This past Sunday we celebrated our daughter Raina's baptism. While I grew up Catholic, I enjoy studying comparative religions and consider myself both a philosopher and a yogi. My spirituality and religious involvements have always been more eclectic, from Buddhism to the Bhaktis and back around to other Christian denominations. Whatever shape or style my devotion takes, union with god has been my primary pursuit. I think this pursuit of god stems from the deep dissatisfaction inherent in our human condition, or what the Buddhists call _dukkha._ My family is Catholic — although it's really just my grandmother these days who is concerned at all with religious matters — and the church we grew up in has been a mainstay for all the big rites of passage and holy sacraments. She is the driving matriarchal force keeping the family tethered to our congregation. It felt fitting and grounding to have Raina's baptism at St. Patrick's Church. The stained glass windows always remind me of my own childhood sitting through Sunday service. It was a path of peace not to stir any contrarian pots of "we're going to do this our way." It was important for me to feel at home and to celebrate where I came from rather than trying to blaze new trails. Grandma was happy, the family comfortable in something familiar, and myself going back to my religious roots for fresh inspiration and new understandings of Catholic theology. There is also a religious charm in the liturgy and robe-adorned priests that gives the whole ceremony an exalted fanfare I very much appreciate. The night before the baptism my cousin asked me bluntly, "if grandma were dead would you still have Raina baptized, and would it be at St. Patrick's?" "Well, baptized — yes," I said, "but at St. Patrick's, probably not." My initial thinking was that I would have sought out a baptism ritual for Raina that is more universal than the Catholic Church. But in hindsight the church was the perfect place because of how rooted it is in my family and hometown. Being part of a larger whole helped to steer our inner guidance, and because my grandmother is alive, it felt like the appropriate thing to do. Raina is her namesake after all — Raina Theresa. I believe in baptism. I believe it is an initiation to a spiritual life, to a relationship with god. The symbolism of water washing over the forehead communicates awakening, purity, and life. To see Raina dressed in her little white gown, the same gown once worn by her mother, inspired a sense of family and tradition that truly fed my soul. I was surprised to see a new priest facilitate the service. For once the priest seemed to be a peer, perhaps even younger than I. Fresh out of seminary, his homily was academic and well rehearsed. He spoke about the beatific vision and the Sermon on the Mount and my interest was piqued. I don't recall hearing about mystical experiences at St. Patrick's before. Christian mysticism was never a pronounced facet of what the clergy spoke to during mass. Still ethics-heavy, he spoke of the obedience required to experience the beatific vision, alluding to it being reserved for the moments following one's death when we "meet our maker." But I don't believe the beatific vision is reserved for the afterlife. The beatific vision is when you see the image of Christ right before your eyes in all his illuminosity and light. Perhaps this is why they stain the glass windows — to provoke this sense of radiant light that emanates from the image of Christ. Questions began to come to mind: _Is the image something or someone other than oneself? Is the image akin to looking into a mirror and seeing the true nature of who we are? Are we separated from what we see? Is the image of Christ in the image of man?_ This reminded me of a mystical experience I had in my early twenties, using the I Ching to help me decide whether I would embark on a pilgrimage to the City of Ten Thousand Buddhas, a monastery in Ukiah, California, for their annual Guan Yin Recitation retreat. Just as I held the question and cast my three pennies, an illuminated image came to me. Right before my eyes appeared this iridescent, soft green outline of Guan Yin herself — suspended in air, clear as day, for a minute or two. I couldn't even tell if my eyes were open or closed. Needless to say, I knew I had to go to Ukiah. Guan Yin is the goddess of compassion, _the one who hears the cries of the world_ — a direct reflection of Christ Jesus, whose foremost virtue is love and compassion. Had I experienced the beatific vision that evening? It definitely seems to fit the description, but I will reserve the confirmation for others to make. In that moment I stood at a crossroads and Guan Yin appeared, and that choice shaped my life. It was one of the most pivotal decisions I've made to date, arriving in a moment of sacred prayer and intention while I was asking for guidance and completely open to receive. At that moment it didn't feel like I was looking into a mirror. It felt like I was looking at a deity, a brimming energy shaped in a recognizable image. Green for the heart chakra, for the earthly realm of humanity. Over the years I've come to realize more and more that this energy is a reflection of what is inside of myself. Even if it's just a piece of god, a piece of divine perfection, a billowing ray of everlasting light, it is still my essence. That vision was a significant moment of spiritual guidance, and it is what I want Raina to have access to. Her mother and I can only guide her so far in this life. She needs to establish her own intuition and her own conversation with spirit. This conversation will bring her closer to herself and help her steer her life toward grace, compassion, and service. I don't believe baptism is a prerequisite for the beatific vision, nor that a beatific vision is needed each time we stand at a crossroads, but it is a reminder of our own spiritual power and that we carry that vision inside of us. As the priest cupped the holy water and poured it from his hand over her forehead, I could see Raina's eyes investigating the priest and her surroundings. She had a curious, almost skeptical look about her. When he finished he said, "well, she didn't cry — but she didn't seem to trust me one bit." The congregation laughed, and so did we. While images change and incarnations arise and pass, there remains a constant thread to god. Perhaps this baptism is a ceremony of Raina beginning to weave her thread into the vast spiritual tapestry of life and beginning to print her own tiny mandala in our collective story.