Just as the little busy bee realizes that she can stand on her feet and manage herself, her limbs and everything she understands as belonging to her (except for the essential supplies) quite peacefully, they begin singing rhymes to her. Nursery rhymes. Beautiful rhythmic chantings, which need not necessarily generate a meaning at that stage. Say for instance, twinkle twinkle little star, how I wonder what you are, up above the world so high, like a diamond in the sky. The little one repeats and repeats and further repeats, not really gathering the meaning or trying to gather the meaning, but simply because it's fun - the rhyme, apart from the compulsion of tests and grades. 

And then gradually the world of meaning comes crashing in. She is taught what twinkle means, what's a star, what is wonder, what is world, and of course, the sky - very vague meanings, but meanings nonetheless! As she grows up, imagination steps in. It blends her rhyme with her perceptions. She imagines the star and the stories of stars she might have heard - how loved ones might have become stars, how there are other worlds in those stars far above etc. She looks up at the sky - the same place where aeroplanes go by, where birds fly, where the sun rises and sets, where kites dance to the tunes of the breeze, as the abode of the star. She internalizes the conceptual vastness of the sky without quite technically comprehending it. And per chance she develops a fondnesss for the rhyme, she repeats it to herself even when there is no one around to appreciate her babblings. 

But knowledge is a fundamental catastrophe. The Sapien world will ensure you know it All. Period. So gradually as she grows up and happens to find herself in a school, they begin telling her how the stars are not little but huge. How they look little because they are far far off. They define a star and she must accept it, at the expense of her imagined stories, loved ones and little worlds. They tell her the twinkle technically results from the luminosity of the star - the star which has a life, a duration and so much more to it which can be precisely calculated. Lo! The element of wonder is finished. The star becomes an astronomical object at the expense of those five edged scribblings one had always believed to be representing the star. She struggles to return to the realms of simplification. But once you've entered the realms of meaning, there's no escape. So they tell her, how 'like a diamond' is a simile and how the entire thing called the rhyme has a specific prosodic structure. The fun of the chanting is now lost as one of the earliest childhood favourites now stands almost entirely explained. And if that were not enough, she might further land up into zones of fine linguistic classification where they tell her how the 't' in star is an aspirated phone of the /t/ phoneme.

Tired, she plugs in her earphones and plays a random song in a language she does not understand. There's no compulsion to figure out a meaning. As the brain ceases to function, the heart is at peace.

Sometimes, it's so much fun to return to meaninglessness. 

Meaning has a meaning when it means a potential, else it's a prison in the mind. Let's have some ventilators.

Meaningless is meaningful when meaning becomes meaningless.