He has been carrying the cross since the first stone of the Golgota.
The cross is heavy, its wood ruined by sand and sweat. The whip has roped it on his back, and he walked, falling and rising, stumbling and rising − as he falls he raises people's cry.
His name is Jesus.
He has compassion and pain − his compassion is a phoenix that grows while it's being burnt.
Sun is still burning Jew's face when he comes near Jesus, crying:
Go on! Go on! Put this cross there. Do you see? There! On the top of the mountain!
Jesus' eyes don't tremble when he answers:
I'll go on. I'll walk. I'll put this cross on the top of the mountain. I suffer and I'll suffer in pain, but you'll do the same until I'll return.
And that will be.




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