Good Grief, Charlie Brown! Why does it have to be some wondrous panacea of knowledge just because it doesn’t have a translatable language. It’s probably all the playtime distraction from a dyslexic schizophrenic raised by monks and wanted to do what they do but couldn’t write, so they sat him out in the courtyard with some ink and pastels.
That is more than wonderful. You have an imagination that soars.