In the cogito as mostly understood, being is the host and 'I' am the guest. Being is the frame, it is unquestioned, and only 'I' am dubious - it is by no means clear that I am 'in' being, that I belong here. The thoughts, whatever they represent, whatever their intensional objects, clearly are, they sit comfortably and squarely in the frame of being, they are things, and since these thoughts are linked to me by an indelible connection, namely that they are my thoughts, that I am their thinker, then 'I' must share in their reality and so I must also 'be'. I am a suppliant of being and the cogito is my warrant, my certificate of nativity, or passport, to being. Indeed, even with the cogito in my pocket my status is not entirely certain, further reassurances are needed and perhaps the possession of 'clear and distinct ideas' goes some way to supplying them. All of this seems to be topsy turvey. Rightly being is the suppliant. Whatever my nature is it is the undoubtable, and it is being that is doubtful, dubious, that borrows whatever standing it appears to have from me. If the cogito is seen in this way, in reverse, then it fails to do what it sets out to do, being gains no assurance since its grounding is only provided by my thoughts, by the kind of being my thoughts derive from me. Whatever it is about me that is beyond doubt, however, there is no reason to find that it is inherited by my thoughts, since they are merely objects and outside of the kind of certainty that is mine.