Now that we have a truce, parties can happen again. I'm at my first one in years. Not huge--a crowded hall, but just 5 meters wide, 10 long.

Enemy agents burst in, holding little boxes. A line of light jabs at me, poking like a spear--feel its pressure. It rises from the leader's fist-size weapon, makes a right angle and lances down through the crowd, knocking others aside. Not a laser, then--not with elbows and muscles! Force, not light.

My attacker yells "He's a wizard!" then at me "You're under arrest!"

I snap back "You've violated the Truce. You're under arrest yourself!"

Whip out my wand and fire--not at him, at his weapon. Hold my energy beam steadily on the box. Magical resistance heats my wand, but it's bearable.

I can hold this output a long time, for it's my own spirit driving my beam; the wand just focuses and directs it. But his nasty little box runs on rechargeable batteries, and in a sustained duel, they'll quickly overheat. May catch fire, even explode.

He knows it, too; stands his ground half a minute, hoping I'll lose concentration, or nerve. But his weapon starts buzzing like a mad wasp. Smoke curls out. He curses and backs away, sweeps out of the room. His minions scuttle after him, afraid to face me without their master.

Another win for wizardry.

NOTES IN THE MORNING

• War, truce, now we can have parties again: the Covid pandemic now easing.
• Wizards, wand: a TV comedian mentioned Harry Potter.
• Witch-hunters: more like agents of the Magisterium, the totalitarian church in Philip Pullman's series His Dark Materials.
• Hunter's weapon uses force, not light: echoes their unethical tactics--violating a truce, firing in a crowd.
• Witch-hunter fears explosion: I just read The Blackthorne Legacy--in an alternate history of the English Civil War, an alchemist makes dynamite. Baaaad idea!
• So who are those guys? A previous dream that night had uneasy negotiations with an old enemy, a Jungian shadow figure I loathed on sight. The setting was my childhood home, hinting this conflict goes waaay back. The wizard-wand and the Roundheads' church-trashing makes me suspect it's to do with my dad's belief anything spiritual or paranormal was simple, stupid superstition--witches muttering around a cauldron. Never mind that all his kids were flamin' psychics, and he himself had at least one clairvoyant nightmare, The Murders.
  After years of my dad's denial, I tend to tar all skeptics as wilfully refusing to face evidence, so I give up arguing too soon. Yet the dream argues "in a fair fight, skepticism loses."
  And yes, I do mean rationalists I otherwise admire, like Carl Sagan, Stephen Pinker and Joseph Henrich--pro-Enlightenment writers who simply refuse to look at the evidence for anything outside their value system, for we're all frauds or fools to belief such silly things. Wrong: we're minorities who've had experiences you lack. And data trumps theory.
• My magic's innate and is sustainable; theirs isn't: my view rises from first-hand experimentation, while theirs is a mere meme. So...
• ACTION: Keep firing away. I know what I know, and I'm not tired. Perseverance!

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