The meaningless of meanings to mean what you meant

The ironic thing about tonight, is that I kept myself awake in bed trying to clear my mind of all the noises and thoughts that ran through my mind, only to find myself chasing after those same thoughts I that I had tried to chase away.  It just seemed like another one of those times when the things I want to escape from are only grasped tighter by my unrelenting fixation on needing to do so.

With every thought I tried to let go, I was troubled by its presence; why was it there, why did I care?  What meaning does it serve me--and then I was left alone simply by that thought, I wondered really, what is the meaning?

Better yet, what IS meaning?

I was troubled by my inability to give meaning to meaning itself.  The further I traced behind each word, the less specific I could get without redefining it by using yet another definition as reference.  That's because every word we use is useless without context.  The dictionary itself is proof to our need as humans to understand concepts based on agreeing what something means because of something else.  You see, we all must agree on antonyms and synonyms and the words assigned to them.  So, we cannot understand dark without light, and we have all agreed that using the word dark is for the concept of what we understand is "dark," and dark itself simply cannot be determined without also comparing it to what we agree is "light."  But the structure of the system of our language works fine.  No one seems to complain; as interesting as it is, it helps us communicate, and that's great.  Instead, what troubles me is how our language is only expressing (drum roll, please) what we mean. And it all paints a picture of relying on the OTHERS.

But what do we mean?  The word itself has a direction.  A means to an end.  You don't work towards a mean without a purpose.  And purpose is yet another mysteriously interpretive word.  It all really depends on what you want, what you see because of what your wants have driven you towards in life, and in the end, it all leads to what you've finally formed to believe from what life drove you towards.  But this is a long and arduous process which builds upon itself.  As a child, none of us really started out with our own set of ideals and expectations.  We just felt what we did, and understood what we felt.  Not what was defined for us.  When I first looked at the sky, I can assure you, I did not need to look it up in a book or some reference guide to tell me what the sky mean to me.  It just meant something... something indescribably vast, wonderful, and beautifully larger than me or life itself.  Did I need words then to describe what the sky needed to mean to me?

It seems like everything needs to be definite so that we may gloat to others.  But when we try to sound certain when we are actually... not, we panic and try find meaning instead in an available object.  In turn, we give these obvious things so much meaning that it becomes what defines us.  Example: How to describe me? Uh, well, I have this thing. This thing with meaning.  This meaning I adopt as me.  Flash forward this concept to materialistic items, be it purses and handbags or the numeric depiction of salary on a paycheck.

What if then, we return to the things that we couldn't just define or point to in order to say this is what I mean.  Let's not even work towards just the meaningful.  If we were to breakdown literally, something that is meaningful, the meaning is just up to an adequate amount.  You can't get fuller than full, you're full or less or beyond.  So what if we broke beyond definitions, beyond words?  Can we find what is so overflowing with meaning to us that we can't even contain it within the boundaries of language, so that then, it will always mean something to us regardless of what anyone else ever thought or began to tell you?