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So Welcome to the Koöko Fleurs Art Therapy, where every tail wag and purr is part of the creative process! Here, our four-legged friends are not just pets; they’re paw-casso artists and meow-tisse masters in the making. Group session: €40 per person (max 4 participants) - Animal-assisted wellness program: €200 (5 sessions)

Experience the power of prayers crafted just for you. Our Personalized Prayers Service is designed to provide spiritual guidance, comfort, and empowerment through prayers tailored to your unique needs, challenges, and aspirations. Whether you seek strength, healing, gratitude, or divine direction, our service ensures that every healing prayer speaks to your heart and aligns with your spiritual path. - Custom prayer creation: €50 per request - Guided prayer session: €40/session (45 mins)

Color Therapy goes beyond aesthetics—it influences emotions, energy, and overall well-being. In each session, I provide a personalized Bilan (evaluation) to assess how colors impact your mind, body, and spirit. Through Feng Shui principles, I guide you in harmonizing your living or workspace using colors that promote balance and prosperity. Additionally, I help you select clothing colors that enhance your personal energy and well-being, ensuring you feel empowered in daily life. The connection between color and nutrition is also explored—choosing the right foods based on their vibrational energy can support emotional balance and physical health. Whether you’re looking for emotional grounding, creative stimulation, or energetic restoration, Color Therapy provides a fully immersive, transformational experience. Private session: €70/session (60 mins) Group session: €40 per person (max 4 participants)

There’s a quiet kind of joy I’ve come to cherish in Paris—the kind that doesn’t ask for attention, but lingers in the heart long after the moment has passed. Today, I found it again. I picked up my favorite egg sandwich from a small spot that feels like a secret I’m happy to keep. Their sandwiches are simple, comforting, and somehow always exactly what I need. Soft eggs, warm bread, a touch of spice—it’s my little pleasure when the world feels too fast. With my sandwich in hand, I wandered toward the Eiffel Tower and found a patch of grass that felt like mine. I sat down, shoes off, the sun gently warming my skin. Around me, the city hummed—tourists laughing, children playing, the occasional accordion melody drifting through the air. And then, I looked up. The Eiffel Tower stood still, as it always does. A monument to permanence in a world that constantly shifts. Its iron lacework caught the light just so, casting shadows that danced across the grass. I’ve seen it a thousand times, and yet today, it felt different—like it was watching over me, quietly reminding me of all the versions of myself that have stood here before. I remembered walking here years ago, heart heavy with questions. I remembered laughter shared with friends, tears shed in solitude, and the quiet moments in between. The Tower has witnessed it all, without judgment, without change. Just presence. Time softened around me. I felt no urgency, no need to be anywhere else. The sandwich in my hand, the grass beneath me, the Tower above—it was enough. I let my thoughts drift, not to-do lists or worries, but memories. Kindnesses I’ve received. People I’ve loved. The way Paris has held me through seasons of becoming. There’s something healing in that stillness. In letting the city cradle you while you remember who you are. I ate slowly. I watched the clouds. I let the breeze carry away the noise. And for a moment, I felt whole again. Not because everything was perfect, but because I allowed myself to be present. To feel. To remember. To breathe. This is what healing looks like sometimes—not in therapy rooms or grand gestures, but in egg sandwiches and quiet afternoons on the grass. “In the hush between footsteps and memory, Paris reminds me that I am still becoming—and that is enough.”

Jardin de Luxembourg, Paris Paris has a garden that speaks in echoes I understand. It doesn’t ask questions or offer answers. It simply waits—quietly, faithfully—like an old friend who understands the language of silence. Jardin du Luxembourg has held me through seasons of uncertainty, mornings of reflection, and moments when I wasn’t sure who I was becoming. I’ve sat here with nothing but a coffee, a croissant, and a backpack years ago. The gravel paths crunch beneath my shoes, the statues gaze softly into the distance, and the trees seem to whisper stories older than memory. In this space, time folds gently. I feel as though I’m traveling through layers of myself—past lives, past dreams, past versions of who I thought I’d be. There’s a bench near the Medici Fountain where I often sit. The water murmurs like a lullaby, and the moss-covered sculptures seem to nod in quiet recognition. I don’t need to speak here. The garden listens. It attunes me to something deeper—something I can’t quite name, but always feel. This place has become my sanctuary. Not just for rest, but for remembering. It reminds me of my love for patrimoine and culture, for the stories etched into stone and the emotions held in architecture. These monuments aren’t just beautiful—they’re mirrors. They reflect back the parts of me I’ve forgotten, the ones I’m still rediscovering. In a city that moves quickly, Jardin du Luxembourg invites stillness. It allows to be alone without feeling lonely. It gives permission to pause, to breathe, to exist without expectation. And in that pause, I find myself again. Why You Should Go? The Healing Power of Stillness Jardin du Luxembourg isn’t just a garden—it’s a space for emotional restoration. Whether you’re navigating grief, burnout, heartbreak, or simply the quiet ache of disconnection, this place offers something rare: a moment to be fully present with yourself. Here, contemplation comes naturally. The rhythm of the fountains, the rustle of leaves, the distant laughter of children—all of it invites you to slow down and listen inward. You might find yourself reflecting on your past, imagining your future, or simply noticing the way the sunlight falls across your lap. This garden holds space for every emotion. It doesn’t rush you. It doesn’t judge. It allows you to feel deeply and gently, to reconnect with your inner voice, and to remember that healing isn’t always loud—it’s often found in the quiet. If you’re in Paris, come here alone. Bring a journal, a book, or nothing at all. Sit. Breathe. Let the garden meet you where you are. You don’t need to be anything here. Not productive, not social, not strong. Just present. And sometimes, that’s where healing begins...

Sacré-Cœur Basilica, Montmartre There are places in Paris that feel like chapters in a book you’ve read before—familiar, yet full of new meaning each time. So today, I returned to Montmartre, located in the 18th arrondissement of Paris, France. It’s a charming hilltop district—often called La Butte—that rises to about 130 meters above the city. Nestled on the right bank of the Seine, it’s bordered by neighborhoods like Pigalle to the south and crowned by the iconic Sacré-Cœur Basilica at its summit. Historically, Montmartre was a village of artists—Picasso, Dalí, and many others once called it home. Today, it still carries that creative spirit, with winding streets, sweeping views, and a vibrant mix of cafés, galleries, and retro boutiques. It’s one of Paris’s most symbolic and soulful places. I’ve been before, but something about this visit felt different—more tender, more symbolic. The hill was alive with people, yet I didn’t feel overwhelmed. I wandered slowly, letting the rhythm of the place guide me. I didn’t go inside the Sacré-Cœur Basilica this time. I’ve known its grandeur, its silence. Walking its winding paths feels like tracing the contours of a soul. The climb toward the basilica isn’t just physical—it’s emotional. Each step invites you to leave behind what no longer serves you, to rise gently into clarity. It feels like a pilgrimage, even if you don’t name it as such. The burst of water from the fountains, the hush of the chapels, the gaze of the statues—all of it speaks of purification, of renewal. The streets were pleasant, filled with artists painting, sketching, capturing the soul of the hill. Their presence gave the place a sense of historical weight, as if Montmartre itself was still dreaming through their hands. I love that feeling—the sense that time stands still here, yet continues to speak. And then I found myself in front of the Saint-Pierre de Montmartre church. Magnificent. It wasn’t planned, but it felt destined. I stepped inside and everything shifted. The air was thick with reverence. I opened my eyes wide, catching every echo, every flicker of light on stone. It felt like the first time, even though I know I’ve been here before. That church held something ancient and symbolic, something that reached into me and reminded me of resilience. I wandered into a little shop afterward, drawn by the charm of Paris-branded objects. I always love those—tiny things that carry the spirit of the city. I bought a small notebook, delicate and sweet, just the right size to keep in my purse. It gave me peace, like holding a little piece of Paris in my hand. Montmartre always feels like a village to me—intimate, textured, alive. There’s something about its rhythm that invites contemplation. It’s a place that invites auto-reflection. Not through grand gestures, but through small moments: the way light falls on a stone wall, the scent of crêpes drifting through the air, the echo of footsteps in a narrow alley. It reminds you that peace isn’t something you chase—it’s something you allow. Today, it offered me symbolism, reverence, and a quiet kind of joy. I left feeling lighter, as if the hill had whispered something only I could hear. Montmartre has known centuries of change, of struggle, of creation. It has been a refuge for artists, a cradle for revolutionaries, a sanctuary for seekers. And still, it stands—quietly, gracefully, offering its presence to anyone willing to slow down and listen. I had a savory crepe, warm and comforting, and felt energized. Montmartre doesn’t ask you to be anything. It simply offers itself. And in doing so, it helps you remember who you are.