Prompt: Between two rivers — one golden, one silver — she kneels upon a bridge made of pure sound. Metatron descends as a column of radiant letters, spiraling around her. “Doctrine is balance,” he intones, as the waters merge.
Prompt: Between two rivers — one golden, one silver — she kneels upon a bridge made of pure sound. Metatron descends as a column of radiant letters, spiraling around her. “Doctrine is balance,” he intones, as the waters merge.
Prompt: Between two rivers — one golden, one silver — she kneels upon a bridge made of pure sound. Metatron descends as a column of radiant letters, spiraling around her. “Doctrine is balance,” he intones, as the waters merge.
Prompt: Between two rivers — one golden, one silver — she kneels upon a bridge made of pure sound. Metatron descends as a column of radiant letters, spiraling around her. “Doctrine is balance,” he intones, as the waters merge.
Prompt: Between two rivers — one golden, one silver — she kneels upon a bridge made of pure sound. Metatron descends as a column of radiant letters, spiraling around her. “Doctrine is balance,” he intones, as the waters merge.
Prompt: 9.
An obsidian sky splits open, releasing golden flames that do not burn and silver shadows that do not fade. From within emerges Metatron, his crown a cube of endless faces. Each face recites a law — the doctrine unending.
Prompt: A city of silver towers floats above oceans of gold. No gates, no doors — only light. At its center, a throne of geometry, and upon it Metatron: the scribe who writes with lightning, the doctrine itself carved in thunder.
Prompt: Between two rivers — one golden, one silver — she kneels upon a bridge made of pure sound. Metatron descends as a column of radiant letters, spiraling around her. “Doctrine is balance,” he intones, as the waters merge.
Prompt: An obsidian sky splits open, releasing golden flames that do not burn and silver shadows that do not fade. From within emerges Metatron, his crown a cube of endless faces. Each face recites a law — the doctrine unending
Prompt: An obsidian sky splits open, releasing golden flames that do not burn and silver shadows that do not fade. From within emerges Metatron, his crown a cube of endless faces. Each face recites a law — the doctrine unending
Prompt: Within a chamber shaped like the Tree of Life, golden paths connect to silver spheres glowing with eternal knowledge. At the highest crown, Metatron stands — a radiant conduit, bridging mortal thought with divine emanation, keeper of the doctrine of Sephiroth.
Prompt: Within a chamber shaped like the Tree of Life, golden paths connect to silver spheres glowing with eternal knowledge. At the highest crown, Metatron stands — a radiant conduit, bridging mortal thought with divine emanation, keeper of the doctrine of Sephiroth.
Prompt: She dreams beneath a tree whose leaves are pure gold and whose roots glisten with silver veins. At the trunk sits Metatron, the celestial scribe, inscribing every breath of creation into bark that glows. The doctrine is not read — it is absorbed into the soul.
Prompt: In a temple without walls, stars hang like chandeliers of molten silver, and the air is heavy with golden mist. Metatron manifests as a body of countless eyes, each reflecting a different law. He is the doctrine made visible — the mirror of divine precision.
Prompt: In a temple without walls, stars hang like chandeliers of molten silver, and the air is heavy with golden mist. Metatron manifests as a body of countless eyes, each reflecting a different law. He is the doctrine made visible — the mirror of divine precision.
Prompt: At the center of a wheel forged from gold and silver spokes, reality turns like a living mandala. Metatron stands at the hub, hands outstretched, orchestrating the rotation. Every revolution reveals another verse, another code — the doctrine of infinity.
Prompt: At the center of a wheel forged from gold and silver spokes, reality turns like a living mandala. Metatron stands at the hub, hands outstretched, orchestrating the rotation. Every revolution reveals another verse, another code — the doctrine of infinity.
Prompt: At the center of a wheel forged from gold and silver spokes, reality turns like a living mandala. Metatron stands at the hub, hands outstretched, orchestrating the rotation. Every revolution reveals another verse, another code — the doctrine of infinity.
Prompt: In a temple without walls, stars hang like chandeliers of molten silver, and the air is heavy with golden mist. Metatron manifests as a body of countless eyes, each reflecting a different law. He is the doctrine made visible — the mirror of divine precision.
Prompt: In a temple without walls, stars hang like chandeliers of molten silver, and the air is heavy with golden mist. Metatron manifests as a body of countless eyes, each reflecting a different law. He is the doctrine made visible — the mirror of divine precision.
Prompt: In a temple without walls, stars hang like chandeliers of molten silver, and the air is heavy with golden mist. Metatron manifests as a body of countless eyes, each reflecting a different law. He is the doctrine made visible — the mirror of divine precision.
Prompt: She dreams beneath a tree whose leaves are pure gold and whose roots glisten with silver veins. At the trunk sits Metatron, the celestial scribe, inscribing every breath of creation into bark that glows. The doctrine is not read — it is absorbed into the soul.
Prompt: She dreams beneath a tree whose leaves are pure gold and whose roots glisten with silver veins. At the trunk sits Metatron, the celestial scribe, inscribing every breath of creation into bark that glows. The doctrine is not read — it is absorbed into the soul.
Prompt: She dreams beneath a tree whose leaves are pure gold and whose roots glisten with silver veins. At the trunk sits Metatron, the celestial scribe, inscribing every breath of creation into bark that glows. The doctrine is not read — it is absorbed into the soul.
Prompt: She walks through a cosmic engine where gears of gold and silver rotate in harmony. Each gear is inscribed with angelic script, each motion part of a law. At the heart of the machine, Metatron turns the axis — the hidden doctrine that powers creation itself.
Prompt: She walks through a cosmic engine where gears of gold and silver rotate in harmony. Each gear is inscribed with angelic script, each motion part of a law. At the heart of the machine, Metatron turns the axis — the hidden doctrine that powers creation itself.
Prompt: Above a desert of endless silver sand, a golden sun opens like an eye. From its brilliance descends Metatron, wings wide like galaxies. His voice becomes law, his silence becomes prophecy, and the doctrine of eternity is etched across the shifting dunes.
Prompt: She dreams beneath a tree whose leaves are pure gold and whose roots glisten with silver veins. At the trunk sits Metatron, the celestial scribe, inscribing every breath of creation into bark that glows. The doctrine is not read — it is absorbed into the soul.
Prompt: She dreams beneath a tree whose leaves are pure gold and whose roots glisten with silver veins. At the trunk sits Metatron, the celestial scribe, inscribing every breath of creation into bark that glows. The doctrine is not read — it is absorbed into the soul.
Prompt: In a temple without walls, stars hang like chandeliers of molten silver, and the air is heavy with golden mist. Metatron manifests as a body of countless eyes, each reflecting a different law. He is the doctrine made visible — the mirror of divine precision.
Prompt: At the center of a wheel forged from gold and silver spokes, reality turns like a living mandala. Metatron stands at the hub, hands outstretched, orchestrating the rotation. Every revolution reveals another verse, another code — the doctrine of infinity
Prompt: Above a desert of endless silver sand, a golden sun opens like an eye. From its brilliance descends Metatron, wings wide like galaxies. His voice becomes law, his silence becomes prophecy, and the doctrine of eternity is etched across the shifting dunes.
Dream Level: is increased each time when you "Go Deeper" into the dream. Each new level is harder to achieve and
takes more iterations than the one before.
Rare Deep Dream: is any dream which went deeper than level 6.
Deep Dream
You cannot go deeper into someone else's dream. You must create your own.
Deep Dream
Currently going deeper is available only for Deep Dreams.
