When a man takes himself off the beaten path, without the resources to sustain himself for very long, he must contend with the local economy. This means he must contend with the locals. He will have to earn his money the old fashioned way—by producing something.

Whatever skills he used to have in his possession- may or may not translate. He will have to work in supermarkets and restaurants. He will have to work in the fields. He will move from place to place in search of something.

He will attempt to become one of the locals, though because of the sheer definition of the equation—he will never quite be. This, by the definition of the equation, will make the man feel apart. It will make him feel separate.

If this goes on for too long—the notion of the separation will descend into his soul—his very being. It will bring back old memories. Memories beneath the consciousness of the virile mind. Deep feelings of exile.

In all this the author resides, contending with addiction, depression and the story line of his ancestors—founded fifty years earlier in the death camps of Auschwitz.

There are other things at play in the mountains of the Haunted Valley. There are healers and there are mystics and there are the strangest kind of all—Vegans. In an attempt to return to a more basic existence, the author gives up the relative trappings of success in New York City- a rent stabilized apartment in Times Square, a lucrative teaching practice—for the freedom that comes in nature. He is profoundly disappointed. Over the course of seven years, the author moves a dozen times, each bullied by the failure of the last, until he returns to the point from which he came. In the search for meaning arrives something unsettling— something to be learned in only the losing.

It is the existential search for home.