Station XI: Jesus is nailed to the cross.
Stretched out, naked, on the bare wood. His hands held down so that he cannot jerk them away as the hammer falls. The nails drive deep through his flesh and nerves. He will not come down from this wood alive.
This is my God. This is my All. The only meaning behind any Beauty, the only reality behind any words. Stretched out and quivering in pain, nailed to rough wood.
At this station, my lethargy and disinterest vanish like the snow. I am all wound inside: "My God, my God, what have I done?"
He turns his head, gasping, and whispers, "Can you drink the cup of which I shall drink?" And the soldiers raise him high.