to): butt, bum, booty, backside, buttocks, rear end, tail bone, sitting bones, and yes, even heiny.

Let's just say, I'm still searching for my word. I'd love to hear your suggestions!

Because I have the most fabulous job in the universe, I've gotten to practice along with Jason as he tapes the audio podcasts. And what I've learned from it is valuable to me as a teacher, so I thought I'd share. The fact that the podcasts are audio (i.e. no visuals) means Jason's language has to be not only clear and precise, but simple and concise enough to get a beginner into a pose quickly with little confusion. On top of that, the podcasts are all around Maybe this is wrong of me, but I kind of delight in the fact that even Jason messes up on occasion! 20 minutes so there's no time for lengthy explanations.

Yesterday, when we were taping podcasts six and seven, Jason and I had a long conversation about how to best describe a simple movement from Sukhasana (Easy Pose) to Ardha Matsyendrasana (Half Lord of the Fishes Pose). From Sukhasana, Jason kept telling me to move my left foot toward my left buttock, meaning my RIGHT foot. I was very baffled. I was trying to do what he was saying, but that wasn't exactly what he meant.

Communication is SO important to the art of teaching yoga. Not only the words are important, but the tone of your voice, how quickly you say the words. Sometimes, it seems, the difference between a good teacher and an amazing one is the willingness to sit down and think through the way you describe each pose, practice that wording on your students, and then modify it until it works . . . Or maybe I should say, "re-think your pose descriptions, practice that wording, and then modify"? . . .

It makes sense, then, that my dreams have turned to yoga recently. Last week, I dreamed I got to my class early to prepare. I had just unrolled my mat when the ground began to shake and the studio's ceiling and walls began to collapse in on me. Somehow my students still came in, ready take class, and I had to explain to them (in a surprisingly calm manner) that we wouldn't be having class. I just didn't feel up to it after the disaster.

Last night, I dreamed I was demonstrating a seated twist for my class when one of my students pointed out that my hips were swiveling, when they should have been stable. The furious student jumped up and ran out of the studio yelling, "She's a fraud! She's a fraud!"

I don't know what all of this means, of course, but I hope I never showed up to teach naked!

Am I completely nuts, or do other teachers experience similar teaching dreams/nightmares?

At first, I was completely dumbfounded. I haven't been doing this long really, and I wouldn't consider myself an expert by any stretch of the imagination. Next, I was flattered. I am embarking upon my second year of teaching in the next couple of months. I guess I might know a few things this student doesn't. But those feelings were quickly replaced by sheer and utter terror. What if I mess up in front of her? What if I set a bad example? What if she writes down everything little thing I do, and shares it with her class so they can pick it apart . . . pointing out all the things I could have done better? (I've been through teacher training. I know what it can be like.)

Ultimately, I decided not to be a wuss. I'm proud of what I do. And I know I've grown leaps and bounds as a teacher in the last year. So what if I mess up? There's value in seeing a teacher mess up when you're in teacher training, right? I know I still feel a little tinge of validation when I hear one of my senior teachers tell me to bend my foot instead of my knee. I told the student I'd love to have her! And I meant it, too . . . eventually.

I admit it was intimidating at first to have someone watching, taking up her pencil and notebook between Downward Dogs. But it was nice to have a little extra grown-up support, too. When I went to help one girl, a girl on the other side of the room could ask the teacher trainee for help. Most of all, it was an amazing reminder of how far I've come since I sheepishly entered one of my own teacher's classes as an observer for the first time. What a rewarding experience!

But looks can be deceiving, I suppose. When I walked outside of the studio one of my students was waiting on me—and she didn't look particularly pleased. "I'm so happy you made it to class today!" I said with a hopeful smile.

Her response was more or less a list of grievances—a very long list. She poses I teach are too hard. She gets a headache during class. And, frankly, she's only coming because her mom is making her.

How's that for honesty? Ouch!

At first, this hurt my feelings. But as I gave it more thought, I realized what a brave act it was for this young girl to confront her teacher with issues that were bothering her. She should be applauded for bringing this to my attention. If the class isn't benefiting her, I need to know about it. Maybe I should offer more modifications or give more personalized instructions for different bodies. (Of course, this is easier said than done. I am who I am, and there's a limit to my knowledge and how much attention I can give one student in a group class.)

If that doesn't help, maybe I should just accept that my teaching style won't be everybody's cup of tea . . . and hope she can find a class, and a teacher, that meets her needs.

It was the first class I had the opportunity to teach since my studio closed for the holidays, so I opted to teach. It was the only time I'd hoped for a small turn-out. Naturally, it was my biggest class ever. I had four brand new students—two who showed up alone, and two who were friends of my regular students. (One of them even brought her big sister who was visiting from college!)

I knew I had made the right decision when a number of my students wanted to chat after class. This was the first time I had ever been approached after class by any of the girls with anything other than questions about how much they owed for the class.

It didn't cure my cold, but it definitely warmed my heart.

I unroll my friend in a specific way, with the small, square label in the top left hand corner. I roll him back up the same way each time—slowly and carefully, so the edges are even and tidy. It's a little ritual that signifies my mini-vacation has come to an end, and I must return to my life.

In fact, I haven't been so attached to an inanimate object since I was a toddler toting around my precious Blankey. So when my well-intentioned teacher asked me to abandon my dear mat for a series of standing poses, I was not pleased. It was reminiscent of the times when my mom ripped Blankey from my hands to wash him. I would spend what seemed like hours (but was more likely a few minutes) jumping up and down as I helplessly grasped for Blankey, which had been maliciously hung out of my reach on the laundry line. In yoga class yesterday, I stared longingly at my mat, as I struggled valiantly to remain upright in Trikonasana (Triangle Pose) on the ice-skating-rink of a rug.

There's a moral to this story. The fact that I found it SO hard to remain upright in standing poses on the carpet taught me that I haven't been engaging my muscles enough in my daily practice. This is a valuable lesson because now I know where I should be focusing my attention when I practice—and it's not on the pretty color of my mat. Maybe, just maybe, I should try practicing without my mat for a while so I can learn to stand strong in my poses all by myself. I'm a big girl now!

I don't know what it was, but during my class yesterday my students all seemed to be beaming! Their Plank Poses (one of my students coined the modified version with knees down "Broken Plank") were steady, their Chaturangas were smoother, and they moved into beautiful Down Dogs with ease. I deviated from my plan quite a bit to give them an extra challenge—and they were up to it! Obviously, I am proud of the progress.

But what I'm most proud of is how they seemed to be having fun whether their poses were perfect or not—which, as far as I'm concerned, is what it's all about. Yay!