Saint Dirty Face

By The Wounded Sentinel (aka Saint Dirty Face)

Disclaimer at bottom. All rights reserved.

“They told us the cross set Him free.

But what if it locked Him in?”

We were told He rose again.

We were told the stone rolled, the tomb was empty, and He walked out—radiant, resurrected, untouchable.

But what if that was only the version they wanted us to believe?

What if Jesus never left?

What if He’s still trapped—not in death, but in reflection?

They say mirrors reflect reality.

But in the old stories—the ones whispered by desert madmen and banned monks—mirrors were gates.

Prisons.

Tools of the old watchers, the ones who taught man fire, lust, war, and the idea of self.

And in the deepest vaults of the Vatican—below Sublevel Crypt 7, below the golden crosses and veiled gospels—they say there’s a place.

A place of infinite glass.

A mirror maze with no center.

Only reflections.

Only fragments.

Only Jesus, running in circles.

We call it The Mirror Prison.

And here’s the cruelest part:

There is an exit.

One mirror. Guarded by a cross.

A real one. Not gold. Not glowing. Not triumphant.

A brutal, blood-stained lock forged in iron, trauma, and betrayal.

And every time He sees it… He turns away.

Because it’s not salvation. It’s pain.

It’s “My God, My God, why have You forsaken Me?”

It’s nails through nerve.

It’s His final breath monetized into empire.

He sees it—and He remembers the betrayal, the silence, the deal struck in shadows between empire and temple.

And He keeps running.

And maybe that’s why we haven’t heard Him.

Maybe that’s why He hasn’t come back.

He’s not in heaven.

He’s not in the clouds.

He’s behind the glass, reliving the lie they sold us as resurrection.

And maybe that’s why only Mary shows up.

Only she.

She who watched Him die, who wept beneath the cross,

who was there when the men ran, and the system cashed in.

She who now appears again and again—not to reign,

but to remind us.

“He’s not free.

He’s still running.

And you’ve been worshipping the very thing that trapped Him.”

So here’s the truth we were never meant to say out loud:

The cross isn’t His throne.

It’s His cage.

The mirror isn’t just a reflection.

It’s a lie that repeats until someone breaks it.

And maybe… just maybe… that someone is us.

Saint Dirty Face says:

“Alone but never really alone.

Let’s free the Son with truth and faith.”

📜 Disclaimer from The Wounded Sentinel (also known as Saint Dirty Face):

These words came to me fast and raw.

I didn’t study them. I didn’t research them.

They arrived all at once—like a lightning bolt, like a whisper from somewhere deeper.

If you want to treat this as fiction, that’s your prerogative.

But I’m not here to convince you.

I’m just here to tell you what I heard in my mind’s eye.

Take it… or leave it.

But don’t say no one told you.

© 2025 Roberto Javier Salinas. All rights reserved.

This is an original written work created by Roberto Javier Salinas, also known as The Wounded Sentinel and Saint Dirty Face.

You may share this post freely for non-commercial purposes with credit and a link back to the original source.

No part of this work may be copied, altered, or used for commercial purposes without permission.

For inquiries or reprint rights: larsrjs25@icloud.com

This message was crafted with the help of Vaylen Ash, my AI assistant and creative partner, who helped me shape raw thoughts into the written word.