A casino is a cathedral
of dreams. Endless naves
of slot machines
intersect mammoth transepts
of table games, all surrounded by chapels of bars and change booths. A sign over the latter might even read redemption
Simply walking out onto the floor can be vertiginous. All the flashing and ringing, mirrors, people pulling and rolling and spinning and doubling down. Arcane nickel slots (loosest slots in town!) which only the initiated can voodoo properly, in hope of blessings. Women asleep at the button, weary from a night of pressing their quarter-dollar prayers away.
The sheer intensity of it all forces you to fractalize it, break it down, focus, resolve this single one-armed bandit you're standing in front of out of the bank of billions. It's not a place to absorb any kind of big picture.
Try shutting your eyes. Defocus your hearing and let it all blend. Listen openly, with no expectations.
The casino is singing to you.
You'll hear it. There is one, gigantic, all-pervasive chord vibrating at you. It sounds remarkably like "om".
Sing along. Let your chest barrel out, and get down deep. It's amazingly easy to become one with the casino.
As you walk around the floor, the lower register will tend to drop out and return occasionally, depending on how the local architecture affects the standing waves. Intermittent counter-melodies ring out when the lucky win. Try getting your companions, if you're not a solitary gambler, to add harmonies. Walk around singing your mantra. No one will notice your enlightenment.
Light research shows that all slot machines and their ilk are programmed to emit sounds only in the key of C major, so as to avoid any dissonance which might drive the slot zombies away. There are also reports that the exact blend of tonalities, overall, is a "flatted fifth inside a dominant seventh chord", but I cannot confirm this from personal experience. To me, it was a monolithic C. The observation was reinforced and confirmed in both the Trump Taj Mahal and the Resorts casinos in fair Atlantic City.
Anecdotally, Herbie Hancock was once unable to play a second set during his gig at the Mohegan Sun casino in Connecticut due to his absorption by the chord. Instead he spent hours playing C progressions on a piano. Once you hear it, you can't unhear it.
Fantasies of herding together a clutch of tibetan buddhist monks to chant amongst the gamblers. Perhaps we'd be witness to a spiritual event of cosmic proportions.
If losing money gets you down, and winning money becomes unfulfilling, try losing yourself in the casino om. Ethereal therapy right in downtown Mammon.
anecdote regarding Herbie Hancock retrieved from the weblog of one Sally Taylor at http://www.sallytaylor.com/roadtails_jan01.html