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 it can see the entrance, control who comes through it, and close the space when it wants to. 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 desk with a wall behind you rather than an open floor. A car is a cave you can drive. What you are looking for is a container you can seal.
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 Selective, and your arrow points left, which makes this deliberate, focused work. You are meant to be conscious about the boundary. Choose your space on purpose, decide who gets to come in and when, and be willing to refuse a place that leaves you exposed. Set the door up the way you want it rather than hoping the room turns out fine. A little care at the threshold buys you an enormous amount of ease once you are inside it.
You will know you are in the right place because your shoulders drop and you stop tracking the exits. You can work, think and rest without part of you standing guard. The wrong place is the open floor with people passing behind you, the room with three ways in, the space you cannot close. When you catch yourself bracing, or drifting toward a corner, your body is telling you the boundary is not sound. Fix the space before you push harder on the work.