II. Pramu and the Origins of His Philosophy

Pramu is a man who, since childhood, felt different from his friends and family. He was born in a city in Banten and raised in the rural landscapes of Lebak, where the rhythm of life moved slowly beneath the vast skies and forested hills. Even as a child, he often found himself gazing at the horizon, drawn to questions about existence and the unseen structure behind the world.

These thoughts did not come as a hobby, nor as a profession. They flowed like a current he could not stop, arising from dreams, from daily experiences, and from things others might consider mundane. He followed a conventional educational path: completing high school with studies in physics, chemistry, biology, and mathematics, then earning a bachelor’s degree in psychology, followed by a master’s in law. Yet none of these paths directly related to what would later be known as The Philosophy of Pramu.

His philosophy was not born from books or the teachings of others. It emerged from disturbance—a deep unrest and a torrent of thoughts he could not ignore. For about five years, Pramu was tormented by a profound inner conflict brought on by atheist ideas claiming that death was the absolute end—that once we die, we vanish completely and forever.

But in 2024, Pramu experienced an event that became a turning point. One day, as he gazed at the sky, he saw a light shaped like a sphere. This sphere was not still—it spun slowly, as if carrying a rhythm and meaning that could not be described in ordinary language. It was more than a visual phenomenon; it triggered a cascade of deep thought. Within his mind, a powerful realization emerged: according to the laws of physics, energy can neither be created nor destroyed. Energy is eternal. So how could anyone claim that death means total annihilation?

The idea that death equals complete disappearance did not only shake his soul—it stood in direct contradiction to science itself.

From that experience, Pramu began to piece together the fragments of thought that had long stirred within him. These thoughts did not come as a hobby, nor as a profession. They flowed like a current he could not stop, arising from dreams, from daily experiences, and from things others might consider mundane. Over time, he began to notice that certain patterns in life—coincidences, recurring symbols, and fragments of language—seemed to carry hidden messages. He was particularly drawn to the symbolic structure of the Qur'an, not as a religious doctrine, but as a kind of coded map of reality. He sensed that behind the language of the verses, there were embedded laws and data—codes of meaning that pointed to the fundamental architecture of existence itself. It was not the surface of the words that stirred him, but the structure beneath them—the resonance of a language that reflects the universe.

The Philosophy of Pramu was not born out of intellectual ambition, nor out of religious devotion. It was born from existential unease, from a profound encounter with thought, and from a relentless desire to understand reality itself.

This philosophy does not seek to preach morality or religious adherence. It is not a theology, nor a moral code. It is a map—an exploration of existence, energy, dimension, and consciousness. A language for the patterns that underlie the visible and the invisible, born from a mind shaped by dreams, science, symbols, and a light that spun in the sky.