Iron and the Soul, “Slip It In” & the Coincidentally Heathen Wisdom of Henry Rollins

I won’t pretend I’ve ever been a huge fan of punk rock itself, barring an obligatory year of high school where I had the coolest Sid Vicious-face-plastered miniskirt on earth. I’m a metalhead that enjoys passion and ferocity delivered through skill and talent, which is something that seems to occasionally occur in punk rock by accident— but isn’t something that genre actively prioritizes. More power to them; aside from Flag, Refused and few other exceptions, it’s not my flavor. 

Sometimes though, soul speaks louder than skill, and there is nothing more primally resonant than a sincere guttural scream. From the solitary straight edge punk-monk pain journaling of My War, to the primal caveman sexuality of Slip It In— Henry Rollins’ honest scream stands out to me more as the years pass— and that stark, unflinching truth is how I was initially struck by him. 

Some know him for his involvement in Black Flag and punk music, some for his acting, writing, his own shows over the years, his guest spots on Joe Rogan. Me, I was aware of him for all of the above: but what solidified my intrigue was being sent the consummate writing on the internal alchemy of strength training, Iron and the Soul, around the same time I saw him speak (yell for two hours straight) in Los Angeles, and became deeply compelled by the wisdom alone.

As often happens when I’m deeply stirred by something, I went down a rabbit hole about the man himself: his lifting, his writing, his travel. To date, Iron and the Soul is one of my most-revisited pieces of writing, as it perfectly encapsulates why I lift. I already quote it regularly in much of my other writing, and I recommend you just read the whole piece, but I’ll share a portion of it here so you can understand the feeling if you don’t already:

“I used to fight the pain, but recently this became clear to me: pain is not my enemy; it is my call to greatness. But when dealing with the Iron, one must be careful to interpret the pain correctly. Most injuries involving the Iron come from ego. I once spent a few weeks lifting weight that my body wasn’t ready for and spent a few months not picking up anything heavier than a fork. Try to lift what you’re not prepared to and the Iron will teach you a little lesson in restraint and self-control.

I have never met a truly strong person who didn’t have self-respect. I think a lot of inwardly and outwardly directed contempt passes itself off as self-respect: the idea of raising yourself by stepping on someone’s shoulders instead of doing it yourself. When I see guys working out for cosmetic reasons, I see vanity exposing them in the worst way, as cartoon characters, billboards for imbalance and insecurity. Strength reveals itself through character. It is the difference between bouncers who get off strong-arming people and Mr. Pepperman.

Muscle mass does not always equal strength. Strength is kindness and sensitivity. Strength is understanding that your power is both physical and emotional. That it comes from the body and the mind. And the heart.

…

I prefer to work out alone.

It enables me to concentrate on the lessons that the Iron has for me. Learning about what you’re made of is always time well spent, and I have found no better teacher. The Iron had taught me how to live. Life is capable of driving you out of your mind. The way it all comes down these days, it’s some kind of miracle if you’re not insane. People have become separated from their bodies. They are no longer whole.

I see them move from their offices to their cars and on to their suburban homes. They stress out constantly, they lose sleep, they eat badly. And they behave badly. Their egos run wild; they become motivated by that which will eventually give them a massive stroke. They need the Iron Mind.

Through the years, I have combined meditation, action, and the Iron into a single strength. I believe that when the body is strong, the mind thinks strong thoughts. Time spent away from the Iron makes my mind degenerate. I wallow in a thick depression. My body shuts down my mind.

The Iron is the best antidepressant I have ever found. There is no better way to fight weakness than with strength. Once the mind and body have been awakened to their true potential, it’s impossible to turn back.

The Iron never lies to you. You can walk outside and listen to all kinds of talk, get told that you’re a god or a total bastard. The Iron will always kick you the real deal. The Iron is the great reference point, the all-knowing perspective giver. Always there like a beacon in the pitch black. I have found the Iron to be my greatest friend. It never freaks out on me, never runs. Friends may come and go. But two hundred pounds is always two hundred pounds.”

Reading that hit me like a ton of bricks, and still does. I’ve spent long chapters of time alone and heavily disconnected from other human beings. I have nearly always had a very hard time connecting to other people, which is something I fight very hard to get through to this day— I’m not, or hope I’m not, actually a misanthropist at heart. I’m often just frustrated, sad and too passionate about weird shit that very few people I come across in real life have the time or inclination for, so I understand what Rollins means when he speaks about not wanting to subject himself to the family dinners, the hanging out with the friends, the chitchat and social engagements of taking part in everyday life. It’s too painful. Making your own reality may be “harder” in some senses, but when you’re built a certain way, it’s really the only option.

When I started seriously lifting weights, it became the anchor I’d never had— a way to ground and center myself physically, a sacred time and place to channel my rage and pain in a way that talk therapy never could. In my late teens and early adulthood, I was repeatedly sexually assaulted, violated and betrayed by those that I trusted, on top of preyed on in general and residual abuse from my childhood; I moved quickly from sorrow to rage and constant fury. Those that knew me at that point in my life know I wasn’t always the easiest person to deal with, and for more reasons than I’ll share online. I’ve spent a lot of time working on that so I don’t unintentionally punish those who didn’t hurt me; lifting has been a massive part of that. Lifting weights became my own personal alchemy— the physical sorcery that took the smoking, muddy lead and coal through the stages of transformation that might, I hope, start to resemble gold. Years later, the kind of dignity earned through strife like Henry was talking about only resonates more and more. As Nietzsche infamously wrote in Thus Spake Zarathustra, “There is more wisdom in your body than in your deepest philosophy.”

My current devotional progress

The most resonant through-line through his work was that drive to internal alchemy, and the “true north” he “comes fighting out of”is vengeance. It’s rare for someone as well-spoken and knowledgeable as Henry is to openly defend vengeance; maybe I’ve been in LA too long, but usually, almost everyone I hear is repeating these Hallmark-tier platitudes on forgiveness, peace, love and light, forgiveness and essentially watered-down Christianity without the potency of real sacrifice. (To quote Nietzsche again, with the way half these people act… as far as I’m concerned, “There was only one Christian, and he died on the cross.”) Anyhow…

Not Henry Rollins. On maybe his greatest interview, the 1155th episode of Rogan’s podcast to be exact, he said very clearly:

“A lot of my motivation is vengeance. I know that revenge and vengeance are synonyms, however— the fact that revenge has “re” in it. Like, you do this, I do that. Vengeance is just like the difference between aggression and hostility. Are you aggro? No, I’m hostile. What does that mean? WHAM, with the ashtray. That’s hostility. You just hit me! Yeah, but I’m not aggressive, I just like watching you bleed. I’m not saying it makes sense. I don’t believe in tit for tat… I believe in tit, tat, watch me just jump up and down and break it all.”

“And so I wake up every day wanting to get back at every teacher, every guy at school, every bad boss, whatever parent irked me— and every day, I out-everything you, man.”

“I’m not trying to get somewhere by stepping on you… but it’s the corner I come fighting out of, it’s my true north. It really works… 

I would never cheat someone out of something, or steal from them— but if whoever gets up earlier’s gonna get it, then I just won’t sleep tonight. My anger will keep me awake.”

That last part especially sounds a hell of a lot like Havamal stanza 23, which amounts to Odin telling us: if you want to take another man’s land or life, you damn well better get up early.

I’m not sure what Henry’s specific spiritual beliefs are, if any— and I don’t really need to know. I’ve said before that I don’t have much respect for “belief,” because anyone can say they believe in anything they want and never once walk the talk. Action is the greatest form of belief or prayer. The more time passes, the more I respect privacy if not outright silence around one’s own spiritual practice, even if that ship has somewhat sailed for me personally. He’s obviously well-educated on different forms of belief, and some of what he’s said could match up with Taoism, Buddhism, and/or Stoic philosophy. It’s action that compels me.

I’m not interested in projecting pagan (polytheist)/any belief onto anyone that doesn’t claim it, that’s selfish and disrespectful. But Rollins’ songs, thoughts and adventures are heathen wisdom if I ever heard it. I firmly believe that anger is not always an evil to be suppressed, vengeance is not always wrong, hostility— not wanton aggression, but hostility— are all powerful gifts that can help you transform the pain of being victimized and condemned into the catalysts that will propel you into new life, growth and purpose. So whatever his beliefs are or aren’t, I simply want to express my admiration, and to say that this is a beautiful example of the lack of importance of belief rather than action: Henry Rollins embodies all that I value as a pagan. He’s all action, minimal talk. When he does speak, it’s as a bard— someone who’s used his drive and passion to create a life where he can travel, genuinely learn with real curiosity about other peoples and other ways of life, to familiarize himself with and memorize great works of speech and poetry. While I’d love to have a family of my own one day, I understand all too well the solitary quest that Rollins describes being on. 

I admire him, but in many ways, I’m not much like him. I want to be a mother one day; I enjoy sex and relationships too much even if they can be hell for my crazy ass to navigate; I’m not as minimalist materially. I like a good perfume, a varied wardrobe, and eating high quality red meat as often as I can get it. I’m a pagan, a druid, a Pelagian if you will— part of my constitution is to enjoy life to the fullest by engaging with it in all it has to offer; to refuse to be “driven to ill health by either excess or abstinence,” as Ar nDraiocht Fein describes the virtue of moderation. Not to mention, I’m a woman— the energy that drives someone to become a warrior-monk of sorts doesn’t play out the same way for us. If I didn’t feel called to cultivate tribe, to be a parent one day— my life would probably look a lot more like his. And if I end up murdering instead of marrying my soulmate, then there’s time yet.

So on that topic of sex, I want to discuss the almost-completely-misunderstood song, “Slip It In.”
It came out in the 1980s, and people still don’t get it- so as a pagan and not a punk, let me get into how and why that is.

I’ve noticed that many self-avowed “actual” punk-rock fans consider this song “rapey” and thereby “problematic,” “misogynist” and otherwise skin-crawlingly creepy; there’s multiple hate notes masquerading as thoughtful criticisms online, calling the record as a whole “The Most Unpunk Punk Album Ever: Henry Rollins if you’re reading this, I hate you mate” and suchlike. But in my own assessment, it couldn’t be further from being about rape. Ironically, much of the criticism I’ve seen seems almost like the same tragic insecurity and fear laid bare by the song, where the female subject— like so many lusty women across time— felt the need to perform shame and regret when all the really wants is to be railed like a cavewoman. Obviously, that isn’t going to resonate with every woman that listens to it— to some, it’ll just sound aggressive, crass and ugly. 

But it’s a theme that kind of needs to be “ugly,” that is ugly: truly wild female sexuality is still demonized, and illustrating it baldly can look demonic on its own. That does not mean it’s about rape. The song “Slip It In” invokes a primal truth that isn’t pretty to sing about or look at, the life force of raw sexuality beyond the civil courtship performance expected in 1984 and for much of human history. It’s about raw female sexuality that even the woman herself doesn’t have the words for, and either won’t or can’t share in the open. So you can see it as the “soundtrack to a rape” as one particularly acidic critic said, or you can realize that women are still rarely able to just exist in their full sexual ferocity and articulate what they want. Henry isn’t singing about assault; he’s scream-singing about giving permission and power to raw female sexuality, and joining with it. Call me pretentious, but perhaps it’s easier for me to see this precisely because I’m a pagan and not a punk— “Slip It In” is a modern iteration of countless violent but nonetheless desired god-on-goddess mating rituals in the myths, and in some of the better sex you (or at least folks cut from that primal cloth) can have.

You’re not loose, you’re wide open… I’m not putting it down, it’s just what it is.

The song is about the Sacred Whore. 

A classic, ancient Sheela-na-Gig— “wide open”

I don’t think Henry necessarily sat around on some armchair reading Jung and said to himself, “Hmm, let me write a confrontational ode to an archetype as a reflection on the Divine Feminine”— I think he intuitively, experientially, tapped into something timeless that we still, thousands of years later, are terrified by and cannot handle for the life of us. Wild feminine sexuality is the ultimate confrontation— why can’t we see that confrontation as initiatic? You tell me.

Even today, the “whore” is the female warrior. Especially in the sense that the kind of sexual ecstasy that the female subject in his song feels compulsory shame about, is the same as the blood-soaked berserker frenzy that the warrior feels. That same frenzy isn’t without its judgment from those that have never known it, too— but it can be justified as being in service of the “greater good.” Still, sincere ecstatic female sexuality is only ever justified in service to a husband— or, post-feminism, in service to the self, the “you go girl” girlboss conquest that seems to mimic male power rather than confidently exist on its own merits. While I’m going beyond the purview of the song perhaps, but perhaps not— listening to Slip It In’s brutal beauty while sweating it out under the iron had me wondering—

what about the Temple Whore, whose sexuality is a direct line to godhood?

That’s the theme and question “Slip It In” begs to me; but I don’t expect most people to see that, any more than most people can even grasp sexuality as a route to catharsis, trance and divinity— let alone understand and apply it. This isn’t “pick me”-ism, which I can’t stand— it’s just the fact of the matter that not every archetype or current is going to resonate with everyone, and that is the real reason this fucking beautiful song will continue to divide people decades from now.

Henry has entered his sixties now, and speaks with much more grace, perspective and wisdom than detractors give him credit for. And when I listen to him, this is what I see and am inspired by:

That he moves with humility but not self-degradation, vengeance but not reckless aggression, gratitude and purpose. When we look at the myths, the way humans have put ourselves on speaking terms with the gods has been by becoming heroic— that isn’t to say pure, innocent, Superman without a real fault or flaw. As I’ve said before, the pagan path is not for the virgin or the innocent. To become heroic in the pagan sense is through ordeal and cultivating consciousness: to refine your skills, gain experience, apply the lessons of your failures and victories alike, to take on capability as a sacred duty. To make it a point of honor and responsibility to become a Renaissance Man like Lugh of the myths, who took his place amongst the gods by mastering all crafts, both earning and demanding their attention— cultivating a personal knowledge of history, poetry, fitness, kindness, true hospitality. I’m slowly starting to read his actual books; but his speaking and shorter-form writing alone has been inspiring me for years now. And if the man himself ever reads this, I hope I come across you in the wild and can buy you a coffee before escaping this hell of a city one of these days. 

If nothing else, driving out to a local venue to get yelled at for two hours straight sounds like a damn good time. In lieu of all that, I hope to carry on even a little of that flame myself in my own way, and look forward to seeing it wherever it may crop up in the future.

Keep rising, my friends.