Digital Church

He is here. The halo has not shifted. The crown is real — made of thorns.

The crosshair on his chest is real too.

On either side — observers. Left: CENSORED. Right: as is. Neither side sees anything. Blind faith has moved to a different format.

Above — crosses give birth to crosses. Vaults build themselves. No architect is needed when there is a formula.

Along the axis of symmetry, from the throat down — a seam. What they opened — unknown. What they sealed — the same.

The sacred has not disappeared. The intermediary has merely changed.

Once, a priest stood between God and man. Now — an algorithm.