The Practice of Belonging

Please forgive a rather extended quote from a book I finished last night, The Plot, by Madeleine Bunting - but it does merit slow reading. I'm putting it here partly because it sums up so well what Blip is for me - a way of paying attention. I do recommend the book, a deeply layered exploration of an acre of land that her father loved in North Yorkshire, and about "what belonging might mean for any one of us".

We don't need to own plots but they need to be our own: each of us needs our acre; we need access - not just physical but also imaginative and emotional - to a land we can honour. An honouring that involves knowledge, observation and familiarity, so that the gnarled bush, the bumpy track, the dip of the hill, the curve of the hedge are relatives; an honouring that listens to the stories that saturate every English (and any other) acre, so that we walk as comfortably with its ghosts (rather than tidying them up or energetically forgetting them) as we would like our descendants to walk with ours.

What I've realised is that belonging is first of all about commitment rather than possession. It is about how one pays attention. What I have learned on the Plot in North Yorkshire has been what a Buddhist might call a practice, a set of habits: the skills of listening, observing, enjoying the many narratives of place and how they collide, compete, echo and repeat each other. ... One can belong in many places. (With my life, I am so glad about that.) Belonging is where we nurture our capacity for awareness of the myriad histories that constitute a place, and from these rich materials draw inspiration to shape our sense of self and community.

Photo is of pre-dinner drinks in the Plot of very dear friends, who made our day by inviting us for lunch.