Yours is Caves. A cave is an enclosed, defensible space with a single way in, and that one point of access is the whole mechanism. Your body settles when the space around you is bounded and coverable, with only one place where the world gets in. None of this is literal. You do not need a cave. You need a room with one door, an office with a single entrance, a nook rather than an open floor. A car is a cave you can drive. What you are looking for is a container that closes around you.
Caves belong to the built half of this system, the bounded spaces people make rather than the open country. That tells you where to look. Your attention belongs on your immediate surroundings and on what this particular space gives you: the walls, the doorway, the light, who else is in here with you. You are not scanning a horizon. You are reading the room you are standing in, and asking whether it can hold you.
Your modality is Blending, and your arrow points right, which makes this receptive rather than controlling. You are not meant to stand guard at the doorway. You are meant to settle into a bounded space and merge with it, taking on its atmosphere until the container is doing the work and you have stopped noticing it. The boundary still holds you, but you hold it loosely. Find the enclosed space that already feels right, then let yourself dissolve into it instead of managing it.
You will know you are in the right place because you sink in and lose track of the room entirely. Time goes soft, you stop performing, and you are simply there. The wrong place is exposed and thin: the open floor, the glass wall, the space with too many ways through it and nothing to fold into. When you feel oddly on show, or you cannot stop noticing the room, that is the signal. Go somewhere that closes around you and let it absorb you again.