I learned of time, and sleep, and breath, and sight, though I could not find any way in which they were related to me. There was no way for me to tell the time, even though I understood it now, and I didn’t know whether I was awake or asleep because I never woke up and I never fell into slumber. Despite knowing that I was strong, I could not feel my body, so I did not breathe. I did not know whether my eyes were open or closed; I understood what other things with eyes could see, but I could not tell the difference between that and what I saw in the memories.
I came to understand the presence on the other side of the connection a little better. It was alive, like myself, but it kept itself mostly hidden from me, keeping the information factual and impersonal, but I felt things about it I knew it did not know I could feel. I payed more attention to it than I did to the information, despite more and more being poured into my mind and less and less draining out again. I was observant, and the things I learned did not drain away. I kept them hidden; though I knew the communication was almost entirely one-way, I wanted to be sure I did not lose this knowledge, because it was my own.