As is customary, if you wish to know, here it is:
Mohammad Foroughani: Someone who was not a writer, yet became one. Not a researcher or theorist, yet became one in the fields of civilization and consciousness. He is the creator of the RFCP and Sonic theories, and author of the books The Fourth Wave, the novel Hera, Agha Jon’s Garden, and Four Secrets of the Fall—offering a new approach to understanding humanity, society, and the path of human civilization.
He is over half a century old and speaks Persian. A man who exercises and despises falsehood—both speaking it and hearing it. Born in Kashmar, a desert city older than America itself. For years he searched for himself, and now, after thirty years of seeking, he shares that secret with you.
This is not merely a website—it is a gateway to understanding yourself.
Yet, as is unusual, I am this:
A man whose childhood was lost in the embrace of a family that lived only to judge others. Joy was scarce in his life, though he found happiness in the smallest things. A revolution stole his childhood—one that transformed millions of lives; a revolution that offered those who fought for it nothing but bullets, torture, and humiliation. His best years were spent in long school corridors where time was marked only by wall clocks.
A man who came of age in war. In circumstances where a single mistake could be final; mines showed no mercy. A man who sought life knew nothing of war—neither how to kill nor the desire to. He did not fear death; every night he played with mines between two armed armies, unarmed. Yet he feared killing; for in everything he did, he demanded to be the best.
He did not love solitude. So he found refuge in an embrace that understood the meaning of shared life. He who risked his life every night for his country was left empty-handed. When you are nothing but a stranger in your own homeland, exile or migration becomes mere pretense; Thailand or Canada makes little difference.
Born into a religious family, yet to find truth, he sought to understand faith—and in that journey, found himself. He discovered that what he searched for in the heavens, he had always possessed within; God himself.
What you read springs from the thoughts of a man who, in a life barely lived, has experienced every catastrophe a human can inflict upon themselves. A man made of pain, searching for its cure.
He understood that life is nothing but a brief stay in a cage called the body. What draws us outward is finite and temporary, but what draws us inward is eternal and boundless. That essence which, if understood, makes you God; the divinity capable of creating another world.
This is my other world. What you read is not the past; it is the future.
To my mother, who is the true embodiment of humanity.
To my wife, who knows the nature of love.
And to you, who are weary of lies and searching for your authentic self.
Join me. Walk with me.

He came to know youth through war. While others were youthful and naive, he faced a destiny where the first mistake could be the last; mines were no joke. A man who loved life was ill-suited for war because he neither knew how to kill nor wanted to. He was not one to fear; he was a man of war, planting or defusing mines every night between two armed forces without carrying a weapon to defend himself. His pride was never having fired a single shot in a war, even though he ventured further than many soldiers, for mines marked the boundary between armies.
His youth could not withstand the cold pressures of life. His solitude found company in the shoulders of a close friend who understood the meaning of shared life. Without a home in his own country, he became a migrant. He was left without a homeland. He, who had risked his life nightly for his country, was left without one. Exile is a pain that breaks a person. When you have no acquaintances in your motherland, exile and nearness bear little difference.
Born into religion, he sought to understand his faith to reach his God but found himself instead, realizing he had sought from others what he possessed all along—a God closer than his jugular vein, found nowhere but within himself.
What you are about to read is the uprising of the thoughts of a man who, in his not-so-long life, experienced every calamity that humanity can bring upon itself. He was pain itself, seeking a cure.
Life is but a brief imprisonment in the jail we call the body. What drives us towards in is eternal. An essence that, if it returns to itself, becomes divine—a divinity capable of creating another world, one of infinite parallel worlds. This story is my parallel world. What you are about to read is not the past but the future.
Dedicated to my mother, who embodies the true meaning of humanity. Dedicated to my loyal companion through the days of worry, my wife, who knows the essence of love. Dedicated to you, who, tired of lies, are seeking your true self. Join me, my friend.