I dreamed last night that I was on vacation in Colorado. The first recollection is of riding a commuter train which derails just a few cars behind us, causing our car to jolt violently, lights flickering, sparks flying and people frantically holding onto the railings. Apparently we survived unharmed. The next moment I recall, we are at Mile High Stadium watching a Rockies game. The sky is gray and throughout the game several passenger jets en route to landing at DIA soar overhead, some appearing to be far below safe elevation and distractingly close to us. After settling myself with the sensation of concern that one of the planes may get too close, I look to the horizon and see the dwarfing nose of a jet plummeting towards the stadium. The plane roars closer and crashes swiftly into the stadium, directly to the left of us, missing us all by just a few hundred yards. The stadium shakes and screams and panic ensue. I recall myself calmly exiting the seat and running to leave the stadium. I then recall standing in the parking lot with my loved ones and looking back on the stadium, which is billowing smoke. People are fleeing, some leaping to escape the wreck. Although I can see this even is horrendous, somehow the true complexity of it is missing-there's no sense of abiding horror or loss of innocence. Somehow although I seem to process the gravity of it and my survival, I am peaceful and unshaken by it.