Two of the more charged precepts in our ethical tradition: the wise use of sexuality and of intoxicants. These precepts invite us into complex territory — areas of life that bring both pleasure and pain, intimacy and confusion, desire and delusion. They’re not always easy to talk about, but they matter. They touch core aspects of what it means to be human, and to live in an ethical relationship with ourselves and others.
This could easily be a conversation about trauma and misuse — and it should be, at times. Many of us have experienced harm or confusion around these areas. But it can also be a conversation about joy and connection. In Buddhist terms, we’re looking at sukha and dukkha — pleasure and pain — and how they intertwine in the terrain of sex and intoxication.
Sex can be mindbody altering. So can substances. Both can dissolve boundaries — and blur them. They can connect us to others, or disconnect us from ourselves. Sometimes they offer temporary relief, or intimacy. Sometimes they reinforce patterns of avoidance or recklessness. Often they do both at once.
I’ve also found myself wondering: why are these the focus of precepts, while other forms of altered consciousness — like runner’s highs or the exhilaration of dancing or the flow of being immersed in art — are not? These, too, can shift our states of mind, bring pleasure, and affect our sense of self. But there’s something about sex and intoxicants that seem to amplify desire, attachment, and relational entanglement in particular ways. They tend to pull others into the equation — and with them, the possibility of harm.
The Buddha’s original precepts emphasize restraint, and in the case of monastics, full abstinence. But as lay practitioners, our responsibility is to reflect on these teachings and translate them into ethical awareness that fits the complexity of our lives. That means developing a personal discernment around our use of sex and substances — one that takes into account not only our own well-being, but the well-being of others.
This discernment changes over time — depending on our life stage, cultural background, upbringing, health, and emotional needs. There is no fixed formula. What matters is that we remain in conscious relationship with our choices, and learn to recognize when pleasure turns toward harm, when desire becomes compulsion, or when clarity begins to erode.
The precepts also have positive formulations. With sex, the invitation is to cultivate contentment and satisfaction — a grounded sense of sufficiency. With intoxicants, the aim is clarity, lucidity, and understanding — the conditions for ethical discernment itself.
Contentment is often misunderstood as complacency. But in practice, it’s a subtle and resilient quality — a felt sense of inner stability that doesn’t constantly seek more. That said, I’ve also struggled with the word. “Be content,” can sound dismissive or out of reach, especially when life feels unsatisfying.
So I’ve been playing with the word itself: content — as in the content of our lives — and –ment, a suffix that turns it into a noun. What if we saw contentment not only as a feeling, but as a container for the content of our lives? That’s what we’ve been doing in Reflective Meditation: creating a practice container where the full content of our lives can be received, explored, and understood. A place where ethical questions can be held — turned toward with interest and care.
Because I see practice as a safeguard. Not a guarantee against ethical failure — but a structure that helps us stay in relationship with our ethical lives. When we’re in conflict, when we’re unsure, when we’re feeling pulled toward an edge — practice gives us a place to look honestly at what’s happening, to feel the consequences of our actions, and to orient ourselves again.
That’s especially important with these two precepts, where so much happens in private. Where secrecy can masquerade as privacy. Where individual choice can impact others in unseen ways. The point isn’t to broadcast everything — but to be able to distinguish when secrecy is serving avoidance, rather than integrity. To be able to discern between private and secret in a variety of situations.
In our own sangha:
- Sexual relationships between teachers and students are prohibited. This is an essential safeguard to prevent misuse of power and to support the safety of the community.
- We aim to foster an atmosphere free of sexual harassment, and we reflect on how desire shows up in friendships, romantic relationships, and within community spaces.
- We endeavor to reduce recklessness and heedlessness in our relationship to mind-altering substances — including prescription medications, alcohol, and other forms of self-soothing that might cloud our clarity or judgment.
Ethics, in this view, are not imposed from the outside. They arise from inner listening — from staying close to our experience, and letting that experience shape what’s wise, what’s kind, and what’s clear. This is an ongoing process. A practice. And a shared responsibility.
A quote comes to my mind here. That seems to be the way I work with quotes, they arise from inside when I need them. The quote: “To thine own self be true.” Yes. And, I’ll add to it: to be true to ourselves, we must include others in that truth. Because we don’t live in isolation. Our choices affect our relationships, our community, our past-present-and-future selves.
Now I leave you with this topic and our practice of Reflective Meditation. If you have time to meditate now, sit quietly for ten to twenty minutes, then afterwards write your experience down as your memory will be working best at that time. No need to remember it all, not likely you can, but I invite you to reach out to me and we can talk about your meditation and reflection. In this way we continue to bring our full, complex, imperfect selves into the space of practice — to be seen, and supported, and understood.
