Days 5-6 High Flight

High Flight

Oh! I have slipped the surly bonds
of Earth

And danced the skies on laughter-silvered wings;

Sunward I've climbed, and joined the tumbling mirth

Of sun-split clouds, — and done a hundred things

You have not dreamed of — wheeled and soared and swung

High in the sunlit silence. Hov'ring there,

I've chased the shouting wind along, and flung

My eager craft through footless halls of air. . . .

Up, up the long, delirious burning
blue

I've topped the wind-swept heights with easy grace

Where never lark, or ever eagle flew —

And, while with silent, lifting mind I've trod

The high untrespassed sanctity of space,

Put out my hand, and touched the face of God.

—
John Gillespie Magee, Jr

Note: In Loving memory of my father Philip Emil Sorensen Jan. 4, 1919 – Dec. 10, 1995

Contributed by ~liz Sorensen Wessel

Mandala by ~liz

Published by

swiftlyunabashed93c6d9b23b

Categories: Reflections, Holidays, Spirituality

Tags: Erie Chapman, John Gillespie Magee, Journal of Sacred Work, Jr., Liz sorensen Wessel, Philip Emil Sorensen, Radical Loving Care

8 responses to “Days 5-6 High Flight”

Erie Chapman Foundation

January 5, 2013 at 7:54 am

No brother could receive a more beautiful tribute, Liz. Thank you for sharing this poem (made more famous by President Reagan’s use of it following the Challenger disaster) and your spectacular mandala.
You bring in view “The high untrespassed sanctity of space,” with your artwork. It is not trespassed because when we enter it we leave the footprints of the world behind.

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Erie Chapman Foundation

January 5, 2013 at 7:55 am

I meant to say your father, not your dear brother. They do, of course, share the sanctity of that space.

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candace nagle

January 5, 2013 at 9:53 am

This realm beyond time and space becomes more authentic and familiar as I imagine my dear ones who exist there in all of their beauty and mystery. As time passes here in this world, the welcoming committee in that omnipotent realm, grows larger and, often, I find myself turning my attention into thin air to hear one or another of them whispering to my soul. We can only imagine! But that imagining is a true link to this sacred space…as are our dreams. And your painting,Liz, looks like a lovely realm in which to sore free.

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Maureen McDermott rsj

January 5, 2013 at 7:49 pm

Magnificent, Liz. I can sense your dear Dad smiling with joy, pride and delight.

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Sue

January 6, 2013 at 9:52 am

So beautiful!!Beyond words.:))

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Erie Chapman Foundation

January 6, 2013 at 10:26 am

I looked up John Magee and was startled to recall that he was the British pilot killed in a plane crash only three months after he sent this poem to his parents. He was nineteen.

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Stephanie

January 6, 2013 at 2:02 pm

Wow! Thank you!

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~liz Wessel

January 6, 2013 at 3:59 pm

Thank you for sharing this history with us, Erie. Yes, I read that too, quite poignant and the images out of his experience incredibly moving.

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