Grain, and the process of its extraction into a consumable form, has Abrahamic religious significance. The separation of wheat from the chaff, husks that are discarded, blown away by virtue of their lack of weight, the weighty nutrients remaining. Geddit? The separation of the Eternal Truth from the chaff of superficial matter, husks of surface meaning that are discarded, blown away by virtue of their lack of weight, the weighty nutrients of Gnosis remaining. The separation of the Logos/Perfect soul from the chaff of superficial incarnation, husks of surface lives that are discarded, blown away by virtue of their lack of weight, the weighty nutrients of Our Origin remaining.
And when you read the sign of grain, you read this kernel, discarding the husks of its situation, its context. Self reflexive, it refers to its own kernel, utilising the husks of metaphor to arrive at Gnosis.
But consider the husks. Or, rather, the process that gives rise to them: the process of their formation, the hardening of their shells (out of nothing but the process), the process of their apparent separation from truth (a separation that is nothing but a gap, a silent change of gear, within this process).
Over history, humans have evolved a range of different technologies for processing grain, from the mill to the combine harvester. These technologies are what is interesting, their engineering, their mechanical principles. Grain is a phantom construct: the machinery is prime, because it gives rise to the meaning of grain, its capital (each machine an entirely different process for a very different economic meaning of grain). The body of course is invariant: grain varies with technology, but hunger is invariant, in interplay with the flux of technology.
Grain is the central trope, that self-reflexively opens up to “Truth”: but process is the shape of self-reflexion, the shape of desire, the truth behind the “Truth”.