About Ben

Two weeks before his sixteenth birthday a fifteen year old boy was hanging upside down in a wrecked car on a country lane in Hertfordshire, England. Blood was pouring from a gash in his skull. He was convinced he was about to die.

So he asked God to take him.

And then something happened that would quietly shape the rest of his life.

He left his body. He entered a place of pure white light — no pain, no fear, no sound. Just an overwhelming peace. A sense that everything was, at the deepest level, completely and utterly OK.

He didn't know it then, but he had touched something that most people spend their entire lives searching for.

That boy was Ben Warren. And for the next thirty years, he would try every path he could find to get back to that place.

PART ONE — THE SEEKER

Ben grew up in the village of Furneux Pelham, just north of London, the son of a driven, loving father and what he calls "a kind of divine mother figure." He was a fussy eater, a passionate footballer, and a boy who — even as a child — had an instinct that there was something more to life than what he could see.

The car accident didn't just give him a near-death experience. It gave him a reason. Convinced he had survived for a purpose, he threw himself into everything with a ferocity that would define the next two decades: he went from nearly failing his exams to topping his class, took up golf and within two years had a handicap of two, won a golf scholarship to the University of South Carolina, and eventually moved to New Zealand — where he would build one of the country's most respected clinical nutrition businesses.

BePure Health started with a single insight — that what we eat profoundly shapes who we are — and grew into a company of fifteen clinicians, PhDs and researchers, reaching tens of thousands of New Zealanders through seminars, clinics and programmes. Ben became one of the most recognised voices in nutrition in the country.

By any external measure, he had made it.

And yet.

Every morning he woke with the same feeling — that it wasn't enough. That he wasn't enough. He was running a hundred and thirty flights a year, working fourteen-hour days, and even when his second daughter Macy was born at home — delivered by his own hands — he went back to his desk within minutes.

He was whipping himself. And he knew it.

PART TWO — THE SEARCH

The search for something deeper had been running underneath Ben's life for as long as he could remember.

He'd studied experimental psychology at university, trying to understand what had happened to him in the crash. He'd done courses with Tony Robbins. He'd explored EFT, applied kinesiology, kriya yoga, pranayama breathwork, transcendental meditation. He'd spent ten-day stretches at yoga retreats, attended monastic immersions with visiting Indian monks, and sat with spiritual teachers who could feel the energy of a room without looking at it.

He'd fasted for seven to ten days at a time. He'd sat in ice baths until his body forced him to leave. He travelled to Costa Rica for a seven-day ayahuasca retreat. He went through a full kundalini awakening — energy rising through his spine, his awareness lifting entirely out of his body.

He wasn't spiritual shopping. He was genuinely, desperately looking for the thing he had touched at fifteen — that white place, that pure OK-ness, that peace that had nothing to do with circumstances.

And every path pointed in the same direction.

PART THREE — THE ARRIVAL

In early 2020, Ben began to sell his majority share of BePure. The relentless drive that had powered his career quietly dissolved. He felt empty — but for the first time, he let himself be empty.

Then Covid arrived, and the world stopped. For the first time in eight years, Ben was home. He had nowhere to go. Nothing to achieve. Nobody to help, no stage to speak from.

He sat on the beach at Mahia — a remote stretch of New Zealand coastline that has always held a deep pull for him — and he just was.

And something shifted. Not dramatically. Not with visions or electricity. It was quieter than that, and more complete.

The recognition came: the peace he had been searching for was not somewhere he needed to get to. It was not a state to achieve or a feeling to cultivate. It was — and had always been — the very Awareness in which every experience, every thought, every feeling arose and dissolved.

He had never been without it. He had just never been shown how to look.

This is what is meant by Self-Realisation. Not a belief. Not a philosophy. A direct, lived recognition of what you are beneath everything you think you are.

Ben had come home.

PART FOUR — THE TEACHING

Ben began teaching meditation on Sunday nights in 2024 — quietly, locally, with a small group of people who felt something different in these sessions. Not a technique being transmitted. A presence.

The Centre for Beingness grew from that.

Ben teaches from the Non-dual and Tantric wisdom traditions — but more than any lineage, he teaches from direct recognition. He has turned Awareness to Awareness itself. When he guides a meditation, he isn't leading people through a technique. He is pointing — clearly, warmly, precisely — at what is already here.

His background in clinical nutrition and psychology means he speaks plainly. His years of searching mean he has genuine compassion for the seeker. And his own realisation means the teaching carries something beyond words.

Students often describe the shift they feel simply from being in a session with Ben. Something settles. The searching quiets. A deeper ground becomes apparent — not as a new experience, but as a recognition of what was always already the case.

That is the gift Ben offers.

CLOSING — INVITATION

Ben's vision for the Centre for Beingness is large: a global community of practice, physical monasteries and retreat centres around the world, and teaching that reaches as many people as possible.

But it begins right here. With a Sunday evening. With a free course. With a single moment of genuine looking.

If you feel something in reading these words — a recognition, a resonance, a quiet pull — that feeling is worth following.