For a while now I've had the theory that Beckett always knew what he was talking about. Just look at the stone-sequence in Molloy. Of course, however, what with Beckett's modesty, he would never admit that he knew anything or that he was on to something. But we know what he was up to. Today in the woods, paying tribute to special stones, one thought struck me: that once you grow fond of stones they'll teach you something about resilience and faith. The Erksteinen in Eikesdal is a beautiful example. Its speciality is to let the trees grow into it, hug it, and whisper to it: you're an arche-thing, and I believe in your strength. The light struck me on the spot, and I felt wired with the stone's sensuality. As I was embracing the tree, which was itself embracing the stone, I had the distinct feeling that the arche-power of the stone was in cohorts with the meta-conductor of the tree. Some people believe that there's nothing more sensual than mental stability. I think Beckett is supreme at suggesting it, even though he never says it clearly. But the sucking of the stones, oh, yes. Yes. Give us more stones. They enable us to measure how distributed we are, and which gaps between our distributions are best to step into.