"Pull In Your Horns: Embracing Curiosity and Compassion in a Divided World"
Boy howdy, has the current ethos ever been more filled with hatred?
As an artist, I want to share something I’ve learned—from another artist and poet. I recently revisited Emily Dickinson’s poem, Bring Me the Sunset in a Cup, and it struck a deep chord. Her 19th-century wisdom still speaks powerfully to our modern moment.
Dickinson’s poem, at its core, expresses a sense of confinement and longing for freedom. There’s a duality in her words—feeling trapped, yet yearning to break free. She questions the mysteries of nature, time, and the limits of human understanding. She wonders:
“How many notes are in a robin’s song?”
“Who built the rainbow?”
Take a minute to actually ponder those. These aren’t questions with simple answers. They reflect a deeper truth: that not everything in life can be measured, explained, or understood—and that's okay.
In conversations with my close friends about “the current state of affairs,” we often ask, What’s wrong with all these hate-filled people? We never quite find an answer. Sure, we joke about blaming illegal drugs, processed food, red dye, violent video games, or smoking too many herbals followed by a bag of Flamin’ Hot Cheetos… but deep down, I believe the root cause is simpler and more human:
People don’t realize how much they don’t know about life.
We all crave understanding. We want to label, explain, and define the world around us. But when we don’t listen to understand, we stay trapped in our own beliefs—beliefs shaped by personal experience, limited perspective, and a refusal to consider anything outside our frame of reference.
Our perceptions are not one-size-fits-all. They evolve as our experiences shift. A Christian might be staunchly Pro-Life—until they or someone they love has experienced something traumatic, like sexual assault. Then, those once-clear lines become blurred by reality and they may swing Pro-Choice.
Let me share a true story. I was lucky to be raised by solid grandparents on both sides of my family—people with wisdom and perspective. One Election Day, I stopped by my Grandpa and Grandma Rager’s house to help carry in groceries. After unloading the bags and putting things away, Grandpa Otis asked Grandma, “Gertie, how’d ya vote?”
She told him.
He replied, “Pff. Well, if I’d known that’s how you were gonna vote, we could’ve both stayed home.”
And then they laughed.
No name-calling. No blaming. No accusations over voting for Carter instead of Ford. Just two people who voted differently—because of their own life experiences—and respected each other anyway.
Now, what they did fight about? The thermostat. Oh yeah. That was the silent battleground. Every time one of them walked by, the temperature would change. A quiet war of degrees.
And that brings me back to Dickinson’s poem.
The teacup in her poem is like the thermostat—a symbol of our desire to control something, anything, in a world full of chaos. When Dickinson asks for the sunset in a cup, she’s revealing a deep truth: some things are too vast to be contained. Some things—like freedom, understanding, humanity—are simply beyond our grasp.
But still, we try. We reduce vast human issues into small, controllable beliefs. We do this on social media. In politics. In arguments where everyone’s shouting but no one’s actually listening.
I see people online who remind me of the teacup—small, limited, stuck. Trapped by beliefs they’ve never questioned. Unable or unwilling to see that there’s more than one side to any debate.
Most debates, let’s be honest, are like a Rubik’s Cube. You can’t just solve one side and think you're done. Everything’s connected. And to make it work as a whole, you have to twist, turn, and pivot. You have to meet in the middle—for the greater good of everyone.
Ultimately, Dickinson’s poem reminds us that human understanding has limits. We’re not supposed to have all the answers. But we can choose humility. We can choose curiosity. And we can choose to listen.
So folks, maybe it’s time to pull in your horns. Calm down. Listen more. Speak less. Remind yourself: the only things you can truly control are yourself, your words, and maybe—just maybe—your thermostat.
Until next time remember to Create & Release.
Much love,
Tamara
