Prompt: Born of the fiery depths of the earth,
An efreeti, with power and ferocity of great worth.
From ancient legends and tales untold,
A creature of might, with a heart of cold.
A jinn of the darkest hue,
With malevolence as its true virtue.
A demon of smokeless flame,
A creature that mortals cannot tame.
Its fiery eyes, ablaze with malice,
A visage that strikes terror with its prowess.
A body of smoke, yet made of steel,
Its power beyond what human minds can feel.
A master of magic, with spells of old,
A warrior of might, with battles untold.
An efreeti, feared by all,
A force of destruction, both great and small.
In barren lands, it makes its home,
A ruler of shadows and realms unknown.
Its power vast, its wrath immense,
A creature of pure malevolence.
From ancient lore and tales of old,
The efreeti's power and might unfold,
A being of darkness, with a heart of cold,
A creature of smokeless flame and iron mold.
Prompt: I've seen things you people wouldn't believe. Attack ships on fire off the shoulder of Orion. I watched C-beams glitter in the dark near the Tannhäuser Gate. All those moments will be lost in time, like tears in rain. Time to die. Man. Clone. Warrior. Galactic Expanse and heavens. Science Fiction. Struggle. Fear. Embrace of destiny.
Prompt: I've seen things you people wouldn't believe. Attack ships on fire off the shoulder of Orion. I watched C-beams glitter in the dark near the Tannhäuser Gate. All those moments will be lost in time, like tears in rain. Time to die. Man. Clone. Warrior. Galactic Expanse and heavens. Science Fiction. Struggle. Fear. Embrace of destiny.
Prompt: I've seen things you people wouldn't believe. Attack ships on fire off the shoulder of Orion. I watched C-beams glitter in the dark near the Tannhäuser Gate. All those moments will be lost in time, like tears in rain. Time to die. Man. Clone. Warrior. Galactic Expanse and heavens. Science Fiction. Struggle. Fear. Embrace of destiny.
Prompt: I've seen things you people wouldn't believe. Attack ships on fire off the shoulder of Orion. I watched C-beams glitter in the dark near the Tannhäuser Gate. All those moments will be lost in time, like tears in rain. Time to die. Man. Clone. Warrior. Galactic Expanse and heavens. Science Fiction. Struggle. Fear. Embrace of destiny.
Prompt: her name is cristi. she is beautiful. She has a big white smile. . . and she has blue gray eyes. . . she's shyish, she's kind, and caring, possibly naive and lives in the right part of town, loves her children, has a complicated relationship with her parents and her strange lover who is typing this. She's a good friend and dreams of helping people in a job that matters.
Prompt: If you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you,
If you can trust yourself
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
don’t deal in lies,
don’t give way to hating,
And yet don’t look too good, nor talk too wise:
If you can dream
If you can think
If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster
And treat those two impostors just the same;
If you can bear to hear the truth you’ve spoken
Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,
And stoop and build ’em up with worn-out tools:
And lose, and start again at your beginnings
And never breathe a word about your loss;
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
Or walk with Kings—nor lose the common touch,
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you,
If all men count with you, but none too much;
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds’ worth of distance run,
Yours is the Earth and everything that’s in it,
And—which is more—you’ll be a Man, my son!
Prompt: If you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you,
If you can trust yourself
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
don’t deal in lies,
don’t give way to hating,
And yet don’t look too good, nor talk too wise:
If you can dream
If you can think
If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster
And treat those two impostors just the same;
If you can bear to hear the truth you’ve spoken
Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,
And stoop and build ’em up with worn-out tools:
And lose, and start again at your beginnings
And never breathe a word about your loss;
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
Or walk with Kings—nor lose the common touch,
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you,
If all men count with you, but none too much;
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds’ worth of distance run,
Yours is the Earth and everything that’s in it,
And—which is more—you’ll be a Man, my son!
Prompt: If you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you,
If you can trust yourself
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
don’t deal in lies,
don’t give way to hating,
And yet don’t look too good, nor talk too wise:
If you can dream
If you can think
If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster
And treat those two impostors just the same;
If you can bear to hear the truth you’ve spoken
Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,
And stoop and build ’em up with worn-out tools:
And lose, and start again at your beginnings
And never breathe a word about your loss;
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
Or walk with Kings—nor lose the common touch,
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you,
If all men count with you, but none too much;
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds’ worth of distance run,
Yours is the Earth and everything that’s in it,
And—which is more—you’ll be a Man, my son!
Prompt: If you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you,
If you can trust yourself
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
don’t deal in lies,
don’t give way to hating,
And yet don’t look too good, nor talk too wise:
If you can dream
If you can think
If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster
And treat those two impostors just the same;
If you can bear to hear the truth you’ve spoken
Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,
And stoop and build ’em up with worn-out tools:
And lose, and start again at your beginnings
And never breathe a word about your loss;
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
Or walk with Kings—nor lose the common touch,
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you,
If all men count with you, but none too much;
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds’ worth of distance run,
Yours is the Earth and everything that’s in it,
And—which is more—you’ll be a Man, my son!
Prompt: The sea is my shepherd, I shall not want.
It makes me lie down in green pastures,
Beside still waters it leads me.
It restores my soul,
And guides me along the right paths
For the sake of its name.
Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death,
I fear no evil,
For you are with me;
Your rod and your staff, they comfort me.
You spread a table before me
In the presence of my enemies;
You anoint my head with oil,
My cup overflows.
Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me
All the days of my life,
And I shall dwell in the house of the sea
Forever.
Prompt: The wound is the place where the light enters you.
All day I think of those I love
And how much they've grown
Into life's elaborate tapestries
Of which I wanted to be a part.
I long to see their faces again,
To hear their laughter,
To feel the warmth of their embrace,
To be burned by the fire of their love.
Yet even as I yearn for their presence,
I know that I am not alone,
For their love burns within me,
Guiding me through the darkness,
And lighting my way home.
Prompt: The wound is the place where the light enters you.
All day I think of those I love
And how much they've grown
Into life's elaborate tapestries
Of which I wanted to be a part.
I long to see their faces again,
To hear their laughter,
To feel the warmth of their embrace,
To be burned by the fire of their love.
Yet even as I yearn for their presence,
I know that I am not alone,
For their love burns within me,
Guiding me through the darkness,
And lighting my way home.
Prompt: In the strategy of the martial arts,
In matters of the world,
One must be flexible, fluid, hard and soft.
This is called the principle of five attitudes in strategy.
Flexibility and fluidity are like water.
Water takes the shape of its container.
The harder the container, the stronger the water.
It is the same with people.
The stronger the person, the more flexible they become.
This is why water can conquer fire,
And why flexibility can conquer rigidity.
This is why in matters of strategy,
One must be flexible and fluid, hard and soft
Prompt: In the strategy of the martial arts,
In matters of the world,
One must be flexible, fluid, hard and soft.
This is called the principle of five attitudes in strategy.
Flexibility and fluidity are like water.
Water takes the shape of its container.
The harder the container, the stronger the water.
It is the same with people.
The stronger the person, the more flexible they become.
This is why water can conquer fire,
And why flexibility can conquer rigidity.
This is why in matters of strategy,
One must be flexible and fluid, hard and soft
Prompt: A crucified Marilyn Monroe
She was a goddess of beauty, sex, and fame,
A shining star that lit up the stage.
Desire and love surrounded her name,
Her smile, her laugh, a constant thrill of joy.
But fame and beauty came with a price,
A life of constant scrutiny and strife.
Her beauty and desire fueled the fire,
Of those who sought to control her life.
She was a victim of her own success,
Her downfall and destruction was in sight.
Tragedy and pain were the only guests,
In a life that was anything but bright.
She lived and died in a blaze of glory,
Her beauty and fame her one true story.
A symbol of tragedy and pain,
A victim of the world that sought to chain.
Her life was a journey of ups and downs,
A battle between beauty and fame.
Her death a mystery that still astounds,
A symbol of what could have been.
So let us remember Marilyn Monroe,
Not just as a sex symbol or fame.
But as a woman who struggled to grow,
And suffered the consequences of her claim.
Prompt: A crucified Marilyn Monroe
She was a goddess of beauty, sex, and fame,
A shining star that lit up the stage.
Desire and love surrounded her name,
Her smile, her laugh, a constant thrill of joy.
But fame and beauty came with a price,
A life of constant scrutiny and strife.
Her beauty and desire fueled the fire,
Of those who sought to control her life.
She was a victim of her own success,
Her downfall and destruction was in sight.
Tragedy and pain were the only guests,
In a life that was anything but bright.
She lived and died in a blaze of glory,
Her beauty and fame her one true story.
A symbol of tragedy and pain,
A victim of the world that sought to chain.
Her life was a journey of ups and downs,
A battle between beauty and fame.
Her death a mystery that still astounds,
A symbol of what could have been.
So let us remember Marilyn Monroe,
Not just as a sex symbol or fame.
But as a woman who struggled to grow,
And suffered the consequences of her claim.
Prompt: A crucified Marilyn Monroe
She was a goddess of beauty, sex, and fame,
A shining star that lit up the stage.
Desire and love surrounded her name,
Her smile, her laugh, a constant thrill of joy.
But fame and beauty came with a price,
A life of constant scrutiny and strife.
Her beauty and desire fueled the fire,
Of those who sought to control her life.
She was a victim of her own success,
Her downfall and destruction was in sight.
Tragedy and pain were the only guests,
In a life that was anything but bright.
She lived and died in a blaze of glory,
Her beauty and fame her one true story.
A symbol of tragedy and pain,
A victim of the world that sought to chain.
Her life was a journey of ups and downs,
A battle between beauty and fame.
Her death a mystery that still astounds,
A symbol of what could have been.
So let us remember Marilyn Monroe,
Not just as a sex symbol or fame.
But as a woman who struggled to grow,
And suffered the consequences of her claim.
Prompt: Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Prompt: Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Prompt: Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Prompt: Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Prompt: Out beyond ideas of wrongdoing and rightdoing,
there is a field. I'll meet you there.
When the soul lies down in that grass,
the world is too full to talk about.
Ideas, language, even the phrase each other
doesn't make any sense.
The breeze at dawn has secrets to tell you.
Don't go back to sleep.
You must ask for what you really want.
Don't go back to sleep.
People are going back and forth
across the doorsill where the two worlds touch,
The door is round and open.
Don't go back to sleep.
Prompt: Out beyond ideas of wrongdoing and rightdoing,
there is a field. I'll meet you there.
When the soul lies down in that grass,
the world is too full to talk about.
Ideas, language, even the phrase each other
doesn't make any sense.
The breeze at dawn has secrets to tell you.
Don't go back to sleep.
You must ask for what you really want.
Don't go back to sleep.
People are going back and forth
across the doorsill where the two worlds touch,
The door is round and open.
Don't go back to sleep.
Prompt: From now on, I shall be mad.
I'll let go of the material world
and find the source of the light.
I'll be lost in love for the divine
and live in a state of madness.
The craziness of the world
makes no sense to me.
I've given up trying to be sane
and now I'm free.
I'll let go of reason and logic
and live in a world of love.
I'll dance with abandon
and let my spirit soar above.
The ordinary life is no longer enough,
I want to experience the extraordinary.
I'll be mad with love for the divine
and live in a state of ecstasy.
Prompt: Listen,
the reed flute's song
is a voice
asking to be reunited.
It speaks of separation
painfully felt,
of yearning
for the lost country
where life is easy.
My heart is aching
to share this pain,
to find the way
to the source of the reed's music.
I want to leave
this limited world
and find the infinite,
to be free from the chains
of existence.
I want to be reunited
with my true self,
to sing the song
of the reed flute
with the master's voice.
Prompt: This being human is a guest house.
Every morning a new arrival.
A joy, a depression, a meanness,
some momentary awareness comes
as an unexpected visitor.
Welcome and entertain them all!
Even if they're a crowd of sorrows,
who violently sweep your house
empty of its furniture,
still treat each guest honorably.
He may be clearing you out
for some new delight.
The dark thought, the shame, the malice,
meet them at the door laughing,
and invite them in.
Be grateful for whoever comes,
because each has been sent
as a guide from beyond.
Prompt: This being human is a guest house.
Every morning a new arrival.
A joy, a depression, a meanness,
some momentary awareness comes
as an unexpected visitor.
Welcome and entertain them all!
Even if they're a crowd of sorrows,
who violently sweep your house
empty of its furniture,
still treat each guest honorably.
He may be clearing you out
for some new delight.
The dark thought, the shame, the malice,
meet them at the door laughing,
and invite them in.
Be grateful for whoever comes,
because each has been sent
as a guide from beyond.
Prompt: The inside of the Akashic Library is peaceful and awe-inspiring. Its walls are lined with shelves reaching to the sky, filled with volumes of knowledge. In the center is a large stone table, on which rests a book symbolizing all human experiences and memories. Underneath is a Tabby Cat. The room is quiet with soft light and a dreamlike atmosphere. Approaching the table, I am transported to a realm of knowledge. The pages are filled with stories of lives that have come and gone, forming a tapestry of the soul. I gain insight into my own journey and feel a sense of peace and connection upon leaving.
Prompt: The inside of the Akashic Library is peaceful and awe-inspiring. Its walls are lined with shelves reaching to the sky, filled with volumes of knowledge. In the center is a large stone table, on which rests a book symbolizing all human experiences and memories. Underneath is a Tabby Cat. The room is quiet with soft light and a dreamlike atmosphere. Approaching the table, I am transported to a realm of knowledge. The pages are filled with stories of lives that have come and gone, forming a tapestry of the soul. I gain insight into my own journey and feel a sense of peace and connection upon leaving.
Prompt: In a room lies a great stone table, and upon it rests a single book. This book holds the record of my own soul, the story of my journey through countless lifetimes, the tale of my triumphs and struggles, my joys and sorrows. There is a tapestry of my soul along the wall, each thread a different lifetime, each stitch a different experience. I see the patterns that have woven themselves through my existence, the themes that have repeated themselves time and time again There is a tabby cat that lazily watches the book, and I am reminded that he has been with me many times.
Prompt: In the center of the room lies a great stone table, and upon it rests a single book. This book holds the record of my own soul, the story of my journey through countless lifetimes, the tale of my triumphs and struggles, my joys and sorrows. As I open the book, the pages begin to turn of their own accord, revealing the memories of my past lives. There is a tapestry of my soul along the wall, each thread a different lifetime, each stitch a different experience. I see the patterns that have woven themselves through my existence, the themes that have repeated themselves time and time again. And I am filled with a sense of gratitude for the opportunity to revisit these memories, to heal old wounds and to understand the purpose of my soul's journey. There is a cat that lazily watches me, and I am reminded that he has been with me many times.
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.
