There is no clean beginning to this conversation. The clarifications turn into the conversation, organically and with the innocence of one woman desiring to understand another.
It starts, as many important things do, with something deceptively simple.
“I wanted to check two things with you,” Kait says. “On your website you had she /they and now you have they /she. So can I just clarify your pronouns, what I am correct to refer to as?”
“Either or, they or she,” Nadia replies. “My Instagram is they/she. I love interchangeably if you feel equipped to do that, but whatever is easiest for you.”
It is a small moment. Clarifying language. Getting it right.
But something opens immediately.
“Can I ask how you came to this, maybe not discovery, but identification? What was the process like for you?”
“I’ve been queer forever,” Nadia says. “Before we even knew what this word was. I would hang out at gay bars and parties, and back then you weren’t even allowed to be bisexual. You were either gay or straight. And I was like, I don’t identify with any, and I don’t know, and it was confusing.”
“My friends would bring me to straight parties and I would hate it there.”
“And then I was in this queer youth group where people could bring different names or pronouns into the space, and I felt so at home. It’s been this evolution of what queerness means to me.”
They pause, then clarify it with precision.
“Queerness, in foundation, is a sociopolitical stance and identity. It’s not just my gender or sexuality, but how I live and breathe in the world. I’m an activist.”
“And then with they, she… I started with she they because I wanted to try it on.”
“It was like a gateway,” Kait says. “You were still she, but testing they, and now you’ve flipped it.”
“Exactly.”
“In my truest essence, they them is where I land, especially in this work. When I started to understand the trans experience as something deeply spiritual, it resonated with me.”
They don’t rush the next part.
“Being in a liminal space, holding something beyond gender, became a strong identity. Shaving my head was part of that. But I still hold she. I play with he sometimes. I work with energetic cock. I also identify with women in teaching spaces. It’s nuanced and big and complicated, but it’s all true.”
Kait leans in.
“You work with a lot of women who identify strongly as women. How does that sit, especially with your work in anatomy?”
“My work is grounded in inclusivity and intersectionality,” Nadia says. “Not just gender, but body size, age, skin tone, culture.”
“And my work is about you coming back to yourself. You have the knowledge. My role is to help you find it.”
“It doesn’t matter what your body story is. It’s about coming home to your body. Everyone can connect to womb energy, even without the physical organ.”
“If you identify with womb energy, you’re welcome in my space. That’s why I say woman and vulva beings.”
Kait pauses, absorbing it.
“Your work is so pleasure based. And we’ve just gone straight into it.”
“It’s deep,” Nadia says, smiling.
The conversation shifts.
Kait begins to widen the lens.
“We’re entering a time where we have to define what it means to be human. There’s never been a moment where using our body as technology, our full vessel, is this essential.”
“And what fascinates me is there are two movements happening. One is moving beyond gender, fluid, non binary. The other is stepping deeply into polarity, womanhood or manhood. And underneath both is pleasure. The body. Feeling.”
She looks directly at Nadia.
“You’re in both. Break that down.”
“I think it starts with reclaiming the body,” Nadia says. “Coming home to body intuition, the magic in our body parts.”
“I wish all humans had that. Most don’t.”
“The amount of people who will never speak to their body positively, or meet their pussy with honour, or even consider their body as conscious, is huge.”
They continue, steady.
“I look at Tantric philosophy, indigenous sciences, Western neuroscience. I believe in blending all of it.”
“And I believe in seeing the colonialism of it.”
Kait nods.
“When we look at colonialism and science, we see how influenced it is by the church. The church framed sex as only for procreation. That removed pleasure, removed understanding of the nervous system.”
“And gender was manipulated in that. Third genders were erased. It was about control. And we have to be careful not to put gender into another rigid box.”
Then Nadia says something that shifts the room.
“I don’t like to play with power dynamics. I like to neutralise power.”
Kait tilts her head.
“I like vulnerability. I like when people feel empowered and safe enough to be vulnerable without hierarchy.”
“I name dynamics. Gender, race, physical power, age. When you name them, you disarm them.”
They offer an example.
“In Canada, land acknowledgements take white people off a pedestal and create more neutrality in the space.”
“And when I play with cock energy, I’m not engaging power. I’m dismantling it. I don’t want power over or under. I want neutrality.”
“This is fascinating,” Kait says quietly.
“I think it works,” Nadia continues. “The problem comes from oppressive systems. That’s when gender becomes a problem.”
“I teach polarity, feminine and masculine, but we all hold both. Is it feminine or masculine, or just energy?”
“Like light and dark. Sometimes more of one, sometimes the other, but always both.”
Kait sits with that.
“There’s so much opportunity for humanity to find neutrality. But I don’t know why it matters. And I feel like you do.”
Nadia nods.
“The most tangible way to explain it is through colonialism, oppressive politics, and identity based on harm. There’s so much identity politics. It becomes, I hate those people because I’m not them. But that’s a distraction from your own authentic journey. Why does someone changing their body affect me? It doesn’t.”
They pause.
“When you dismantle the politics and turn inward, you start to actually enjoy your life. And it goes as deep as emotion. People avoid rage because it’s seen as bad. They miss the eroticism of rage.”
“A rage orgasm?” Kait laughs.
“So juicy,” Nadia smiles.
They both laugh, but it lands.
“So many people limit themselves. Then they cling to identity as protection.”
“And then they’re scared of dying,” Kait says softly.
“Because they haven’t lived,” Nadia replies.
Silence.
Then:
“You won’t be afraid of death if you live.”
The conversation doesn’t resolve itself neatly.
It doesn’t try to.
It stays open. Alive.
Two women, not performing certainty, but sitting inside the complexity of being human.
Returning, again and again, to the same place.
The body.
Waiting to be listened to.
Listen to the full episode on Becoming Flame Podcast with Nadia Lune, The Pleasure Witch.
