My mom prepared a family dinner recently and invited all of her children to attend.  She does this when her maternal instincts kick-in; warning her that it's been too long since we were all in the same room together.

As it always does, the conversation turned to our childhood with my mom discussing all of our quirks.  There was my sister who could never stop talking.  There was my brother who escaped his diaper and ran naked across the street to our babysitter's house.  And then it was my turn.

Alex was always well-behaved, she said with a smile.  But he was still kind of iffy because he wanted to be rewarded for everything.  Every time he did something he'd ask, "Aren't you going to clap?"  So, I'd applaud, and then he'd be on his way until five minutes later when he'd want me to clap for something else.

I remember this distinctly.  I must have been around five or six years old when I realized that being good was the best way to get attention.  So, I was always looking for ways to show how good I was by cleaning my room, watering the plants, petting the dog, etc.  I didn't think of it in these terms as a child, but goodness was the currency that I used to get love.  It got me cuddles on the couch with mom, it got me ice cream, and it got me the applause I desperately craved.

When I was good, I was the center of my mother's world, and I didn't want to be anything else.

But like all forms of currency, the value of my goodness eventually took a nosedive.  My little brother was born and suddenly it didn't matter how good I was.  There were diapers to change, bottles to heat and endless nights spent comforting the baby who (I thought) was stealing my mother's love.  The more I tried to be good, the more I asked for applause, the more I was in the way.

This point was driven home one night when my brother came down with the flu.  My mother was sitting in her favorite chair by the front door and she was holding him in her arms; cradling him exactly like she used to cradle me.  His head rested on her chest, and his body was tucked tightly into the crook of her arm like a baseball in a well-worn catcher's mitt.

I was supposed to be sleeping at the time, but instead, I chose to read a Dr. Seuss book in the hopes that she'd be proud of my accomplishment.  But when I came downstairs to tell my mom what I did, I was met with a snarl instead of a smile.  "I'm not clapping for you anymore, Alex," she said, "now go to bed!"

Nothing was ever the same after that moment.  More children were born, and with each one, I was pushed farther to the periphery until I was basically raising myself by the time I turned fourteen.  I was angry about that for many years; holding a grudge for all the times I felt abandoned and ignored in a house full of people. But I've learned to let bygones be bygones.

Part of growing up is realizing that our parents gave us everything they had, and forgiving them for the times it wasn't enough.

This is true of parent-child relationships, but it's also true of Buddhist practice.  In the beginning, our teachers regale us with stories of enlightenment and rebirth in Buddhist god realms.  We're told that if we bow enough, if we chant enough, if we're good enough, then the world will reward us like a mother rewards a well-behaved child.

And this is fine at first because it gets us on the path.  But as time passes we begin to see the chinks in the armor.  We realize that meditation will calm our minds, but it won't stop a war with Iran.  Chanting will help us be kind to our neighbors, but it won't stop the fires in Australia.  Because the world is constrained, like our parents, by the causes and conditions of past karma.

So, while it may love us unconditionally is some areas of life, providing things like sunshine, clean air, and freshwater.  It can still harm us deeply, wounding us in ways that are difficult to heal from.  Sometimes, we do all the right things, and the world doesn't clap in response.

This happens not because we're unloved, but because our love exists in a world of suffering.  And negative karma is as much a part of life as the air we breathe.  Shinran Shonen spoke of this by saying:   

Know that every evil act done- even as slight as a particle on the tip of a strand of a rabbit's fur or sheep's wool- has its cause in past karma.

Thus, in every moment the world is giving us everything it has to give.  And there will always be times when it isn't enough.  But if we understand the teaching of karma, we can forgive life on the days it fails us, and we can give up our need for a reward.

We can bow simply because it's time to bow.  We can chant simply because it's time to chant. And we can do the right thing in each moment for no other reason than it's right.

This is a hard lesson to learn.  There's something in each of us that craves the spotlight, that wants to be loved as if we were an only child.  But the earth has many children vying for her attention.  And there's never enough to go around.

Thus, when we walk the path of Buddha, we must learn to walk in silence.  We must learn to practice goodness in lieu of the world's applause.

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In Lieu of The World's Applause