The Gate of Deception: Rome’s Hidden Symbols and the Rise of the Queen of Heaven

The diagram of the equinox and solstice points may seem simple, even scientific, but what it reveals is the backbone of ancient pagan worship systems—cosmic alignment used not merely for agricultural tracking, but for spiritual power and ritual. At the center of this system lies the spring equinox, a moment of balance between light and darkness, day and night. But in the ancient world, this was far more than a seasonal marker—it was a sacred portal. The spring equinox was considered the point of cosmic rebirth, a time when the sun, having conquered winter’s darkness, begins its ascension toward summer glory. This celestial moment was deeply tied to fertility goddesses, light-bringers, and resurrection myths. Among the most prominent figures associated with this event was Inanna, or Ishtar, later adopted by the Greeks as Aphrodite and by the Romans as Venus.

Venus, known as the “morning star” and “evening star,” has captivated astronomers and mystics alike for thousands of years. But what many don’t realize is that this bright, celestial body traces a near-perfect geometric pattern in the sky every eight years—forming not just any shape, but a five-pointed star, or pentagram. This cycle was not only recorded by ancient astronomers, but became the bedrock of pagan religious systems, especially those surrounding the worship of the Queen of Heaven—Inanna, Ishtar, and later Venus herself.

Scientifically, Venus completes one orbit around the Sun in about 225 Earth days. However, because Earth is also moving in its orbit, Venus returns to the same position in Earth’s sky roughly every 584 days—this is called a synodic period. When you observe and plot these positions across time, something remarkable happens: over a period of eight Earth years, Venus/Lucifer completes five synodic cycles, and those five points form a perfect five-pointed star, known as a pentagram. This is not artistic metaphor—it’s celestial fact. After eight years, Venus returns to almost the exact same point in the sky, repeating the cycle with uncanny precision.

This eight-year pattern—traced in the heavens—is why Venus, Inanna, and Ishtar were so deeply venerated in ancient mystery religions. They were not worshipped randomly; their veneration was tied to mathematical alignment and celestial repetition. The star traced by Venus was not only a sign of cosmic order—it was interpreted as a divine signature, a mark of hidden knowledge, fertility, rebirth, and power. In Sumerian texts, Inanna’s descent into the underworld and her cyclical return were directly tied to Venus’s disappearance from the sky and reappearance—first as the evening star, then as the morning star.

But the most revealing aspect of Venus’s cycle is the five-pointed star it forms, the pentagram—a symbol that has become ubiquitous in occult, Wiccan, and Luciferian traditions. The pentagram is often misunderstood as a modern satanic symbol, but its origins lie in the ancient worship of the feminine divine, the Queen of Heaven, and the balance of nature and cosmic forces. In the inverted form, it was later used to symbolize rebellion, inversion of God’s order, and the exaltation of self—Lucifer’s exact strategy from the beginning.

Venus, the planet, plays a crucial role here. In some depictions, her full orbital pattern across eight years also forms an eight-pointed star—another sacred seal of Ishtar. Her descent and return became the mythological foundation for pagan ideas of death and resurrection. But unlike Christ, who descended to conquer death and rise in eternal glory, Inanna’s descent was about self-exaltation, lust, and chaos. She stripped herself at each gate of the underworld, not in humility, but in ritual power. When she returned, she did so with vengeance, demanding the life of her consort to take her place. This is not the gospel—it is its spiritual inversion.

It is this very myth that Rome has embedded into its religious calendar. While Christ’s resurrection was historically and prophetically tied to Passover, the Roman Church detached Easter from that fixed anchor. Instead of observing the 14th day of Nisan—God’s appointed time—Easter is calculated according to a flexible formula based on the spring equinox and the first full moon thereafter, aligning it not with Scripture, but with the celestial movements of Venus, the so-called “morning star,” long associated with Ishtar, the Queen of Heaven, and the counterfeit light of Lucifer.

The official formula, still used today, defines Easter as the first Sunday after the first full moon following the spring equinox. This formula is entirely astronomical, not biblical. The fact that this system determines the timing of the resurrection celebration should immediately raise alarm. It replaces the fixed date of Passover with a floating day based on moon cycles and solar positions—precisely the same methods used to honour fertility goddesses in the ancient world.

This alignment is no accident. Rome has long sought to universalize religious systems, blending truth with error in the name of tradition. The Julian calendar, introduced by Julius Caesar, broke from the lunar-solar model and fixed time to the sun, effectively syncing Roman religious festivals with solstice and equinox cycles. Later, pope Gregory XIII introduced the Gregorian calendar, correcting drift in the Julian system by adding the leap year—allegedly for astronomical accuracy, but practically to ensure that Easter remained tied to its equinox roots. This was not a return to God’s calendar, but a perfecting of pagan solar time under the authority of the papacy. The leap year is not just a mathematical tweak—it is an enshrined mechanism to keep Easter aligned with Venus and the cycle of the Queen of Heaven.

The Church of Rome—knowingly or not—absorbed this celestial paganism into its rituals and calendar. The celebration of Easter, timed by the full moon and spring equinox, is completely tied to the lunar-solar dance that Venus herself is a part of. Mary, called Stella Maris (Star of the Sea), Regina Coeli (Queen of Heaven), and often shown surrounded by stars or seated atop a crescent moon, bears the celestial dress of the very goddess Venus once did. But this is not Mary, the humble servant of the Lord—it is Venus, dressed in white.

Lucifer, the “light-bearer,” is directly tied to the morning star, to Venus, to Ishtar, and to the star-shaped symbolism passed off as sacred geometry. The Bible refers to Lucifer as the “son of the morning,” a bright and fallen light. This is not a random poetic image. The planet Venus rises brightly before the sun, only to fade in the daylight. It appears luminous, but cannot sustain light. It is the perfect image of Lucifer: radiant, seductive, and false.

If Rome were truly of Christ, it would not follow the calendar of the fallen light-bearer. It would honour the Sabbath instead of Sunday, the day of the sun. It would keep the appointed feasts of the Lord, not the holidays of Babylon repackaged in Latin. It would celebrate the resurrection in accordance with Passover, not the spring equinox and full moon. The very fact that Easter can fall on a different date every year—sometimes a full month apart—proves that it is not anchored in God’s Word, but in celestial calculation. It is not the Lamb’s timetable; it is the Queen of Heaven’s.

Lucifer said, “I will ascend above the heights of the clouds; I will be like the most High.” And in doing so, he took the calendar with him. He twisted time itself to lead the world into a worship cycle that honours not the Creator, but the creature—sun, moon, stars, and man. And Rome, in building its religious structure on that same cycle, has proven that it does not follow the true Light of the World, but the one who only pretends to be.

To follow Rome’s calendar is to unknowingly walk in the rhythm of rebellion. It is not a harmless tradition. It is spiritual alignment with Lucifer—the fallen morning star who now reigns, not in darkness, but in artificial light, seasonal timing, and celestial seduction. The deception is precise. And it sits at the heart of the religious empire that claims to speak for Christ. But Christ needs no calendar rooted in Venus. He rose according to the Father’s appointed time—not the time of Tiamat, not the cycle of Ishtar, and certainly not the calendar of Caesar or Gregory.

The question is no longer whether it’s deception. The question is: do we have eyes to see it?

Venus and Mars, c 1485. Tempera and oil on poplar panel, 69 cm x 173 cm.[1] National Gallery, London

Sandro Botticelli’s Venus and Mars (c. 1485) is often celebrated as a romantic portrayal of love conquering war. But beneath its serene surface lies a rich tapestry of esoteric symbols that speak not of peace, but of spiritual seduction and cosmic inversion. What we are witnessing is not simply two mythological deities in repose—but the union of two spiritual forces that, when combined, embody the Luciferian counterfeit of divine creation.

Venus, reclining in composed beauty, represents far more than love and fertility. She is the Queen of Heaven, the embodiment of Ishtar, Inanna, and Aphrodite—the spirit of Lucifer masquerading in feminine form, the light-bearer adorned in charm and false serenity. Mars, the god of war, lies asleep and vulnerable beside her, disarmed. This is not love’s victory over violence—it is power subdued by pleasure, masculinity seduced and rendered impotent by the allure of the feminine divine.

But it’s what surrounds them that reveals the full depth of deception: mischievous, horned children playfully stealing Mars’s weapon. They are not cherubs. They are satyr-like spirits, drawing on ancient depictions of Pan, Dionysus, and Baphomet—hybrid beings tied to lust, mischief, and inversion. With goat-like features and serpentine smiles, they mimic angelic innocence while subtly embodying the spirit of rebellion. They are spiritual echoes of the same forces that now parade themselves in sacred robes and celestial titles.

In ancient mystery religions, Venus and Mars were more than companions—they were a dual expression of one cosmic force, male and female fused together to symbolize divine polarity. This was not about harmony; it was about power through inversion, creation through rebellion, fertility through spiritual compromise. Venus disarms not through righteousness, but through seduction. Mars does not lay down his weapons for peace, but because he has been spiritually conquered.

This painting is a visual theology of Babylon—the Whore who rides the Beast, not with brutality, but with beguilement. It is the ancient gospel of Lucifer: power is seized through beauty, order is inverted through pleasure, and truth is mocked through imitation.

Botticelli, whether knowingly or under patronage influence, has painted not merely mythology but a luciferian altar in oil and canvas. A counterfeit peace, draped in soft tones and classical form, yet beneath it pulses the message: “I will ascend... I will be like the Most High.”

This is not divine love. It is its inversion. A Queen enthroned over a sleeping king. A false morning star ruling through seduction.

And around them, spirits with horns laugh in the shadows—unnoticed by those who only see with flesh, not with spirit.

As millions pass through Rome’s ancient streets, few stop to question the symbols etched into its walls and gates. Among these grand structures stands the Porta del Popolo—a northern gate once used by pilgrims entering the city. But behind its majestic façade lies a deeper, darker message: one that echoes the voice of Lucifer, cloaked in light, power, and religious tradition.

This gate is not just a monument of architecture. It is a silent sermon. A spiritual declaration. And when its elements are examined closely, they expose the fingerprints of the Queen of Heaven spirit—Lucifer masquerading as divine presence.

A Gate into Rome... or Babylon?

The central arch of Porta del Popolo, redesigned under pope Alexander VII, bears all the marks of Roman glory: marble, pillars, angelic motifs, and papal inscriptions. It speaks of authority, spiritual power, and imperial prestige. But is this the gate of Christ—or a throne built in His name?

The Bible never speaks of Christ building monuments of gold. He walked in humility, rode a donkey, and said “My kingdom is not of this world” (John 18:36). Yet the entrance to Rome—the very city Peter calls “Babylon” (1 Peter 5:13)—is a gate dressed in pride and crowned with symbols that speak more to the heavens of paganism than the Kingdom of God.

Among the most telling symbols is the eight-pointed star, carved and exalted in stone. This is not a Christian cross. It is the ancient emblem of Ishtar, Inanna, and Venus—the Queen of Heaven, the goddess of war, fertility, and the morning star. It is the same Venus that Lucifer is compared to in Isaiah 14:12: “How art thou fallen from heaven, O Lucifer, son of the morning!”

In ancient Mesopotamia, this star represented the power of the goddess who descended into the underworld and rose again—a perverse mimicry of Christ’s resurrection.

Rome calls itself the eternal city. But Scripture reserves that title for the New Jerusalem, not the spiritual harlot of Revelation. The Queen of Heaven doesn’t knock gently—she builds monuments, raises altars, and welcomes the world to her gates. What appears to be a "Christian" city is often the most powerful counterfeit—a throne for a false Christ, a gateway into religious Babylon.

The Port of Rome is not merely historical—it is prophetic. A living monument to the spiritual compromise that has merged biblical truth with the symbols of paganism. The eight-pointed star, the leap-year calendar, the exaltation of Mary as Stella Maris (Star of the Sea)—all these are not rooted in Christ, but in Venus, Lucifer, and Inanna.

And so the Spirit of the Lord still cries out:

“Come out of her, My people, that ye be not partakers of her sins” (Revelation 18:4)

Gian Lorenzo Bernini—master sculptor and architect—designed both the sensual Ecstasy of Saint Teresa and the vesica piscis layout of St. Peter’s Square, embedding the spirit of the Queen of Heaven into Rome’s art and architecture with breathtaking deception.

Bernini’s Ecstasy of Saint Teresa, housed in Santa Maria della Vittoria in Rome, is often praised for its artistic brilliance—but beneath the marble lies a far deeper symbolism. The scene, with golden rays radiating behind a sensual encounter between an angel and Saint Teresa, mirrors not biblical reverence, but pagan mysticism. Teresa's posture and expression evoke physical ecstasy, not holy fear, and the angel’s pose recalls Cupid more than any heavenly messenger of God. The radiating gold mimics divine light but aligns more closely with the false illumination of Lucifer/Venus, the fallen morning star, who “transforms himself into an angel of light” (2 Corinthians 11:14).

But more than that, the entire composition exalts the spirit of lust masquerading as spiritual experience—a hallmark of Lucifer, whose fall was not only rooted in pride, but in corrupt desire. Just as Ishtar and Venus were worshipped through erotic rituals and sensual ecstasy, this scene seductively blurs the lines between divine love and carnal indulgence. Lucifer, the light-bearer, is also the father of deception and lust, and here his presence is felt—not through darkness, but through beauty, seduction, and false light. This is not a depiction of divine encounter, but a marble altar to the Queen of Heaven—crafted in the image of spiritual seduction.

This image shows the vaulted ceiling of Santa Maria sopra Minerva in Rome, painted in deep celestial blue and adorned with gold stars—a visual echo of ancient sky goddess worship. Built directly over a pagan temple to Minerva, the Roman goddess of wisdom, the church preserves her legacy through symbolic architecture. The starry canopy mirrors the heavens once attributed to Ishtar, Inanna, and Venus, and the seated, haloed figures resemble enthroned goddesses more than saints. This ceiling doesn’t just honor Christian tradition—it visually enthrones the Queen of Heaven spirit, cloaked in Christian art but rooted in ancient cosmic rebellion.

Santa Maria sopra Minerva: Mary Built Over a Goddess

In the heart of Rome stands Santa Maria sopra Minerva—a church whose very name reveals the deception: “Saint Mary Over Minerva.” It is one of the few churches in Rome that openly confesses it was built over a pagan temple, in this case dedicated to Minerva, the Roman goddess of wisdom and war. But this wasn’t a rejection of paganism—it was a repackaging. Rather than tear down the throne of the goddess, the Church simply placed Mary on top of it, creating a hybrid altar to the ancient Queen of Heaven spirit, now dressed in Christian robes.

Step inside and the celestial blue ceiling with gold stars instantly draws the eye upward—invoking cosmic imagery that’s less about biblical reverence and more about goddess veneration. This visual language mirrors the sky cults of Ishtar, Inanna, and Venus/Lucifer, all of whom were seen as radiant queens ruling the heavens, blending beauty, power, and divine seduction.

"Howbeit the most High dwelleth not in temples made with hands…" (Acts 7:48)

The Elephant, the Obelisk, and the Eight-Petaled Seal of Venus

Right outside Santa Maria sopra Minerva in Rome—already infamous for being built directly over a pagan temple to the goddess Minerva—stands one of the most telling statues in all of Rome: Bernini’s Elephant and Obelisk. At first glance, it may appear whimsical, even charming—a marble elephant supporting an ancient Egyptian obelisk. But look closer, and you’ll find it’s not just a statue. It’s a spiritual code, hiding in plain sight, (for those with eyes to see —the truth is no longer hidden).

The obelisk itself is a well-known solar symbol. In ancient Egypt, it represented the sun god Ra—a phallic monument to the sky, light, and masculine divine force. In later symbolism, the obelisk was adopted into occult systems as a tribute to Lucifer, the so-called “light-bearer,” who seeks worship through illumination, power, and cosmic dominion.

But what truly reveals the deeper deception is found at the center of the elephant’s back: an eight-petaled flower carved into the saddle cloth. This motif is no coincidence. It is a direct reference to the Star of Ishtar, the ancient Mesopotamian symbol of the goddess Inanna/Ishtar, later syncretized as Venus—the Queen of Heaven. This eight-pointed star or flower represented the planet Venus and its unique 8-year cycle in the heavens, tracing a perfect star-shaped path across the sky. The symbol was used to signify feminine divinity, fertility, seduction, and power over creation.

In pagan esoteric systems, when you combine the obelisk (masculine solar force) with the eight-petaled flower (feminine Venusian energy), you create a sacred union—a cosmic sex ritual hidden in stone. This union symbolized creation not through the Word of God, but through divine polarity, the merging of opposing forces: light and dark, male and female, spirit and flesh. In other words, it is Luciferian theology in artistic disguise.

Even the elephant, symbolic of memory, strength, and wisdom, plays a role. In Hindu and Eastern traditions, the elephant carries divine knowledge and sacred burden. Here, the elephant carries more than an obelisk—it bears the weight of occult synthesis, a spiritual Trojan horse transporting the lies of the ancient world straight into the heart of Catholic Rome.

Together, these three elements—the obelisk, the eight-petaled flower, and the elephant—form a trinity of deception. They glorify the Queen of Heaven not openly, but through layers of spiritual inversion. Positioned at the very doorstep of a church that falsely honours Mary as Regina Coeli while standing atop the ruins of Minerva’s temple, this statue preaches a sermon not of Christ, but of Babylon revived.

This is not Christian art. It is a visual altar to the pagan creation myth, to the spirit of rebellion, and to the cosmic throne of Lucifer, dressed in marble and veiled in elegance.

"The woman was arrayed in purple and scarlet, and decked with gold and precious stones... having a golden cup in her hand full of abominations..." (Revelation 17:4)

But to truly understand the symbolism Rome has preserved—and rebranded—we must look deeper, to the very foundations of the pagan creation myth, which still shapes the spiritual architecture of Catholicism and the world it has influenced.

Unlike the biblical account, where God spoke the universe into existence by His Word, with order, light, and divine authority, the pagan creation myth begins in chaos. In ancient Babylon, it was the union of Apsu (fresh water) and Tiamat (salt water)—two primordial, chaotic forces—whose mingling birthed the gods. Their children emerged not through holiness, but through divine struggle, incest, and rebellion. Ultimately, it was Marduk, the warrior god, who slaughtered Tiamat, dismembered her body, and used her carcass to form the heavens and the earth. Creation through violence, lust, and pride—this is the spiritual blueprint of Babylon.

At the heart of this myth is the belief that creation comes through the union of opposing forces—male and female, sun and moon, spirit and flesh. The obelisk and the vesica piscis—the solar phallus and the cosmic womb—symbolize this sacred union. Together, they form the pagan formula for divine creation, bypassing the Creator and exalting the act of becoming over the truth of being.

This worldview stands in direct opposition to Genesis. And yet, it is this very mythos that has crept into the Vatican under the guise of science and “progress.” Multiple popes, including Pius XII, John Paul II, and even Francis, have publicly supported the theory of evolution—a worldview that teaches life emerged not by divine word, but by chaotic processes, cosmic accidents, and millions of years of violent mutation.

Make no mistake: evolution is not neutral science—it is the modern retelling of the pagan creation myth, where man is not made in the image of God but is instead an evolving animal, birthed from chaos, struggling toward divinity without a Creator. The same lie Lucifer whispered in Eden—“Ye shall be as gods”—now comes cloaked in peer-reviewed theory and papal endorsement.

Thus, the Church of Rome, in adopting the pagan architecture, the Queen of Heaven symbolism, and now the pagan creation narrative, has not merely strayed from the truth—it has returned to Babylon, dressed in robes of tradition, but carrying Lucifer’s gospel of pride and self-exaltation.

— 1 Timothy 6:20 calls it “science falsely so called”

Throughout history, one ancient spirit has repeatedly resurfaced under different names, in different cultures, with the same unchanging demand—power in exchange for worship, prosperity in exchange for allegiance, and beauty masking a hunger for souls. This is the Queen of Heaven: known to the Sumerians as Inanna, to the Babylonians as Ishtar, to the Romans as Venus, and today, venerated by many as a version of Mary cloaked in Marian dogma. But behind her many names lies the same seducing force—what Scripture identifies as spiritual adultery.

Inanna’s myths reveal this clearly. Her descent into the underworld was not an act of sacrifice, but of conquest. She sought to usurp the throne of her sister, Ereshkigal, ruler of the dead. To rise again, she had to offer a substitute—someone else’s life for her own. She returned to the world of the living only by demanding the soul of her consort. The lesson is chilling: her resurrection required a soul in trade. This was never a gospel of grace—it was a cosmic transaction. And that same pattern lives on.

In the Vatican, wealth and splendor abound. Gold-laden halls, priceless art, and thrones of power stand as monuments to religious glory. Meanwhile, statues of “Mary” crowned with stars and standing on moons receive offerings, candles, and prayers—echoes of the ancient rites once offered to Asherah, Astarte, and Ishtar. This is not coincidence. It is continuation. The same spiritual power behind the goddess of old now wears new garments and speaks Latin instead of Sumerian.

But this isn’t just about architecture or tradition—it’s about souls. Scripture warns that in the last days, false teachers will use religion for gain, saying with feigned words they will make merchandise of you. And Revelation speaks of Babylon trafficking in the souls of men. These are not metaphors. They are divine indictments.

And at the heart of it all is the same exchange. Allegiance in return for favour. Compromise in return for comfort. A gilded throne offered in exchange for truth. The Queen of Heaven does not want your rituals—she wants your soul.

Jesus posed the question that tears through the illusion:

"What does it profit a man if he gains the whole world, and loses his own soul?"

Matthew 16:26.

That is the question every worshipper of the false queen must answer.

Because beneath the gold and incense, beneath the candles and chants, beneath the name written in reverence, there is a hand extended—and the cost is your very life. The transaction has always been the same. The only question is whether people see it in time.

The question still lingers: Whose bones truly lie buried beneath Catholic altars?