State of Zen

This morning I left the apartment to walk the dog in the "no mans land" patch of grass next to our apartment complex property. The high majestic clouds left from last night's early summer rains were blowing to the east, the orange-pink sun was rising through a gap between cloud layers. The retreating clouds had revealed the half moon in the Western sky, framed in spent cumulus.

I suddenly felt very small, and at peace. I realized that we humans live in two plains. One, the physical is what really matters, but we take it for granted. The second is the plain of human built society, and it is upon this that we focus most of our energies. Does it really matter if we get a speeding ticket on the way to work? The human written rules tell us that it matters, but does it really? With these feelings of cosmic significance and a palpable feeling of peace deep in my soul, I realized that I did not need anything. I don't covet a car, new cellphone, or even a new firearm. I felt like i did not need those possessions that I do have. They are options that I choose to own to help me integrate in this life, which I also choose.

I felt complete, and must have looked something like this:

In this state of bliss, I walked back to the apartment, the now emptied, and equally blissful dog in tow. Up the steps, we walked and I jiggled the keys and prepared to unlock the door when I noticed a pile of dog turds on the mulch next to the door. Instantly I glanced down at gizmo, who looked back at me with the dopey expression of a mutt with his brain on autopilot. Had he? I wondered. I scrutinized his face for the slightest look of guilt, and he saw me staring at him and knew that I suspected him. He started to cower and look guilty, but it could not be for the pile next to the door. He had no time to do it. Someone else had left the pile. Somebody that weighed between 35 and 50 pounds, and by the looks of it ate dry dog food, and lots of it.

My Zen state slightly diminished by the turds left by the Rogue Pooper, I went inside.

On the way back out, I saw our new neighbor standing at her door, she had a sheepish expression on her face. Odd, I thought, that she should be that sheepish, I have not even met the woman.

And then I saw it.

A boxer, about 40 pounds worth, hunched in "the position". Out of it's rear it was extruding a steaming fresh lookalike of the poop next to our door. Now I was straddled by poops. It was as if he was ranging on me, and I was right between his long and short rounds. Soon I would have to tread a mine field to get to the door. The neighbor and the boxer both had the same look on their faces. A bit sheepish, as if..... as if they knew better than to leave dog turds at the door of the apartment but just didn't care about anyone else.

My blissful expression changed to this:

Walking to the car I thought to myself. Our Neighbor has a boxer. A boxer that she lets out in the morning. Without a leash. That is a State Law Violation Right There Missy! She stands there in her apartment door while the boxer walks five feet and takes a dump. And our apartment door is four and one half feet from her door, and That is Against Apartment Policy! My Zen like state evaporated as quickly as a single raindrop evaporates from the hood of a black Cadillac barreling down Alligator Alley at noon in July.

Now I wanted to use the Human Built System Of Rules to protect the soles of my shoes from Greasy Brown Boxer Turds.

I've got problems, I thought to myself. This lady is an EMT. She dedicates herself to saving lives (a noble calling), I don't want to piss her off. How do I kindly and gently say that I think it would be better for all involved if she made the time investment required to walk to the grass?

The frailty of human bliss. I find it funny that bliss can be shattered by a few ounces of misplaced dog crap.

Zen question: Is bliss that appears with the moon and disappears with the turd really bliss at all?