Another fire dream

I dreamed of fire again. This time I was in Paradise, so I know it can’t be precognitive. Most likely, post traumatic, if anything. I notice that the process of writing dreams down can contaminate their purity. As I attempt to weave the disparate threads together into a cohesive story line I find myself slapping together a picture which is impressionistic, at best. The editor/analyzer can describe things in such a way as to interpret or solidify the events into his own post- dream perspective. It's hard to be objective, is all I'm saying. That goes for pretty much all writing. 

Side note: Did you know that Facebook posts which have been edited can be viewed in all their prior versions? Once you push "enter" that's it. You can't take it back. Not really. Not so with this blog. I can say something and then magically, next week or in a month, I didn't say what you remember that I said. Is it he Mandela Effect or is it just me cleaning up my sentence structure? You'll never know. Over time I will probably forget which version is the truth and will have to settle for whatever is currently on the page at any given time. 

Back to the fire dream.

I was there in the early stages of the fire and becoming aware of the intensity and magnitude of the fire. I seemingly experienced several different versions of the moment of creeping awareness that this was a serious event.

In one I was at a location looking east and saw the fire on the top of a ridgeline headed down toward the town. Although it was far enough away, perhaps a whole canyon over, I could see that it was coming fast. I made my way down the Skyway to another location.

At this location, I was again unaware of any fire and was preoccupied with the social scene in some apartment building. There were college co-eds, a barbecue and some naked guy walking around. You were there, but in a younger form. I was, perhaps, younger, too. We weren’t even dating yet, it was still only in the possibility stage.

You left the party and told me you might be back. I amused myself with the co-eds, thinking of possible scenarios, such as young men think. Somehow, you must have been my ride because, as my schemes began to unravel, I was finding myself without a car and in need of a way down to Chico.

That’s when the fire entered the picture. It was on the west side this time, on a hill very close to the apartment building. I could see it was an immediate threat, and I began to panic. I ran from one apartment building to another, hoping to find a ride. I finally gave up and began running down the street.

I could hear the fire roaring and actually felt the heat. I joined up with other people on foot and we entered a building and were looking around for a minute. I suggested commandeering a bicycle and the suggestion was reprimanded by a group leader. Not having a plan, the group split up, everyone dispersing on foot. I started running down the Skyway, then back up. Seemingly all exits were engulfed in flames.

I was convinced that I was going to die but somehow I didn’t. Through the ineffable power of dream editing, I must have fast forwarded through some logistical hurdles.  I found myself zipping along on a moped, safely outside the fire, on a desolate stretch of Butte County road. I was safe for the time, but the feeling that I must be vigilant and keep moving remained.