Prompt: A stunningly beautiful hyper-realistic photograph of - Three celestial figures, the mother, the maiden, the crone sitting above the earth upon threads made of swirling ambient, stardust. The figure's each are weaving a portion to the tapestry of life, laid out before them among the stars, glowing , sparkling colorful, vibrant threads are trailing from their laps into the cosmos and descending down upon the earthy sky below. Each woman reflects the stages of life. The mother, kind and glowing with the grace of motherhood, a knowing smile of indulgence and a twinkle in her eye. The maiden, youthful, full of life and grace, lithe and radiant in her beauty. The crone, weathered by time, stark white hair and gnarled hands graced with a serene beauty of time gone by and ancient wisdom, a pair of shears resting upon her lap. Stars twinkle in the celestial heavens that surround them. An aura of otherworldly presence fills the scene as they weave sparkling orbs, souls of light into the tapestry.
Prompt: The sea is black, endless, unbroken — until the heavens crack open, spilling molten rivers of gold and silver into its depths. The waters do not drown them; they rise, becoming bridges of fire and mist, paths into the infinite. At their meeting stands Metatron, crowned with the cube that binds all things. Its surfaces shimmer with a thousand faces, each reciting a law in a language older than light. The cube rotates, and with each turn, the sea shifts into form: islands become words, waves become syllables, tides become commandments. The doctrine is not an idea; it is structure itself, and Metatron, scribe of the divine, is its keeper, its conductor, its eternal witness.
Prompt: The sea is black, endless, unbroken — until the heavens crack open, spilling molten rivers of gold and silver into its depths. The waters do not drown them; they rise, becoming bridges of fire and mist, paths into the infinite. At their meeting stands Metatron, crowned with the cube that binds all things. Its surfaces shimmer with a thousand faces, each reciting a law in a language older than light. The cube rotates, and with each turn, the sea shifts into form: islands become words, waves become syllables, tides become commandments. The doctrine is not an idea; it is structure itself, and Metatron, scribe of the divine, is its keeper, its conductor, its eternal witness.
Prompt: The sea is black, endless, unbroken — until the heavens crack open, spilling molten rivers of gold and silver into its depths. The waters do not drown them; they rise, becoming bridges of fire and mist, paths into the infinite. At their meeting stands Metatron, crowned with the cube that binds all things. Its surfaces shimmer with a thousand faces, each reciting a law in a language older than light. The cube rotates, and with each turn, the sea shifts into form: islands become words, waves become syllables, tides become commandments. The doctrine is not an idea; it is structure itself, and Metatron, scribe of the divine, is its keeper, its conductor, its eternal witness.
Prompt: The heavens split into two rivers — one of gold that burns, one of silver that whispers. They collide in the void, and from their fusion a cube is born, radiant and unending, turning forever with luminous decree. Metatron rises through the rivers, crowned by the cube, his form neither angel nor man but the voice of doctrine given shape. Each turn of the cube is a command, each reflection a covenant, each spark a memory of creation’s first breath. The rivers roar, the stars bow, the angels sing in silence, and the doctrine is sealed anew — not written in ink, but in fire and shadow, in gold and silver.
Prompt: The heavens split into two rivers — one of gold that burns, one of silver that whispers. They collide in the void, and from their fusion a cube is born, radiant and unending, turning forever with luminous decree. Metatron rises through the rivers, crowned by the cube, his form neither angel nor man but the voice of doctrine given shape. Each turn of the cube is a command, each reflection a covenant, each spark a memory of creation’s first breath. The rivers roar, the stars bow, the angels sing in silence, and the doctrine is sealed anew — not written in ink, but in fire and shadow, in gold and silver.
Prompt: The heavens split into two rivers — one of gold that burns, one of silver that whispers. They collide in the void, and from their fusion a cube is born, radiant and unending, turning forever with luminous decree. Metatron rises through the rivers, crowned by the cube, his form neither angel nor man but the voice of doctrine given shape. Each turn of the cube is a command, each reflection a covenant, each spark a memory of creation’s first breath. The rivers roar, the stars bow, the angels sing in silence, and the doctrine is sealed anew — not written in ink, but in fire and shadow, in gold and silver.
Prompt: The heavens split into two rivers — one of gold that burns, one of silver that whispers. They collide in the void, and from their fusion a cube is born, radiant and unending, turning forever with luminous decree. Metatron rises through the rivers, crowned by the cube, his form neither angel nor man but the voice of doctrine given shape. Each turn of the cube is a command, each reflection a covenant, each spark a memory of creation’s first breath. The rivers roar, the stars bow, the angels sing in silence, and the doctrine is sealed anew — not written in ink, but in fire and shadow, in gold and silver.
Prompt: The heavens ignite with letters of living metal — gold shining as flame, silver flowing as shadow. They weave together into a cube of endless rotation. Within it dwells Metatron, voice of the doctrine unbroken.
Prompt: The heavens unravel, spilling letters of fire and mist across the sky. Golden syllables drift like flames, silver ones like shadows. They gather, forming the crown of Metatron — a cube of law that turns forever, its rotation binding worlds.
Prompt: The heavens unravel, spilling letters of fire and mist across the sky. Golden syllables drift like flames, silver ones like shadows. They gather, forming the crown of Metatron — a cube of law that turns forever, its rotation binding worlds.
Prompt: The heavens unravel, spilling letters of fire and mist across the sky. Golden syllables drift like flames, silver ones like shadows. They gather, forming the crown of Metatron — a cube of law that turns forever, its rotation binding worlds.
Prompt: The heavens unravel, spilling letters of fire and mist across the sky. Golden syllables drift like flames, silver ones like shadows. They gather, forming the crown of Metatron — a cube of law that turns forever, its rotation binding worlds.
Prompt: The heavens unravel, spilling letters of fire and mist across the sky. Golden syllables drift like flames, silver ones like shadows. They gather, forming the crown of Metatron — a cube of law that turns forever, its rotation binding worlds.
Prompt: The heavens unravel, spilling letters of fire and mist across the sky. Golden syllables drift like flames, silver ones like shadows. They gather, forming the crown of Metatron — a cube of law that turns forever, its rotation binding worlds.
Prompt: The heavens unravel, spilling letters of fire and mist across the sky. Golden syllables drift like flames, silver ones like shadows. They gather, forming the crown of Metatron — a cube of law that turns forever, its rotation binding worlds.
Prompt: The heavens unravel, spilling letters of fire and mist across the sky. Golden syllables drift like flames, silver ones like shadows. They gather, forming the crown of Metatron — a cube of law that turns forever, its rotation binding worlds.
Prompt: The heavens unravel, spilling letters of fire and mist across the sky. Golden syllables drift like flames, silver ones like shadows. They gather, forming the crown of Metatron — a cube of law that turns forever, its rotation binding worlds.
Prompt: The heavens unravel, spilling letters of fire and mist across the sky. Golden syllables drift like flames, silver ones like shadows. They gather, forming the crown of Metatron — a cube of law that turns forever, its rotation binding worlds.
Let Go of the Score (but don't lose yourself in the process, especially your heart, mind and soul)
Model:
DaVinci2
Size:
1856 X 1232
(2.29 MP)
Used settings:
Prompt: Water Color Painting of
Blame
Game
Steals
Wealth
Heart
account
score
debt
deepens
causing weeping
Let Go of the Score
new game,
addition,
laughter and love,
Arthur Rackham, Monet, Van Gogh
adding
reaching
higher and higher
above, until
All Have
Reached the
Heavens.
Prompt: The heavens rip apart like shattered glass, revealing an infinite void beyond. From this rift, luminescent ships shaped like living, pulsating organisms descend. Their surface constantly morphs, displaying cryptic symbols that rewrite the laws of physics. Gravity shifts, colors gain sound, and human thoughts become visible streams of energy in the air.
Prompt: ghostly translucent mother of pearl iridescent image of the back of a woman walking away from us into the distance, watercolor, pastel, ink, charcoal painting of a pathway, mystical luminescent, iridescent, translucent, crystalline winding rising ever ascending, multiple intricately multi-faceted cut and engraved crystal glass angelic bridge through the clouds to the cosmos, heavens, mist, cosmic dust, faint stars, nebulas, arthur rackham, Alexei Alexeievich Harlamov, Edward Robert Hughes, Monet, Maxfield Parrish
Prompt: A highly dimensional representation about the creation via the hyperbolic quantum instantiation of a human thought. odd, yet strangely beautiful and serene. moiré patterns and fractal patterns incorporated into glass-smooth polished surfaces
Prompt: Golden textured watercolor of a angel with wings attached to the center of her back in between her shoulders, spirals of radiant energy, cosmos, cosmic dust, galaxies, super novas, arthur rackham, edward robert hughes, monet
Prompt: There is a time for everything, and a season for every activity under the heavens: a time to be born and a time to die, a time to plant and a time to uproot, a time to kill and a time to heal, a time to tear down and a time to build, a time to weep and a time to laugh, a time to mourn and a time to dance, a time to scatter stones and a time to gather them, a time to embrace and a time to refrain from embracing, a time to search and a time to give up, a time to keep and a time to throw away, a time to tear and a time to mend, a time to be silent and a time to speak, a time to love and a time to hate, a time for war and a time for peace.
Prompt: There is a time for everything, and a season for every activity under the heavens: a time to be born and a time to die, a time to plant and a time to uproot, a time to kill and a time to heal, a time to tear down and a time to build, a time to weep and a time to laugh, a time to mourn and a time to dance, a time to scatter stones and a time to gather them, a time to embrace and a time to refrain from embracing, a time to search and a time to give up, a time to keep and a time to throw away, a time to tear and a time to mend, a time to be silent and a time to speak, a time to love and a time to hate, a time for war and a time for peace.
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.
