The prodigal who went out was not the same as the one who returned. He had taken a chance and so became different. He lost everything, but maybe in losing he found as well. Maybe he found himself. Not so his brother. He stayed in the womb that was his home, not knowing there was a need to look beyond. He stayed where there was no searching, no losing, no danger. Maybe that is why he never became someone about whom a parable might be told. Maybe it is too why he could not understand.
Because he never asked a question he was unable to see an answer. He played it too safe and so ceased to be anything more than right, and just a bit dull. He never grew, though he may have thought he did, and maybe at the end his story was seen to be a tragedy, a history of what might have been.
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