1.DEFLECTOR (Magician)
The Magician Reversed
(scroll past lyrics to read about the song)
“I’m fine. How are you?” —
The question that frees me.
“I’m fine” is a door I close before they can look.
[INTRO]
The wall held me up
so I didn’t have to hold myself.
Became part of the scenery,
to let others be seen.
My little self knocks.
I pretend I’m not home.
Deflection is the art of turning away.
Deflector is me.
[CHORUS]
When the talk gets close —
the topic turns,
I name the weather,
I deflect it.
“Look over there.”
Sidestep, redirect.
Deflector,
I divert.
I’m not what they’re looking for.
I keep the magic, I close the door.
(Deflector.)
[VERSE 1]
I am the trickster who tricks herself.
I know the magic.
But I won’t cast the spell.
Attention means criticism.
I learned certain topics are forbidden.
Tongue spins illusions —
polish on the surface,
panic in the eyes.
Hands jitter, jaw shivers —
stomach quivers.
I learned to point away
before they could point at me.
Trickster mind, mouth alchemy.
I hide in plain sight.
Intimacy intrudes, pries the wound —
The wand stays still.
My hips stay locked.
Every twitch betrays the silence,
blurting truth.
I bend reality with words,
it bends me back.
Crow says:
“You’ve been practicing sleight of hand
on yourself for years.
These cards are yours —
you keep handing them back.
Play them.”
[PRE‑CHORUS]
Wallflower at the edge, wand at my side.
Ghost gives away our light.
I hold the door, but they walk through —
My magic waits inside.
[CHORUS]
When the talk gets close —
the topic turns,
I name the weather,
I deflect it.
“Look over there.”
Sidestep, redirect.
Deflector,
I divert.
I’m not what they’re looking for.
I keep the magic, I close the door.
(Deflector.)
[VERSE 2]
Truth arrives. I change the subject.
Illusion blurs the seeing.
[pause]
“I’m fine. How are you?” —
The question that frees me.
“I’m fine” is a door I close
before they can look.
I dwell in the space
just before being seen.
Forget what I wanted to say.
Deflector says:
“I’m nothing special anyway.”
She says I’m an imposter —
that’s the voice I master.
I study them so I don’t have to study me.
Sleep won’t claim me; the night denies.
And still, I fear to drop the disguise.
Deflection’s a spell that leaves me last.
Ghost whispers:
“You’ll shatter if they see you whole.”
Crow replies: “Then give ’em a show!”
[PRE‑CHORUS]
Wallflower at the edge, wand at my side.
Ghost gives away our light.
I hold the door, but they walk through —
My magic waits inside.
[CHORUS]
When the talk gets close —
the topic turns,
I name the weather,
I deflect it.
“Look over there.”
Sidestep, redirect.
Deflector,
I divert.
I’m not what they’re looking for.
I keep the magic, I close the door.
(Deflector.)
[BRIDGE]
I’m learning to stay
in the center of my own life.
I step from the wall.
It never needed me at all.
I was the one who held on.
I pick up the wand.
My hand trembles —
Desire moves through me.
[POST‑CHORUS]
I don’t change the subject anymore.
I hold the magic —
Open the door.
I choose to be seen.
I am what I’m looking for.
[OUTRO]
Crow asks: “Are you ready to be seen?”
I say: “I’m learning.”
Crow leans closer:
“You don’t have to perform the answer.
You are the question.”
Speak from the ground.
The ones who need to hear you
will know your sound.
The ghost dies when I evolve.
Her tricks turn dust,
illusions dissolve.
(Rest in peace, ghost)
(East, East, East)
Card & Ghost
Tarot Card: The Magician (Reversed)
Thoth Name: The Magician
My Ghost: Deflector
Zodiac/Planet: Mercury
Hebrew Letter: Beth (ב)
Path: 12
What It Means Reversed:
All the tools are in my hands, but I keep handing them away. I know how to work the room—I don’t know how to work myself.
About the Song
I spent years perfecting the art of being overlooked. In a family of louder voices, I learned to stand in corners, to let the spotlight pass. Let others be the smart ones, the funny ones, the talented ones. I was the one who read the room before it needed reading, who made sure everyone else felt comfortable before I ever asked what I felt.
I called myself a wallflower. I always thought it sounded cute and poetic. It was survival.
The corner fit me like a second skin. Safe. Invisible. Reliable. I became the one who holds the door, who smooths the edges, who knows exactly when to step sideways so the conversation can keep flowing. I learned the dance before I had words for it—the sidestep, the redirect, the smile that says “nothing to see here.”
Around me, serious topics were handled with a quick turn to something safer. A heavy sentence lands, and suddenly someone was asking about the weather, or mentioning dinner, or turning toward the child in the room. The hard thing sat there, untouched, while we all pretended it hadn’t arrived.
My body learned it first. My shoulders turn before the question finishes. My breath stays shallow, as if taking up less space keeps me safer. When the spotlight lands—when someone really looks—my hands feel restless, ready to reach for something, ready to pull back. I answer questions with questions. I make myself the mirror instead of the source.
I’ve been reading about this pattern. Brené Brown calls it armor against vulnerability. Pia Mellody says it’s a boundary issue—not letting yourself be seen because being seen feels dangerous. Gabor Maté writes that the body learns to deflect before the mind has words for it. I felt that truth in my own shoulders before I ever read it.
Now the room has changed. People are looking. The engagement is real. And my first instinct is still to point elsewhere. I catch myself doing it—answering before I think, redirecting before I land, making sure they’re comfortable before I let myself be seen.
“Ghost says I’m nothing special anyway.”
This song is the moment I catch myself mid‑sidestep. The moment I remember I’m holding a wand.
I’m learning that the corner was never the only place. The wall doesn’t need me to hold it. The tools were never meant to be handed away.
Deflector kept me safe when safety meant not being seen. Now safety means letting the light land. I’m still learning. But I’m not handing the wand back anymore.
What This Ghost Is
Deflector is the part of me that learned to point before anyone could point back. She’s the reflex that answers a question with a question, that turns the spotlight into a mirror and hands it to someone else.
She has the tools—every tool. The wand of will, the cup of feeling, the dagger of thought, the disk of form. She knows how to work a room, how to read a silence, how to make people comfortable. What she doesn’t know is how to use any of it for herself.
This ghost was born in the corner. I spent years there, watching others take the light, learning that being seen meant being judged. I called myself a wallflower. It sounded like poetry. It was survival. The corner fit me like a second skin—safe, invisible, reliable.
But Deflector isn’t just the wallflower. She’s the active one, the one who steps sideways before the question lands, who wears “I’m fine” like a coat she can’t take off in public. She’s the voice that says “look over there” when the gaze gets too close, the hand that waves away concern before it can arrive.
She learned from a childhood of deflection. Serious topics arrived and were met with a sudden interest in the weather, a quick turn our attention to the child in the room. A hug ended with a mention of food. The heavy thing sat there, unheld. I learned the dance before I had words for it.
The books call it different things. Brené Brown calls it armor against vulnerability. Pia Mellody calls it a boundary issue—not letting yourself be seen because being seen feels dangerous. John Bradshaw says it’s shame management, the false self fluent in every language but her own. Gabor Maté says the body learns to deflect before the mind has words for it—the posture, the shallow breath, the constant readiness to step aside.
I call it Deflector.
She is not the mask. She is the reflex that keeps the mask in place. A costume made from breath‑holding. A decision loop dressed in praise. She is excess memory—the accumulated habit of making myself small so others could be large.
The tools are in my hands. I keep handing them back. I know the magic. I won’t cast the spell.
She taught me to be the mirror, not the source. The wall that holds the room, never the center. The one who knows your rhythm so she can step aside before you see her.
But here’s what I’m learning: the corner was never the only place. The wall doesn’t need me to hold it. The tools were never meant to be handed away.
Deflector kept me safe when safety meant not being seen. Now safety means letting the light land.
Where It Lives in the Body
I feel Deflector in my shoulders—turned before the question finishes. In my breath, shallow, as if staying small keeps me safe. My hands know the tools. They keep handing them back.
When the spotlight lands, my chest tightens. Not with fear—with the old habit of stepping aside. My eyes learn the exits. My voice learns to ask before it answers.
She’s not in my head. She’s in my posture. The body remembers the corner long after the corner is gone.
Tarot & Magick: The Magician Reversed
In the Thoth tarot, The Magician is Mercury—the messenger, the trickster, the one who bridges worlds. Upright, he directs will outward. He uses the wand, the cup, the dagger, the disk with intention. He is the source.
Reversed, the tools use him. His energy scatters. He performs instead of being. He knows the words—and uses them to deflect, not to reveal.
Deflector is Mercury’s shadow: the trickster who tricks herself. The one who could shine, but keeps pointing elsewhere.
Correspondences:
Hebrew letter: Beth (ב) — house, the dwelling of Will
Planet: Mercury — communication, speed, sleight of hand
Element: Air — thought, word, breath
Magical weapon: The Wand — pointed outward, never inward
Why This Song Belongs Here
The Hesitator was the first ghost—the spark that agreed to live, then forgot it chose. Deflector is the second: the spark learns words, but instead of speaking, it learns to point elsewhere. She’s the first ghost of voice, and her voice is trained to turn away.
After her, the ghosts keep building. The Escapist learns silence as a shield. The Smotherer learns care as control. The Commander learns order as armor. The Gatekeeper learns doctrine as a doorstop. But Deflector is where it starts—the moment language becomes a mirror instead of a mouth.
The Magician upright directs will outward. Reversed, the will scatters, the tools become shields, and the voice learns to deflect before it learns to be.
This song is the hinge where I stop handing the wand back. The walls are still being built, but here, in the second ghost, I finally catch my own hand mid‑point, mid‑sidestep, mid‑“look over there.” The rest of the funeral can’t happen until I stop pointing away.
What This Song Is
This song does not comfort me. It confronts. It catches the sidestep mid‑step. It asks: What if I held the wand for myself?
It shows the tools in my hands—and the moment I finally keep them. It speaks in the language of someone learning to stand in the center of her own life.
What I Learned
Deflector taught me that I don’t have to be the smartest or the funniest or the most anything. I just have to be here. The tools are mine. The light is mine. The corner was a survival strategy—not a home.
How I Will Use This Card in My Own Readings
When I pull The Magician reversed, I know Deflector is active. She’s the one who knows the words but doesn’t speak her own. Here’s how I work with her.
When I pull this card reversed…
I check where I’m deflecting. What question did I just answer with a question? Where did I point the spotlight away from myself? I ask: What would I say if I weren’t trying to manage the room?
Teachers who helped me understand this ghost
Brené Brown: Deflection is armor against vulnerability. The tools become shields instead of bridges.
Pia Mellody: Deflection is a boundary issue—not letting yourself be seen because being seen feels dangerous.
John Bradshaw: The false self is fluent in every language but her own. Deflection protects the shame we believe is underneath.
Gabor Maté: The body learns to deflect before the mind has words for it. The posture, the shallow breath—they keep us safe, then keep us small.
Harriet Lerner: The sidestep is the signature dance of those who learned to avoid the real conversation.
Pete Walker: Deflection is the fawn response—becoming what others need so you don’t have to be yourself.
Questions I can ask myself when this card appears:
Where did I just turn the conversation away from myself?
What would I say if I weren’t trying to make them comfortable?
Am I using the tools, or are the tools using me?
A YHVH spread example
The YHVH spread is a four‑card layout I use when I want to look at a situation from four angles. Each position matches one of the four letters in the Hebrew name YHVH, and each also lines up with a court card, a suit, and an element. I never understood this until I started writing the album—it finally clicked when I could feel it in the songs. I’m still learning, so these notes are mostly for myself.
Here’s the simple map I keep in my journal:
1. Yod — King — Wands — Fire
The spark — where it begins
2. Heh — Queen — Cups — Water
The container — how I hold it
3. Vav — Prince — Swords — Air
The connection — how I move through it
4. Heh final — Princess — Pentacles — Earth
The manifestation — where it lands
If I pull Deflector (The Magician reversed) in this spread, here’s what it might look like:
Yod (King / Wands / Fire — the spark): The will is there, the intention is there—but I keep redirecting it outward before it can land on me. I start before I can be seen starting.
Heh (Queen / Cups / Water — the container): I hold the situation by making myself the container for everyone else’s needs. I’m the mirror, not the source. I hold, but I don’t let myself be held.
Vav (Prince / Swords / Air — the connection): I show up by asking before I answer. I learn their rhythm so I can step aside. I’m present, but I keep one hand on the door.
Heh final (Princess / Pentacles / Earth — the manifestation): If I keep this up, nothing lands. The tools stay in my hands, but I never use them for myself. The only way out is to stop pointing elsewhere and finally let the light stay.
Somatic / body note
Deflector lives in my shoulders—turned, braced, ready to step aside. She lives in my breath—shallow, held, waiting for permission. When I catch myself deflecting, I feel my hands tingle, like they want to reach for something and pull back. The body remembers the corner. I’m teaching it the center.
Blessing
May you catch yourself mid‑sidestep.
May you keep the wand for yourself.
May you stand in the center and let the light land.
A little crow’s on the wire, keeping watch over you. 🐦⬛
—
A Note from My Study
I’m still learning. I don’t have this down. I’m still living in the gap, still trying to become more like the music I write. I write for myself—so I can study, so I can hear the direction I want to go.
I’m working from Aleister Crowley’s Thoth Tarot, the deck that became my study guide for this album. The correspondences (Hebrew letters, paths, planets) come from that tradition. These notes are just what I’ve gathered. If they help someone else, that’s a gift. If not, they’re just breadcrumbs from my own walk.
— Thank you for witnessing.
Loui Crow
