An Infinity Grinder

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Abstract

-room windows.</p><p id="cced">The Grinder, indefatigability personified, has been at this for eons. He (or she, who’s to tell) never tires. Aside from short breaks now and then to let the cloud of brand new souls out and into (to infest, as it were) the universe, it’s been a non-stop gig.</p><p id="3c36">An eon, by the way, is by Upanishad definition how long it would take a sparrow — appearing once every hundred years or so to brush gently against a cold, one-kilometer cubed glass mountain — to wear this mountain down to no glass at all. This is a very, very long time; and note the plural, he/she’s been at it for eons. This is another way of saying, there are many, many slices of infinity (aka souls) roaming about.</p><p id="c9a0">Of course, considering how many little critters there are in a cubic foot of regular farming soil — one cubic foot can contain over 10,000 species of bacteria, 100 species of protozoa, 10,000 nematodes, 100s of species of algae and over 5000 individual insects — the universe needs a lot, I mean a LOT of little souls to populate all these creatures.</p><p id="06f2">Who assigned our Deva to this (on the surface) thankless gig? There’s no telling. Some say Brahman, others say God, others still say Allah, and yet others call the assigner by their chief Deity’s name, whatever that might be.</p><p id="5196">And on and on The Grinder grinds away, and on and on trillions and more trillions of little souls flutter into the universe to t

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ake up residence wherever they can find a suitable host, be that a snail, an earthworm, a lion, a seal, a human, a ghost, a tree, a bacterium, and, yes, even a stone — for stones, should we believe some scriptures, are also on some very dim (and boring) level alive, too.</p><p id="3b49">And on and on The Grinder grinds away.</p><p id="07c2">© Wolfstuff</p><div id="5a6f" class="link-block"> <a href="https://readmedium.com/table-of-contents-c2259f050afa"> <div> <div> <h2>My Essays</h2> <div><h3>An Index</h3></div> <div><p>medium.com</p></div> </div> <div> <div style="background-image: url(https://miro.readmedium.com/v2/resize:fit:320/1*GuPsjFIf6bw5h47ijWJB-A.jpeg)"></div> </div> </div> </a> </div><div id="3fd0" class="link-block"> <a href="http://wolfstuff.com"> <div> <div> <h2>Wolfstuff</h2> <div><h3>So, who am I? Really really. I could tell you that I was born in northern Sweden during a snow storm, and subsequently…</h3></div> <div><p>wolfstuff.com</p></div> </div> <div> <div style="background-image: url(https://miro.readmedium.com/v2/resize:fit:320/0*W9HwN9oA_4FE9FqK)"></div> </div> </div> </a> </div></article></body>

aka Soul Maker

Picture this: A regular manual meat grinder (though not quite regular, for rather than the normal fifty or so holes at the meat-spewing outlet-mouth end, the meat plate as it’s normally called, this one — very much larger — has many thousands of tiny-tiny-small holes) and in addition to just grinding whatever you grind into strings of ground whatever it is you grind into strings it also chops these strings into tiny-tiny (less than less than a millimeter each) chopped string slices.

And picture this: The Deva who operates this grinder (who is also known as “The Grinder” by the way) is on a very much ongoing basis busy stuffing substantial chunks of infinity into the hungry inlet-mouth of the grinder and out the other end, the outlet-business end of things, streams a river of chopped little slices of infinity aka souls, now rivering out and up into the air to infest The Grinder’s room with, soon, millions of these little things, which, at next break, he will let out into the universe beyond the grinder-room windows.

The Grinder, indefatigability personified, has been at this for eons. He (or she, who’s to tell) never tires. Aside from short breaks now and then to let the cloud of brand new souls out and into (to infest, as it were) the universe, it’s been a non-stop gig.

An eon, by the way, is by Upanishad definition how long it would take a sparrow — appearing once every hundred years or so to brush gently against a cold, one-kilometer cubed glass mountain — to wear this mountain down to no glass at all. This is a very, very long time; and note the plural, he/she’s been at it for eons. This is another way of saying, there are many, many slices of infinity (aka souls) roaming about.

Of course, considering how many little critters there are in a cubic foot of regular farming soil — one cubic foot can contain over 10,000 species of bacteria, 100 species of protozoa, 10,000 nematodes, 100s of species of algae and over 5000 individual insects — the universe needs a lot, I mean a LOT of little souls to populate all these creatures.

Who assigned our Deva to this (on the surface) thankless gig? There’s no telling. Some say Brahman, others say God, others still say Allah, and yet others call the assigner by their chief Deity’s name, whatever that might be.

And on and on The Grinder grinds away, and on and on trillions and more trillions of little souls flutter into the universe to take up residence wherever they can find a suitable host, be that a snail, an earthworm, a lion, a seal, a human, a ghost, a tree, a bacterium, and, yes, even a stone — for stones, should we believe some scriptures, are also on some very dim (and boring) level alive, too.

And on and on The Grinder grinds away.