I don’t see how the example of TS Eliot’s ability to write poetry justifies your statement (that the ego expands awareness)?
Eliot’s poetry - including the Four Quartets - is all about the unqualified value of non-verbal, non-self centred immediate experience, the valuation he places on the present moment, which poetry only distantly and weakly captures through memory.
What might have been and what has been
Point to one end, which is always present…
Time past and time future
What might have been and what has been
Point to one end, which is always present.
(Burnt Norton)
and
Sudden in a shaft of sunlight
Even while the dust moves
There rises the hidden laughter
Of children in the foliage
Quick now, here, now, always—
Ridiculous the waste sad time
Stretching before and after.
(Burnt Norton)
A lot of Eliot’s poem resonates with the language of the Christian mystics, like the Cloud of Unknowing and St John of the Cross:
I said to my soul, be still, and wait without hope
For hope would be hope for the wrong thing; wait without love,
For love would be love of the wrong thing; there is yet faith
But the faith and the love and the hope are all in the waiting.
Wait without thought, for you are not ready for thought
(East Coker)
and
In order to arrive at what you do not know
You must go by a way which is the way of ignorance.
In order to possess what you do not possess
You must go by the way of dispossession.
In order to arrive at what you are not
You must go through the way in which you are not.
And what you do not know is the only thing you know
And what you own is what you do not own
And where you are is where you are not.
(East Coker)
and
to apprehend
The point of intersection of the timeless
With time, is an occupation for the saint—
No occupation either, but something given
And taken, in a lifetime’s death in love,
Ardour and selflessness and self-surrender.
For most of us, there is only the unattended
Moment, the moment in and out of time,
The distraction fit, lost in a shaft of sunlight,
The wild thyme unseen, or the winter lightning
Or the waterfall, or music heard so deeply
That it is not heard at all, but you are the music
While the music lasts.
(The Dry Salvages)
and (quoting Julian of Norwich, a Christian mystic)
Quick now, here, now, always—
A condition of complete simplicity
(Costing not less than everything)
And all shall be well and
All manner of thing shall be well
(Little Gidding)
And here is Eliot saying the same thing but now echoing the language of the Bhagavad Gita
Here between the hither and the farther shore
While time is withdrawn, consider the future
And the past with an equal mind.
At the moment which is not of action or inaction
You can receive this: “on whatever sphere of being
The mind of a man may be intent
At the time of death”—that is the one action
(And the time of death is every moment)
(The Dry Salvages)
So I’m not sure that Eliot would agree with your saying that the ego, the self, the ‘me’, expands awareness. His poetry rather says the opposite. The world made by memory makes poetry possible, and can be celebrated for that - but it is a pale imitation of original, unmediated experience (“Erhebung without motion”).