admin
There is something unmistakably strange about a self-made Midwestern businessman who fought his way out of poverty and then decides to rebrand himself as a spiritual guru, change his name, and tout psychedelic trips as the source of his enlightenment. That is exactly what Ron Carson, now calling himself Omani, has done after building a financial empire—an odd turn that should make every sensible American ask whether the country’s cultural elite are losing their grip on common-sense values.
Carson’s story is the kind of bootstrap legend conservatives admire: a kid from a struggling Nebraska farm who cold-called his way to success and built Carson Group into a company overseeing roughly $55 billion in assets, becoming one of the rare billionaire financial advisors in the country. That business achievement is real and worth respecting, but accomplishment does not grant immunity from scrutiny when a CEO swaps suits for spiritual retreats and starts marketing inner peace to other wealthy executives.
What should unsettle Americans is how quickly wealth can buy cultural reinvention. According to his own account, Carson accepted a Lakota name, legally became Omani, and publicly embraced fasting, retreats, and psychedelic-assisted sessions as the keys to his newfound joy. Conservatives who value personal responsibility and cultural continuity should question a narrative that frames ancient indigenous rites and illegal hallucinations as the next status symbol for boardroom elites.
He has even launched Omya, a by-invitation venture that mixes wellness programming, executive coaching, and startup support, charging hefty fees and courting the already affluent with curated spiritual experiences at his ranch and upscale retreats. When wealthy men sell soul‑searching packages for thousands of dollars a month to other wealthy men, it is hard not to see a marketplace of privilege profiting from fads rather than offering real solutions for ordinary Americans who actually built this country.
Carson’s own description of a DMT experience from a Sonoran desert toad that transformed his life ought to prompt a sober conversation about legality, public health, and elites modeling behavior that remains illegal and risky for everyone else. If psychedelic experiences are the new badge of enlightenment for billionaires, we should be asking whether laws and common decency are being reshaped to fit whatever the well‑heeled decide is fashionable.
To his credit, Carson says he has refocused on family, capped meetings, and pushed for more sustainable leadership inside his company, which are policies conservatives can applaud when they truly serve employees and customers. But lofty rhetoric about “harmonizing humanity” and dreaming of a “trillion dollars of impact” smells suspiciously like the same technocratic utopian language used by coastal elites who conveniently ignore the needs of everyday Americans.
Hardworking patriots should welcome stories of self-made success and encourage business leaders to care for their families and communities, yet we must also call out performative spirituality and celebrity wellness when it cloaks privilege and profit. Wealth should not grant a free pass to reinvent social norms without accountability; if billionaires want to pursue personal healing, fine—but they should not expect the rest of the country to subsidize or normalize whatever experimental fads they choose to import into the mainstream.
