The Greater Trumps: (02) The Magician

He stands in precarious equilibrium, as if on a knife-edge; as we note his delicate poise, we suddenly realise he is blind, or perhaps only blind-folded. And yet (and what a big yet!) he is juggling a series of balls, each of which might be a world! What prestidigitation this is - what sleight-of-hand! Or perhaps it is lightness of touch - legerdemain.

The Magician is a one-person balancing act. Always still, and yet obviously in motion, it is hard to tell if he was born like this or has learnt to do this through the most arduous learning and practice. It is also obvious that he is technically very good - so good that is seems contrived. Yet, his balance seems natural - so natural that he might be the avatar of some primal force.

He stands in the gap, not as an arbiter or a guardian but as a sign that there is always a balance. And that is why the Magician is both Skill and Balance - he engages in a most precise and yet instinctive use of skill which displays an appreciation for opposing forces around him.

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I am no Magician, though some have called me so. Some confuse alchemy with magic, some think magic a form of evil. But magic is merely the uneven wisdom of men, some of it more instinctive than other kinds, some of it darker than other kinds. I've read books by the man known as the Last Magician though. And no, his name is not Crowley, but Williams.

Here is a quotation from his Taliessin's Return to Logres:

At the falling of the first
chaos behind me checked;
at the falling of the second
the wood showed the worst;
at the falling of the third
I had come to the king’s camp;
the harp on my back
syllabled the signal word.