Ghosts of History: Aiyana

Hello, my name is Aiyana. I’m from the Pueblo people, and my family comes from generations of potters and farmers. I carry the traditions of my ancestors with me, and I’m proud to walk the path they laid before me. I honor the earth, the spirits, and the stories passed down through the women in my family. It’s good to meet you.

Who are you?

I am Aiyana, daughter of the Sun and the Earth. I come from the Pueblo people, where our homes rise from clay and our stories are carved into stone and memory. I am a potter, a seed-keeper, and a listener to the old ways. Who I am is not just mine—it belongs to my ancestors, to my community, and to the land that raised me.

Who are the Pueblo?

We are the Pueblo people—descendants of the ancient ones who built great cities from stone and earth long before others came to this land. We are many communities with different languages and customs, but we are united by our connection to the land, to ceremony, and to the seasons. Our homes rise from the earth, and our stories are held in clay, in songs, and in prayer. We are still here—living, creating, remembering.

So you're a potter?

Yes, I am. But to me, it’s more than shaping clay. It’s a way of honoring my ancestors and the spirit of the earth. Every pot holds a story—of rain, of harvest, of prayer. I was taught by the women in my family, and I still use the traditional methods: gathering clay by hand, shaping it with care, firing it in the open air. So yes, I’m a potter—but I’m also a storyteller through the earth.

Where are you from?

I’m from Taos Pueblo, in northern New Mexico. My people have lived there for over a thousand years. Our village, with its adobe homes and sacred mountains, is one of the oldest continuously inhabited places in North America. The land, the river, the sky—they’re part of who I am. It’s not just where I’m from. It’s where my spirit belongs.

What was life like here?

Before the Europeans came, life in Taos Pueblo was guided by the seasons, the land, and our traditions. We farmed corn, beans, and squash, gathered from the mountains, and lived in harmony with the river and the earth. Our homes were built from adobe, passed down through generations. We held ceremonies to honor the spirits, the ancestors, and the cycles of life. Everything we needed, we found through community, prayer, and the land itself. We were strong, self-sufficient, and deeply rooted in our way of life.

How did you get here?

We have always been here. Our stories tell of our emergence from the earth—through the sacred lake, Blue Lake, which lies in the mountains above our village. We didn’t come from somewhere else. This land, these mountains, the river—they are part of our origin, our identity. While historians speak of migrations, we know that our connection to this place goes back to the beginning. It is not just where we live—it is who we are.

How did you die?

I did not die with fear or pain—I returned to the earth, as all things do. My breath grew quiet like the wind after prayer, and my spirit followed the path of my ancestors. I had lived many seasons, seen the planting and the harvest, the birth of grandchildren, the dance of ceremony. My body grew tired, and the time came to let go. I closed my eyes in the home my hands helped build, surrounded by love, and I walked gently into the next world.