Higher Love or Bust: Why I Quit Porn at Uranus Opposition

27 Mar 2025 Leave a comment

by Jason Dilts in Uncategorized Tags: , , , , , , , , , ,

Chi Collapse & Cosmic Truth at a “Mid-life” Time Coded Turning Point

When I was a teenager, I wanted what every other adolescent wants: to be seen, to be desired, to be loved—and yeah, to get off. It was the late ’90s in North Carolina. Not exactly a utopia for a gay teen navigating desire and identity. Dating wasn’t an option, not unless you were into repression and self-loathing. But then the internet arrived like a seductive angel with dial-up wings. Suddenly, I could connect with other gay guys—or at least think I was connecting. The truth? It was all pixels and projection. The internet gave me the illusion of intimacy, but what it really handed me was a pipeline to porn. One minute I was chatting, the next I was plunged into a vortex of sexual imagery that hypnotized and hijacked me. And just like that, I was hooked. Hooked, lined, and dragged down into the shimmering abyss of digital ecstasy, where every orgasm was a little funeral for the part of me that still wanted to feel something REAL.

After twenty-seven years underwater, I’ve erupted to the surface gasping—not for breath, but for truth. And there’s no going back into the murk.

I’m 50 days porn-free. That’s not the most impressive number, but it’s the longest I have ever gone by far. Mentally, it’s an even greater distance. For the first time since I was fifteen years old, I feel like I’m actually inhabiting my body. My heart is waking up. My spine is tingling with clarity. Gone are the days of my second chakra behaving like a pubescent overlord—jacked into the matrix, high on impulse, and blind to consequence. I know the ramification: 27 years of missed opportunities on every level.

Let’s get honest: if you added up all the hours I’ve spent watching porn over the past 27 years, I could’ve earned a PhD. Probably twice. If I’d been studying astrology all that time instead of jerking off into the void, I might’ve helped hundreds of people by now. But instead, I was caught in the karmic quicksand of habit, avoidance, and disassociation. Porn became my comfort blanket, my silent enabler. It offered the illusion of connection without the risk of vulnerability. Porn was the ultimate shell.

See, I’ve got Venus in Cancer (the sign of the shelled crab)—sensitive, romantic, craving real intimacy—but she’s sitting directly opposite my Capricorn Moon, which just wants to keep it together and stay in control. Porn was the perfect pressure valve. I never had to feel anything real because I could release it all in a solitary, digitized ritual. Emotions? Buried. Desires? Disguised. Connection? Simulated.

But here’s the cosmic twist: my North Node is conjunct that Venus in Cancer. My evolution is to move toward vulnerability, to let someone in. And now, as I approach my Uranus Opposition—a 1 1/2 year+ cosmic alarm clock that screams BE FREE OR DIE—I can’t ignore the truth anymore. Uranus Opposition is astrology’s version of a mid-life lightning bolt. It’s not here to coddle. It’s here to shock you awake. To shake loose the stale identities, the outdated habits, the numbing distractions. To turn your life inside out so you can finally meet your soul.

And when I looked honestly at my life, it was obvious: porn had to go.

Kundalini Yoga has been the scaffolding of my soul’s renovation—holding me up while I tore the old patterns down. Yogi Bhajan taught that it takes 40 days to break a habit, 90 to install a new one, 120 to embody it, and 1,000 days to master it. I’ve been doing the Addiction Meditation for over seven years. Seven. Years. And the changes were immediate and unmistakable: I couldn’t get hard watching porn just a few days after starting it. Not kidding. The images stopped arousing me. But like a ghost trapped in the same loop, I kept returning—out of habit, out of egoic comfort, out of fear. It was a ritual of quiet desperation—like doom-scrolling the news with no intention to act, just to feel something.

Yogic tech doesn’t let you stay in your fantasyland, though. At a certain point, I’d be watching porn and my third eye would ache. Like, physically throb. I would feel physically weak after looking at porn. I started to see the darkness around the images—this pulsating, parasitic morphogenic field that wanted to feed off my energy. And I let it. Over and over. Despite everything I knew. Despite every sacred tool I’d been given. That’s the thing about spiritual knowledge—it’s worthless unless you ALLOW it to transform you. It can’t’ just be practiced, it has to be applied.

There was no dramatic rock bottom. No one “caught me.” No partner gave an ultimatum. I’m a single guy whose ultimate authority is myself. And I decided it was just… enough. Enough years of watching my light dim. Enough fake pleasure. Enough post-orgasmic chi collapse. Enough time lost. Enough of knowing I was built for something higher—something truer.

I want to be clear: this isn’t about blaming society, the internet, or hookup culture. Yes, all of that played a part, but I chose to keep returning. I chose the shortcut over the sacred. I numbed myself when I could have felt something. I turned away from intimacy when I could’ve leaned in. And I forgive myself for that—but I also take full responsibility. This isn’t about shame. It’s about ownership. My healing began the moment I stopped pointing outward and started asking myself: What am I truly seeking? And why have I been so afraid to receive it?

Now, 50 days in, I feel my heart. I mean really feel it. There’s this radiance pulsing from my chest—warm, open, curious. I feel benevolent. Receptive. Excited. I think this might be what higher love actually feels like. And I can’t wait to share it with someone—when the timing is right, when the soul contract aligns.

Let’s be real: porn addiction is everywhere. Straight men. Gay men. Anyone with a phone and a pulse. Porn is the ultimate modern numbing device, accessible in seconds, normalized in culture, yet shrouded in shame. But we have to talk about it—openly, honestly, without judgment.

And to be clear: this isn’t a purity pledge. I’m not here to bash porn or the people who make it or consume it. I honor the choices we all make in our human experiences. But I know what my evolutionary path is asking of me. And it has nothing to do with ejaculation into the void. My soul wants intimacy. My heart wants reverence. My body wants to be a temple, not a trap.

Fifty days in. A lifetime to go. My Uranus Opposition is here, and it’s not playing games. It’s clearing the decks for a new kind of love—honest, embodied, raw, radiant. Higher love.

Today, I think about that teenage boy—curious, tender, desperate to be loved—and I don’t judge him. I honor him. He did the best he could with what he had in an uncertain world. But I’m not that boy anymore. I don’t need digital illusions or pixelated comfort. I need presence. I need connection. I need love that doesn’t vanish the second I close a browser window. If you’re caught in the same loop, know this: you are not broken. You are not alone. And you can choose again. I did. And from where I’m standing now—heart open, soul alert—I promise you: it is so worth it.

Pin Up Sexuality

28 Mar 2012 Leave a comment

by Jason Dilts in Sexuality Tags: , ,

ImageYou can’t quite pin a person’s sexuality to a wall. Sure, you can produce alluring images that reflect a sexual act. You can create art that is titillating.  But you can never capture the true essence of a single person’s complex socio-sexual horizon by freezing it in time.

There’s an element of “pin-up” sexuality that permeates the gay community, and it’s particularly perplexing here on the range. We often turn to pornography or online hook-ups to satisfy our sexual appetites because the inherent isolation that comes with being gay in a place like Kansas leaves few choices for healthier outlets. We rarely talk about it, but those of us in the LGBT community have gotten used to our sexualities being highly compartmentalized. As a result, the sexual relationships we form are frequently fragmented or underdeveloped.

Before I lose you hetero-readers to the “ick factor” of having to think about gay sex, let me remind you that we homos have to stomach more than our fair share of opposite-sexing. Sexual health is part of a community’s vitality, so anyone who cares about living in a wholesome world should be interested in this “pink pin-up problem”. Open your minds a bit and you’ll see this issue is more about sociology than it is sin.

Today, we can get off by cueing up our smart phones. Access to sexual imagery has never been easier. When you’re formulating a sense of your own sexual identity, there really is no digital Pandora’s box. There’s so much more to one’s sexuality and sexual orientation that the carnal act of sex, though. Within that truth, a tangled problem tangoes.

Gay people often see themselves represented for the first time in a porno. That’s a jarring statement that deserves some consideration.

If you are heterosexual, when did you first see another person emulate your sexual essence? If you had straight parents, it was the moment you were born. If you didn’t, I’m sure it was only a few minutes after that! We live in a heterosexual society. We’re saturated with boy-girl narratives in all elements of popular culture. Movies, books, and songs are full of opposite-sex tales. We form our identities, in part, by associating ourselves with representations of who we can become. We color our lives with the paints of others. Our sexuality is one of many elements to who we are, but what happens when there are few representations to draw from?

We want so desperately to know we aren’t alone; to be reassured that we aren’t the only one. That means we’ll go anywhere to find ourselves.

The consequences are complex. Pornographic images produce unrealistic expectations about body image and sexual pleasure. They’re devoid of humanism, making sex a solo activity, and later sexual encounters potentially awkward. Porn is also exclusively focused on sex as a corporal act. To be truly sexual, one has to bring their whole self to their partner. Spirituality, intellect, and sociability matter to LGBT people, too.

It’s easy to “pin up” our sex lives, though.  There aren’t many places outside of clubs or bars to meet gay people in this town. A holistic community is still very much in formation. In the mean time, a lot of us are bumping into each other on Grindr or conversing via Craig’s List. No one teaches you how to be intimate with a person of the same-sex. Even the most supportive of parents probably don’t know how to talk to their gay kids about how to form an appropriate relationship. There’s that “ick factor” again. It’s uncomfortable, so we avoid it. Can we afford to ignore the health problems that it parallels, though? AIDS hasn’t been eliminated. People still get infected with HIV. STDs happen. Beyond the body, though, there’s the soul. We all deserve more than a social media dating app profile.

There are more positive LGBT representations now than ever before in the media, but what about our local community? Celebrities have marginal impact on forming our identities; it’s the people in our daily lives that make indelible imprints. Coming out is a public health issue. Don’t fool yourself into thinking a lack of gay representation will lessen the chance that your kid will be gay. We homos don’t have much choice in the matter. The choice is in how we all live our lives. If you’re straight, encourage your gay friends to talk to you about their dating life. Try to help them out if they’re alone by introducing them to new people. Check in your “inner-ick” at the door. Don’t let someone you care about compartmentalize an important aspect of his or her life.

Let’s stop pinning up our sexuality and start owning up to the wholeness of who we are.