It always comes around, it seems to me, to that dilemma about meaning. One wishes to reach out and grasp meaning, to hold it in one's hand, as if it were a provable phenomenon. Yet the moment one's defined meaning is boxed and tied down, it becomes just one more parcel clanking about on top of some imaginary Wells Fargo wagon of the soul, heavy as the chains on Jacob Marley's ghost. Then, by contrast, it seems wiser to consider everything meaningful elusive, although ultimately the retreat into elusion (and illusion) leaves one seeing the road ahead shimmer, like a mirage. Neither approach works at all.
In the long run, the saving grace proves to be humility--the understanding that one experiences only so much of the total picture--and must revel in one's own slice of the images and truths. When one experiences awe, rather than defining it or assuming that it is indefinable, that seems to me a good first step.