Teaching is hard. But that's like one of those truths we hold to be self-evident. And while we are all equal, we don't communicate in the same way. We don't process information in any way close to formulaic.
It's times like these I really envy Patanjali... The yogi-nerds out there will know the mythology, which I'll hopelessly butcher here, no doubt, but it goes something like this: Patanjali taught his students from behind a screen. Students from all over the world flocked to him for his teaching and, despite his never speaking a word to anyone, everyone left with the knowledge of yoga.
One day, one of his students stood up to take a break of sorts, and that broke the concentration in the room. The other students began to wonder how this man could teach so many different individuals, some with no language in common between them, without ever saying a word.
So, of course, they looked behind the screen and, of course, were suddenly all burned to ashes (you can't break the master's first rule without consequences after all). But, apparently, what they saw--this half-man/half-snake (symbolic of coiled Kundalini energy and a nod to being an avatar of Vishnu's serpent, Adishesha...but that's a story for another time) whose head was either protected by, or was, multi-hooded cobras. Each of these snake heads could "speak" a different language, the one exactly needed by the student in question.
That last bit is the point. It takes an incarnation of a god to teach everyone. So. I guess I'm okay with that. All those snake heads would be tough to manage, and I'm not sure the administration would take kindly to my teaching perpetually from behind a veil...
(Oh, and don't worry about the kid who left and came back to find his classmates burned to ashes--he lived to be taught by Patanjali. Granted, after learning the Sutra, he was cursed to hang in a tree as a ghost until he could pass the knowledge along to one student, but that's learning for you...).