Trapped in the Myth of Self

From Will Buckingham's post on The Body Artist, HERE

...as with a lot of the Western philosophical tradition – for DeLillo this idea of the subsiding of the self and the stories of the self, this loss of the great narrative of the self, seems to be approached with a kind of fearful foreboding. But is it such a terrible thing? After all, when we slip the bonds of the grand narrative, we may find that everything else still goes on before, that the body and mind persist, continuing to do their job, and that all we have lost is our attachment to a myth. Might it not be liberating? Here I cannot help thinking of Dōgen: ‘Unless the cold pierces through our bones once, how can we have the apricot blossoms perfuming the whole world?’
To be trapped by one’s own myth, when all is said and done, may be a pretty grim fate.