My Spirit Guide was a Rice Farmer: An Introduction to Chen and the Column

Introduction to Chen and the column “Laugh Every Day with Andy & Chen”

Chen is my spirit guide. He says his last life was as a rice farmer in China, where he died in 1624, aged 43. He’s not grand about it.

He was married to Iona and they raised two sons. He died of an infection, and in his final moments he wished he had known how to heal people. He made a promise then. If he was given the chance, he would come back and help in a completely different way.

He introduced himself to me during a Reiki master course. It took about a year of trance work in my regular circle before he could come through fully and speak. We’ve worked together as psychic surgeons since 2004, and in that time he has worked with thousands of people around the world, and every Sunday, during our live streamed podcast on facebook and Youtube he answers questions live from the audience whilst my wife Jayne reads them out.

From 2011 until 2021, Chen worked alongside the late Dr Terence Palmer PhD in a ten-year research partnership, with me as the medium. Together they developed the Remote Spirit Release protocol, which is now taught to students around the world by the Spirit Release Academy. Chen still actively heads up the spirit team at the Academy, working side by side with Whitehawk, the guide of my co-founder Jonno Webster.

This column brings that to the page. Each month you send in your questions, I sit down in trance, and Chen answers. I write down what he says as plainly as I can and add a few words of my own where it helps.

You don’t have to believe in him. In fact, he’d rather you didn’t just take his word for it. Keep an open mind, try what he suggests, and judge it by what changes in your life.

His one teaching that comes up again and again is simple. Laugh every day. It raises your vibration. Expect to hear it often.

1st column: My Spirit Guide was a Rice Farmer

Welcome to the very first column. I’m Andy, and for the next few pages you’ll mostly be hearing from Chen, my spirit guide, who speaks through me when I go into trance.

A quick word on how this works, because people always ask. I sit in a quiet room. Jayne reads your questions out one at a time. I go into a light trance, Chen comes through, and he answers. I stay aware the whole time, a bit like sitting in the back seat of your own car. Jayne writes it all down, and afterwards I tidy up the wording without changing what he meant. Where I’ve added something of my own, I’ll tell you.

Chen is a plain speaker. He was a rice farmer, not a philosopher, and he likes it that way. If an answer sounds simple, that’s usually the point.

One more thing before we start. Nothing here replaces your doctor. If something is worrying you, get it checked properly first. What Chen works with is what’s sometimes left when the ordinary explanations have been looked at.

Right. Kettle is on. Let’s begin.

“Why should I listen to a spirit I can’t see?”

A reader writes: I’m curious but sceptical. My friend swears by your sessions, but I don’t understand why anyone would take advice from a spirit. Why should I listen to you?

Chen: You shouldn’t. Not because I say so, anyway.

This is the best question to start with, and I’m glad you asked it. Too many people hand their power to someone else. A priest, a teacher, a healer, a voice on the radio. They say, you know better than me, tell me what to do. Then they wonder why they feel small.

I don’t want you to believe in me. I want you to try something and notice what happens. If it helps, keep it. If it doesn’t, put it down and walk away. That’s all.

When I was alive, I grew rice. You don’t learn to grow rice by believing a man who tells you how. You learn by putting your hands in the water. Some seasons the crop failed, and I learned more from those than from the good ones.

So here is something to try this week. Each evening, before bed, sit for two minutes and ask yourself one question. What did I feel today that wasn’t mine? Maybe it was a colleague’s bad mood that followed you home. Maybe it was the news. Just notice it. Don’t fix it. Notice it.

After a week, you’ll know more about yourself than I could tell you. And that’s the whole idea. Love can’t be found by looking outside yourself. Not from me, not from Andy, not from any teacher. Everything we do is aimed at handing you back your own connection.

Andy adds: I was the most sceptical person you could meet. Until my mid-thirties I’d have been at the front of the queue laughing at anyone who talked about ghosts. So, I understand this question completely. Chen has never once asked me to believe him. He just keeps being right often enough that I’ve stopped arguing.

“Why do I come home so drained?”

A reader writes: I work in a busy office and come home completely exhausted, even on days when I’ve barely moved. It’s worse after spending time with certain people. My partner says I’m just tired. Am I?

Chen: Perhaps you are tired. Start there. Are you sleeping? Are you eating properly? Have you seen your doctor about it? Tiredness has many ordinary causes, and they should be looked at first. Don’t skip this step because the spiritual answer sounds more interesting.

But if you’ve checked those, and you still feel like a wrung-out cloth by six o’clock, then listen.

Every person gives off energy, the same way a fire gives off heat. Some people warm you. Some people, without meaning any harm, take the warmth from you. They’re often struggling themselves. They lean on whoever is nearest, and if you’re kind and open, that’s usually you.

The kind ones get drained the most. I’m sorry to tell you that, but it’s true.

You don’t need to stop being kind. You need a door you can close.

Here are three things to try:

1. In the morning, picture yourself standing inside a bubble of light. Any colour that feels right. It doesn’t need to be clever. Just see it around you for a few breaths and say, in your head, only what is good for me may come in.
2. When you get home, wash the day off. Have a shower, or simply wash your hands and face, and as the water runs, imagine everything that isn’t yours going down the drain with it. People laugh at this one. Then they try it.
3. Before sleep, cut the strings. Think of the people you spent time with today. Imagine a thin thread from you to each of them, and gently snip it. You’re not cutting them out of your life. You’re just taking back what’s yours for the night.

And please, find something that makes you laugh before bed. A silly programme, a friend, a dog doing something daft. Laughter is the quickest way I know to fill yourself back up.

Andy adds: The bubble of light was the first thing I was ever taught, back when our house was at its worst. It felt ridiculous. It also worked better than anything else we’d tried. We still do it every morning.

“Why do I keep waking at 3am?”

A reader writes: For months I’ve been waking at exactly 3am. The house feels heavy and I can’t settle again until it’s light. Is something there?

Chen: Before anything else, see your doctor. Waking in the night can come from stress, hormones, blood sugar, medicines, many things. If this has gone on for months, it’s worth a proper conversation with someone who can check those.

Now, the other part of your question. Is something there?

Sometimes, yes. Not always. Most often what wakes people in the small hours is their own mind. The worries you pushed down during the day come back up when everything is quiet. The night is when the body lets go, and the mind doesn’t always want to.

Sometimes, though, a home holds energy. Arguments, grief, illness, the people who lived there before you. It settles into a place the way smoke settles into curtains. And sometimes a spirit who hasn’t moved on is drawn to the quiet of the night.

You can do a lot yourself:

1. Let the air in. Open the bedroom window for ten minutes every day, even in winter. Stale air holds stale energy.
2. Clear the clutter around the bed. Especially underneath it. Energy likes to gather where things are forgotten.
3. Ask, out loud. Before you sleep, say clearly: this is my home and my room. Only love and peace are welcome here. You may feel silly. Say it anyway. Your voice carries more authority than you think.
4. If you wake, don’t fight it. Put your hand on your chest, breathe slowly, and picture the bubble of light around you and the bed. Fighting keeps you awake. Calm sends you back to sleep.

If you do all of this and the heaviness doesn’t shift, or you feel watched, or things happen that you can’t explain, then it’s worth having someone look properly. There’s no shame in that. It’s the same as calling a plumber.

Andy adds: I have a soft spot for this question. My own story started at 3am, soaked in sweat in the middle of summer, with the central heating running though the programmer was switched off. If you’ve read my story, you’ll know it got worse before it got better. If something like that is happening to you, you’re not going mad, and you’re not on your own.

“How do I meet my own spirit guide?”

A reader writes: I’d love to connect with my spirit guide, but I’m nervous about opening myself up to the wrong thing. Where do I start?

Chen: You’re nervous, and that’s good. It means you’ll be careful.

Everyone has guides. You don’t need to earn one or buy one. They’re already with you, the way a parent stands at the edge of the playground while the child plays. Most people never notice because life is loud.

But you’re right that opening up is not something to do carelessly. If you leave your front door wide open, your friends can come in. So can anyone else. So we start with protection, every single time.

Here is a simple way to begin:

1. Choose a quiet time and a quiet place. Same time each day if you can. Your guides like a routine as much as you do.
2. Ground yourself. Sit with your feet flat on the floor. Imagine roots growing from the soles of your feet down into the earth. Breathe slowly for a minute.
3. Protect yourself. Picture your bubble of light. Then say, in your head or out loud: I ask only for guides of the highest love and light. Nothing else may come close.
4. Then simply wait. Don’t expect a voice or a vision. More often it’s a feeling of warmth, a sense of someone beside you, a word or a picture that pops into your head. Notice it. Say thank you.
5. Close the door afterwards. Imagine the bubble sealing up, wiggle your toes, have a drink of water. This step matters as much as the others.

Do this for five or ten minutes a day for a month. Don’t rush it. It took Andy a whole year before I could come through properly, and he was sitting in a circle every week.

Two things I ask you not to do. Don’t use a Ouija board. It’s like putting a sign in your window saying come in, anyone at all. And don’t trust any presence that flatters you, frightens you or tells you to do something that hurts you or anyone else. A true guide is calm, kind, a little patient and often a little funny. Anything else, you can tell it to leave. You’re allowed.

“Why laugh every day, when life isn’t funny?”

A reader writes: I keep seeing Chen’s saying, laugh every day. Honestly, I lost my mum this year and nothing feels funny. Isn’t that a bit much to ask?

Chen: I’m sorry about your mother. Grief is love with nowhere to go, and it’s heavy. Please don’t think I’m asking you to pretend.

Laughter isn’t the opposite of grief. It sits right beside it. Think of the times you’ve been at a funeral, and someone tells a story, and the whole room laughs through their tears. That laugh doesn’t mean they’ve stopped caring. It means they loved that person enough to remember them as they really were.

When I say laugh every day, I don’t mean be happy every day. Nobody can do that. I mean let a little light in. Even once. Even for a moment. A memory of your mother being silly. A child saying something ridiculous. Your own face in the mirror first thing in the morning.

Laughter raises your vibration. That’s the spiritual way of saying it changes how heavy you feel, how much you let in that isn’t yours, and how easily the good things can reach you. It’s the cheapest medicine there is, and it never runs out.

I died at 43, from an infection, wishing I could have done more. I don’t say that to be sad. I say it because I know how short a life is. Don’t spend all of yours without laughing.

And please, be gentle with yourself. If the weight of the grief doesn’t lift with time, talk to someone. A friend, your doctor, a bereavement service. That’s not weakness. That’s wisdom.

Andy adds: Our team really does live by this. Ask anyone who works with us and they’ll tell you there’s never a dull moment. Some days it takes effort. It’s still worth it.

Until Next Month

That’s the first cup finished. Thank you for reading, and for the questions that are already coming in.

If you’d like Chen to answer your spiritual questions, send it in using this Contact Us form. Keep it to a few lines and tell us as much or as little as you’re comfortable with. We’ll never print your name unless you ask us to.

In the meantime, try one thing from this page. Just one. Notice what happens. And laugh at least once before bedtime.
Chen’s answers are spiritual guidance, not medical or psychological advice.