An undercover fire-dancing crew gather in Pacific Grove.

It’s a mid-September night, just after 10pm, on a bushy trail to Asilomar State Beach. A cellphone flashlight illuminates the path for a few steps ahead, but other than that, the only light comes from stars scattered in the clear sky.

But soon enough, there will be fire.

Esmeralda Garcia, a Monterey Peninsula College student, leads the way. She is a regular of Fire and Flow, a gathering for both fans and performers of fire dancing that happens every Wednesday night.

“You can’t know about this until someone takes you there,” Garcia says of the secluded event.

In the daytime this walk would be soothing and scenic, with wildflowers lining the sandy path. But in the eerie darkness, I cannot help getting creepy corn-maze vibes. Eventually, the flat trail elevates to sand dunes with a narrow wooden walkway.

From the top of a dune a speaker bumping electronic music becomes audible, and the beacon that is the bonfire appears on the beach.

The gathering has been taking place since last summer. On this night about 50 people, from college kids to who appear to be Woodstock-era veterans, are in attendance.

Regulars of Fire and Flow start the night by chatting among themselves or jamming on a guitar or harmonica. Wyatt Widmer holds a happy looking small dog in his arms, and several people snap photos of the dog, a rare hybrid of chihuahua and shiba inu.

“This is Juanita Rose,” Widmer says, introducing the dog. “She’s half-Japanese and half-Mexican, but all-American.”

Upon a friend’s advice, Widmer began attending Fire and Flow after moving from San Diego several months ago.

“I thought it would be a little bonfire, but it’s more special than that,” Widmer says, as he adjusts the collar of his dog’s sweater. “Most of these people here would be misfits in San Diego.”

Six performers take their sandy stage a safe distance away from people huddled around the bonfire. Though the performers aren’t synchronized, they’re all concentrating on their craft. Nunchuck-like objects set on fire are flung into the air and caught quickly. A brightly lit staff is slowly spun by a fire-dancing novice, and a woman twirls a whip full of multicolored lights – known as a pixel whip – over and around her dancing body.

The performers, mystifying in their movements, enjoy an audience that comes and goes, casually commenting and clapping.

There’s an inherent danger in breathing, twirling and flipping fire, and that’s something every flow artist has come to terms with. Camii Schoenflield, just done dancing with a sword set on fire, wasn’t always fearless.

“The first time I tried to spin I was scared,” she says. “But after awhile it just becomes another pretty light to look at. I’m hooked.”

At 11:11pm, conversations die down and everyone scrambles to sit or stand around the fire. Namraja Singh, one of the founders and an organizer of Fire and Flow, gives his speech for the week.

He goes over topics ranging from the merits of clean living, welcoming the arrival of the fall season, supporting Measure Z, and – one issue that’s always discussed – picking up litter so the group can leave the beach better than they found it.

“If you’re here for the first time,” Singh says, “welcome to our tribe.”

A piece of wood and a Sharpie are passed around. People write negative aspects of life they want to shed, things like “my ex” and “drugs” on the piece of wood that is soon thrown into the fire.

Singh tells the group to take deep inhales and give an “Ooommmmn” at exhale. Each deep breath brings a mix of the salty scent of sea and the smell of the burning bonfire.

When asked about the significance of keeping Fire and Flow going, Singh goes full Zen-mode.

“This night encourages recognizing the flow of what happens around you,” Singh says. “Fire burns whatever prevents us from living mindfully.”

By the light of the bonfire, Kaynen Roan, another college student, dips the tips of a homemade staff into a Mason jar full of kerosene.

Roan begins by bouncing the staff from his chest and into his hands, his long black hair swaying so close to the blaze. His throws become more bold and rapid and – while twirling the staff in one hand – he kneels quickly and takes a sip from the Mason jar. Suddenly, Roan spits and a big burst of orange flames explodes then fades away in an instant.

“Fire and Flow is a form of art and a way of life,” Roan says. “Above all, it’s a place where we can freely express ourselves.”

FIRE AND FLOW happens at 9:30pm on Wednesdays at Asilomar State Beach in Pacific Grove.